Page 4 of Summer Reading

Silly me. if I’d known how my summer was going to play out over the next few weeks, I probably would have jumped out of the car and run back to the ferry and the safety of the mainland.

Traffic was thick as we merged with the cars getting off the ferry. We wound our way onto Beach Road out of Vineyard Haven toward Oak Bluffs. Thankfully, the landmarks I’d always used to navigate the island remained unchanged. Oak Bluffs, the quaintest village on the island, with its colorful gingerbread cottages and large town green, had always been my favorite.

The Gale house, which had been in the family for generations, which was the only way we could afford it, was on the outskirts of Oak Bluffs on a small side street. A classic wooden shingle house with two bedrooms and one bathroom, it was going to be a tight squeeze. I assumed I’d be relegated to the living room couch when Dad and Stephanie returned from their trip, which was fine as I didn’t plan to be there as much as the beach.

As we drove along the familiar streets, I noticed the island and the town looked exactly the same. It felt strange, as if the shortest distance between two points wasn’t a straight line but rather like someone had folded the line and brought the two points together, making the distance in between them disappear. Thatwas how familiar it felt, as if no time had passed and nothing had changed between my last visit and today. Weird.

It was also not terribly reassuring, as my last full summer here had been rife with drama. Dad had insisted I go away to college, but I had just wanted to move to Boston and start working in a restaurant kitchen, learning my trade the hands-on way. The argument that followed had shaken the house with what my mother called “Gale-force winds.”

I shook off the memory. I was not a kid. We had come to an understanding back then, and I’d done one year in college before transferring to a culinary school. We’d had no such drama for the past ten years, so there was no reason to think this was going to be a repeat of the disaster that was my last summer on Martha’s Vineyard even though I was currently unemployed with no work in sight. Really.

Dad parked in the tiny driveway beside the cottage. While the island hadn’t changed that much, the cottage had definitely gotten a face-lift in my absence. Fresh white paint had been applied to the formerly dark green trim, and the furniture on the front porch looked to be a recent purchase, with big squishy navy cushions on bright white wicker furniture. In my recollection, nothing in our house had ever matched before. If this was a warning shot, I was curious to see how the interior had changed as well.

Dad climbed out of the car and circled around to the back. I went to help him.

“Place looks pretty good, right?”

“It looks great,” I agreed.

“You’re going to have a wonderful summer, Sam,” he said. And then as if I’d argued, he added, “You’ll see.”

We rolled my suitcase up the cement walkway and hefted it up the steps to the porch. The white front door, also new, opened wide, and there was my dad’s second wife, my stepmother, Stephanie. How did I feel about her? Honestly, I liked her. I liked her a lot.

Stephanie Gale was smart, pretty, even-tempered, and she put up with my dad, who could be a handful, so there wasn’t much to dislike about her. She was always warm and welcoming and respected my boundaries, so she was most definitely not a Disney stepmother.

But—there’s always a but—she and my dad had started dating during my parents’ separation, and teenager me had had a hard time not making her the focus of my ire at the time. I had said some horrible things to her. Then, of course, once I realized I liked her, I’d had to work through all the guilt I felt about being disloyal to my mom, which was ridiculous but, again, teenager. I still felt awful about our rough-and-tumble beginning so, as usual, I overcompensated in my greeting.

“Stephanie! Hi!” I dropped my shoulder bag and hugged her tight, practically squeezing the breath out of her. I let go and stepped back. “How are you? You look fantastic. I swear you simply do not age.”

She shook her blond bob and looked at me with the same affectionately tolerant expression in her blue gaze that I’d seen her bestow upon my dad a million times. When she smiled, her eyes sparkled, which was another thing I’d always adored about her. She was abundant with her affection, even with me, her problem stepdaughter.

I lowered my voice and leaned in close and whispered, “What’s with the goatee and the skinny jeans?”

“You noticed.” She laughed.

“Kind of hard to miss,” I said. “Is he okay?”

She grinned. “He’s fine but possibly feeling a bit nostalgic for his youth.”

“Which explains the jalopy.”

She winced. “We don’t talk about that.”

Sore subject. I nodded. “Got it.”

“I’m so glad you’re here, Sam,” she said. She gave me one more quick squeeze. “It’s been too long since you’ve visited the Vineyard.”

“Yes, it has,” I agreed. “Summers for chefs are just so hectic.”

“Well, it’s good that you’re taking some time off, and this summer should be restful, since all you have todo is—” The window above the porch slammed shut. She frowned. “Excuse me for a second.”

She disappeared inside while Dad and I exchanged a look.

“You guys did tell Tyler that I was coming, right?” I asked.

“Of course,” he said. “He was thrilled.”

I stared at him with my eyebrows raised in disbelief. As I mentioned, my half brother and I were not close. It’s not that we didn’t get along. We’d never spent enough time together for that to be tested.

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