Page 96 of Summer Reading

With a forced smile, I jogged down the steps back to my car. I started the engine and pulled out onto the road. I debated calling Ben but I didn’t want to explain about the picture over the phone, which would be only slightly less confusing than a text. I arrived at his cottage in minutes and was half relieved to see his motorcycle there and half full of dread.

I had no idea what I was going to say. I shut off the car and pulled out my phone. I glanced at the photo. Maybe this wasn’t his mom. The thought filled me with relief, and I promptly felt terrible, because if it was his mom, then this was the first real clue we’d had to a possible father for him, and I wanted him to find his dad, I really did.

I stepped out of the car and approached the house. The pink roses were still blooming, attracting bees, and their somnolent buzz was the background noise to my heart, which had decided now was a great time to start pounding. I was nervous about showing Ben the picture for a variety of reasons. I was halfway up the short stepsto the porch when the door opened and he grinned at me, which improbably made my heart beat even faster.

“Good morning, Samwise,” he said. “This is an unexpectedly awesome start to my day. Come on in.”

I stood on the steps, staring up at him. He truly was a fine specimen of a man with his wavy dark hair, broad shoulders, and thick-lashed blue-gray eyes. I didn’t want to get his hopes up and I didn’t want to crush him, but Em was right, I had to show him the picture. My conflicting emotions must have shown on my face, because he frowned and reached for me, pulling me in for a hug.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay? Is it Tyler? What can I do?”

I leaned into him, taking a long breath of the scent that was uniquely his. I swear it was a concoction of old books, coffee, and laundry detergent. Then I stepped back and handed him my phone, displaying the photo. My voice was soft when I said, “I think I found something.”

He took my phone in his large square hand and glanced at the display. His eyes went wide and he glanced back up at me and asked, “Where did you get a picture of my mom?”

Well, that answered that.

•••

Chilmark was the exact opposite corner of the island from Oak Bluffs. It was a twenty-five-minute drive,assuming we didn’t run into any tourist traffic. We got lucky as we cut right through the island on Barnes Road, passing the airport. Yes, the place JFK Jr. was supposed to land his plane. I was a little kid when that tragedy happened, but even so I remembered that July and how the entire island had felt the shock waves of another Kennedy tragedy. Frankly, my mother still wasn’t over it.

My grandmother’s childhood on Martha’s Vineyard had been vastly different from mine. The island had not been the retreat for the wealthy that it now was. It had been a poor community up until after World War II, when people in New England discovered it, Nantucket, and Cape Cod as summer vacation destinations. It didn’t get global attention, however, until Chappaquiddick. According to my grandmother, that’s when everything changed.

I had grown up only knowing the Vineyard as a popular destination for presidents, actors, and other famous types. Part of its allure was that the locals never fussed over the famous. We still don’t, as far as I know, treating everyone as just another summer guest. I could see the appeal but to me it’s where my father’s family carved out their slice of America. The Gale roots were deep on the island, and I was again regretful that I had been so neglectful of this place I loved.

We turned right onto Edgartown–West Tisbury Road.Traffic slowed in West Tisbury, and I had second thoughts about this venture.

“Maybe you should talk to your mom on your own,” I said to Ben. He was sitting in the passenger seat, looking a bit shell-shocked. When he’d seen the date in the corner of the picture, he was certain that the guitarist was his father.

“Tell me again how you found this,” he said. “My brain went a little fuzzy when I saw it.”

I told him how Tyler had spotted it on the wall of the Grape and recognized our father, and then I saw his mom and noted the similarity to him. Ben nodded.

“This has been our best lead all summer,” he said. “I can’t believe it was just on a wall in a bakery.”

“Date stamped, no less,” I said.

We continued on to Chilmark. On the southwest corner of the island, near Aquinnah, this was one of the smaller towns on Martha’s Vineyard with a population of 1,200 people, give or take. Ben directed me onto a narrow road, where I turned in to the driveway of a series of gray shingled cottages. The buildings were perched on a bluff and overlooked the Chilmark Pond and the Atlantic beyond. I wished I had my paddleboard with me.

A minivan was in front of the second building and I parked beside it. We climbed out of the car. The small houses were quiet and I wondered if anyone was home.I had a moment of hope before I remembered that Moira must be here since she was expecting her son.

Ben reached out and took my hand in his, and we strode toward the two-story wood-shingled house with the white trim and wraparound deck. There was a mermaid weather vane on a cupola on the top of the house. To me, it looked like the bare-breasted sea nymph was pointing for me to go back the way I’d come and not return.

“You didn’t tell me you were bringing a guest,” a voice called to us from one of the smaller cottages.

We stopped and pivoted in the direction of the voice. Standing in the open door of what appeared to be a studio was Moira Reynolds.

Her hair, brown with streaks of silver, was in a messy bun on top of her head. She wore a white T-shirt beneath a pair of battered blue jean overalls, and on her feet were black lace-up work boots just like the ones Ben wore to ride his motorcycle.

She didn’t smile. There was no welcoming softness to her features, which were makeup-free. Her countenance was stern, made even more so by the faint lines that creased her eyes and mouth. One eyebrow was raised in question or challenge, I wasn’t sure which but I definitely suspected that either way I was not welcome.

“Hi, Moira,” Ben greeted his mother. They didn’t hugor even smile at the sight of each other. “I hope an extra for lunch isn’t a problem.”

“Of course not, a little notice is always appreciated, however.” She tipped her chin up as she studied me. Her blue-gray eyes were just like Ben’s but without his warmth. When her gaze swept over me, it left me cold. Her mouth tightened.

“And how are you, Samantha Gale?”

Hearing her say my name made me pause. Had Ben told her about me? My ridiculous heart fluttered around my chest with something that resembled hope. I tried to mentally slap it down. So what if he had? It didn’t mean anything. I gave him a side glance. Judging by the surprise on his face, he hadn’t told her about me. Well, okay then. “I’m sorry, have we met before?”

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