Love Finds You in Martha's Vineyard (8 page)

He watched as she headed through the beach grass between the two houses, reminding himself to get some sort of grass cutting tool the next time he was in the hardware store. A path might be nice. Janice Grant seemed a pleasant woman—not hard on the eyes either. Perhaps she wasn't exactly his type—not that he knew exactly what his type was anymore—but she came across as intelligent, interesting, and energetic. Maybe he finally had time to investigate the possibilities of female companionship. Well, except that he had Sicily to consider now. He stood and stretched lazily, reminding himself that there was no reason to hurry anything along right now. No schedules, no deadlines, no pressures…at least for a while. And he intended to enjoy it.

As she waited to board her flight, Waverly couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this exhilarated. Probably not since Neil was alive. The last time she'd experienced this kind of hopeful anticipation was probably the time they were getting on a plane bound for Mexico. Shortly after their first anniversary, they began planning a trip to Yucatan. It took a couple of years of frugality and penny pinching to save up enough for their dream vacation.

Waverly still remembered feeling cautious when the time came to book the big trip. So used to fretting over finances, she'd actually suggested they wait another year to take the trip. But Neil had remained steadfast, insisting they
had
to go. So they booked it shortly after the New Year. In late February, during a Chicago blizzard, they'd packed their bags and left. Once they made their escape from O'Hare, Waverly's regrets evaporated, and the rest of the trip turned out to be amazing and memorable—well worth all the little things they'd gone without to afford it.

Of course, there'd been no way to predict it would be their first and last big trip like that together. But looking back now, Waverly thanked God that Neil had convinced her to go.

Now—although today was completely different—she experienced a similar rush of excitement as she boarded the plane, found her seat, and buckled her safety belt. She was really doing this. No turning back. Every bridge was burned. Her nonstop flight to Boston would arrive in the afternoon. After that she'd ride a shuttle to the ferry, which would transport her directly to Vineyard Haven—her final destination. She felt like she was about six years old, like Christmas was just around the corner.

Vivian had been hard to reach this past week, plus Waverly had been distracted with packing and preparing for her exodus, but she had told her mother which ferry she'd booked and when she'd be arriving. Vivian had promised to meet her at the ferry. Waverly hoped she didn't forget. But even if she did, Waverly figured she could probably walk to town. According to the map she'd studied, the ferries were only a block or two from the center of the downtown area. Still, she hoped Vivian would remember since it sounded as if there was a lot going on there for them too.

“Janice just arrived,” Vivian had told her during the weekend. “She's taking her vacation here, sharing Aunt Lou's bedroom, so it's pretty cozy in the bungalow. But you're welcome to stay with me in my room, if you don't mind sharing a bed. Otherwise you can start settling into the apartment. Aunt Lou had to store some things there. She had things brought over from Boston, but she'd overestimated on how much furniture our little bungalow can hold. It started feeling like a warehouse in here. But I'm positive she won't mind if you use her things.”

Suddenly Waverly felt concerned—or maybe even territorial. Surely her mom and aunt would let her arrange the studio apartment herself. “My things are coming too,” Waverly said with hesitation. “They should be here by the end of the week.”

“That's wonderful, dear. As I recall, your aunt only had a sofa bed and a few other pieces stored there. If necessary, we can find someone who'll like them. We'll sort it out when you get here, darling. No worries.”

Waverly was still trying to wrap her head around this new side of Vivian. She wasn't used to her mother being so congenial and easygoing. But she appreciated it. As Waverly stood outside now, leaning into the rail of the ferry boat and watching as it cut through thick, luminescent curls of water, she felt incredibly happy and free. The sea breeze against her skin, the summer sun on her head—everything seemed absolutely perfect. Picture perfect.

She took numerous photos, telling herself that someday, when she had the time, these very photos would inspire her to paint. Watercolors perhaps. Or maybe she'd break out the oils eventually. She stared in wonder at the vastness of the water and sky before her. So much blue—varying shades of blue around her. As they got closer to what appeared to be land, probably the island, she noticed more boats. Some sailboats, some yachts—nautical slices of pristine white cutting through the otherwise blue-scape. Fresh, clean, beautiful. She was going to be happy here. She couldn't wait to settle in.

During her flight, she'd decided that she wanted to move directly into the studio—no matter what shape it was in. The idea of sharing a bedroom with her mother—and a bed—wasn't going to work for her. As well located as their beach bungalow might be and as pretty as it sounded like they were making it, she was going to take a pass on staying there with them. She would rather “rough it” in the studio on her own.

She knew this decision was partly related to her cousin. Waverly had been surprised to hear that Janice Grant was there right now. Even though Janice was only there on vacation, Waverly felt caught off guard, and it had almost stolen some of the joyful anticipation about her new life. Of course, she'd convinced herself that it was silly to let Janice get to her. It wasn't that she didn't like Janice. Not exactly.

But she and Janice had never really hit it off as children. Maybe it had been related to their mothers, who were different as night and day, or maybe it was the girls' own unique personalities. Despite only being a year apart in age and sometimes thrust together at family events, the two girls never connected the way some cousins do. Janice had always been a little high-maintenance or, perhaps, simply goal-driven. When they were young, Janice was somewhat demanding, extremely competitive, and a little bossy, whereas Waverly had always been the dreamer, the artist, the girl who enjoyed silence, solitude, and a sketchpad. Sometimes Janice had even called her “boring.” But Waverly hadn't minded. She'd preferred being labeled as dull rather than keep pace with Janice.

Of course, that was a lot of years ago. Hopefully they'd both grown up since then. But in case they hadn't, Waverly was determined to keep a healthy amount of space between them. Not having a car made her even more determined to stay close to town. No way did she want to be stuck out at a beach house, no matter how delightful, with her yammering cousin and no means of transportation to escape. Although Waverly did plan to go bike shopping as soon as she got settled. She'd even searched the Internet, locating several bike shops around the island.

Waverly felt a fresh surge of happiness as she sighted the island ahead. She felt almost giddy. Like she was going to a different country, a different life…a new beginning, doing something she truly wanted to do. The idea of operating an art gallery—in Martha's Vineyard—well, it was a dream come true! And each time she'd shared this tidbit with people during the past week and during her trip, she'd seen the interest and admiration in their eyes. Some of them even got a wistful look, as if they wished they could trade places with her.

For the first time in such a long time, Waverly felt as if her life was finally and truly blessed. As the ferry pulled into the dock, she whispered a prayer of thanksgiving. After these past few years of darkness and drought, God was finally shining His goodness down on her.

Knowing she'd be riding on a plane, bus, and ferry boat, Waverly had purposely chosen to travel light today. Just a carry-on that piggybacked on the same midsized roller bag she'd used for the Yucatan trip. The rest of her things would be here by Friday. She gathered these things and followed a few other passengers, who appeared to know where they were going, and disembarked from the boat. She was here at last—in Martha's Vineyard!

The parking lot was busy with cars and trucks loading and unloading, as well as a number of cars waiting to pick up passengers. She hadn't thought to ask Vivian what make or color of vehicle to look for, but it was so nice out that many of the cars had their windows down. But the more Waverly looked for her mother, the more she realized that Vivian had forgotten. Really, that wasn't surprising. Waverly had a long history of her mother forgetting things. Sometimes small things, like where she'd last placed her car keys when Waverly had been late for an art lesson, and sometimes big things, like the time and place of Waverly's wedding. She had arrived eventually, but because the church had more than one wedding that day, they had been unable to wait. However, she was very much present during the reception.

“
Waverly!”

Waverly turned to see a red BMW coming toward her. And there was her mother, waving frantically with her head stuck out the window, orange scarf blowing in the breeze, and a big smile.

“Sorry I'm late,” Vivian said as she pulled up.

“That's all right.” Waverly opened the door, then wondered where to put her suitcase in the small car.

“I think there's a trunk,” Vivian said as she looked around the controls.

“You think?”

Vivian laughed. “This is Janice's car. She let me drive it. Isn't it cute?”

Before she could answer, the trunk popped open and Waverly hurried back to put her bags in it, then back around just as a delivery truck behind them honked. “I'm going as fast as I can,” Waverly called as she jumped into the car.

“He's probably trying to get onto the ferry,” Vivian said as she pulled out. “I think I was in the wrong line. I'm still trying to figure this ferry thing out. Lou has it down, but I haven't been driving much.”

“Do you have a car here?”

“Just one that we share.” She turned, beaming at Waverly, as she waited for the stoplight. “You look beautiful, darling. How was your trip?”

“Wonderful. I loved the ferry. I'm so excited to be here, Vivian. Thank you so much for asking me…and paying for me to come.”

The light changed, and Vivian pulled out. “I'm so glad you could come. And, don't fool yourself, we really need you.” She shook her head. “I still don't know what your aunt was thinking, talking me into investing in The Gallery like she did. Certainly it was a great deal, good investment, but why she thought we could actually run something like that….”

“Well, that's why I'm here. Is there any art in it at all?”

“Art?” Vivian glanced curiously at Waverly. “I don't know.” Just then a Range Rover darted in front of them, and Vivian stomped on the brakes. “This traffic! It gets worse every week. Lou and I got here before Memorial Day, and everything was moving a lot slower then.”

“I hear the summertime crowd is really something.” Waverly held onto the dashboard as Vivian jerked her way through the crowded street.

“But that's what keeps everyone in business,” Vivian said. “So I guess we can't complain.”

Waverly smiled. “I'm not complaining. Not a bit.”

“Good.” Vivian pointed to a side street, or maybe it was an alley, ahead. “This is where you turn to get into the back parking lot. It's kind of tight, but there's room to park one car back there. As you can imagine, parking is at a premium around here.”

“I plan to get a bike.”

“Smart.” Vivian pulled up behind a wooden building and turned off the car engine. “Well, here we are. Home sweet home.”

It wasn't impressive, but then Waverly reminded herself, this was the back of the building. What did she expect?

“It's kind of on the edge of the busy part of town,” Vivian explained as they got out. “That's probably one reason it was such a good deal. That and because no else showed interest in running a business like this.”

“Really?” This surprised Waverly. “I'd think a gallery would be quite popular in this town.”

Vivian laughed. “Yes, a
normal
gallery would be.” Now she was fiddling with some keys as if searching for the right one. “I think we'll have to go around front,” she finally said. “I don't have the other key.”

“That's fine.”

Vivian pointed to some rather rickety-looking wooden stairs. “But in the future, you can enter the apartment from back here if you like. There's a backdoor at the top of those stairs. It's more private.”

Waverly looked up to the shadowy structure above her. “Is that where the terrace is?”

“Yes.” Vivian headed toward a narrow walkway that ran along one side of the big brown building. “Come along, and we'll go in the front door. I can give you the full nickel tour.”