Page 73 of Summer Reading

“What?” I asked. “Everyone knows they’ve been open since the thirties and forties, they’re iconic. My dad was in a band in the eighties and they played the Ritz all the time. It’s one of his claims to fame.”

“Your dad is a musician?” he asked.

“Drummer. In his wild youth, before he became an insurance salesman,” I said.

It hit me then when I said the words out loud that my dad’s midlife crisis could be because he’d envisioned a different life for himself, and now that his kids were almost grown, he felt it was his last chance to be the musician he’d once dreamed of being. Huh.

We set out immediately. Walking through the quieter section of Oak Bluffs, I appreciated the scent of the summer roses on the evening air, the sound of the crickets, the murmur of conversations as we passed front porches. Despite the ever-revolving summer tourists who came and went, Oak Bluffs maintained its small-town feel, where the year-round people and theannual summer residents knew one another and looked out for one another. There was comfort in that. I knew if either Tyler or I were ever in trouble, there was a small army of people we could count on for help.

“What are you thinking?” Ben asked.

“That I’ve been away from here for too long,” I said.

He seemed to understand the regret in my voice, and he held out his arm. I scooted up against his side and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. We walked through town like that until we reached our first destination.

Giordano’s was packed with a wait line going out the door. Ben asked to talk to the manager, and the hostess’s eyes went wide as if she feared a complaint.

“I just have a question about a former employee,” he said.

She nodded, looking relieved, and disappeared. We cooled our heels in the front of the restaurant until a woman arrived. She carried herself with authority and greeted us with a smile.

“Hi, I’m Naomi, how can I help you?” she asked.

“This is a long shot, I know,” Ben said. “But I was wondering if there’s anyone who might remember a waitress who worked here in the summer of ’89?”

He reached into his pocket and took out a photograph. He handed it to Naomi, who’d probably been a baby back then or, like me, not yet born.

She glanced at the photo and back at Ben. “I cancheck and see if our personnel files go back that far. Do you have a name?”

“Moira Reynolds,” he said.

Her eyes went wide. “The artist?”

He nodded.

She shook her head. “If she had worked here, I would know. That would be serious bragging rights, as in her portrait on the wall with flashing lights around it, you know what I’m saying?”

Ben nodded. “Oh, I know. She wouldn’t have been famous back then, so maybe no one realized.”

“It’s possible,” Naomi said. “Give me your number and I’ll check the records and ask around.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate it,” he said. He took a business card out of his pocket and handed it to her.

“Can I ask why you want to know?” she asked.

Ben hesitated. I suspected he didn’t want to share the details of his personal life and was conflicted about what to say. I didn’t have these issues.

“We’re librarians and we’re doing research on people of consequence on the Vineyard before they were famous,” I said. “For the library archives and all.”

“Oh.” Naomi gave Ben the once-over, and I knew she was thinking the same thing I’d been thinking earlier. The man didn’t look like a librarian to her either. “That’s awesome.” She gave him a little wink. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Great, I appreciate it,” he said. He took my arm and ushered me outside. “Quick thinking.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I feel that the quest for your father should be on a need-to-know basis, don’t you think?”

“Definitely,” he said. “The Vineyard is small and I don’t need it getting back to Moira that I’m actually doing boots-on-the-ground recon until it becomes unavoidable.”

“She doesn’t know you’re looking for your dad?” I asked.

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