Page 17 of Songs of Summer

“I’m gonna Uber. It will be pricey, but the train seems complicated.”

“You got this,” he encouraged, before wrapping her in his arms and kissing her sweetly on the top of her head.

As she pulled her bag through the revolving door, she witnessed another couple passionately kissing goodbye. Her first inclination when saying goodbye to Jason, or hello, was still to fist-bump or high-five. She thought of the lame goodbye kiss they’d shared and decided on a redo, continuing, full circle, until she was back outside again.

His car pulled away just as she called out his name, leaving her dejected. She shook it off and continued on her adventure.

And some six hours later, she was standing at the Fire Island Ferries terminal just as her birth mother probably had countless times before. Between the fabulous weather forecast, and what she had learned about the carless thirty-two-mile barrier island, it promised to be a beautiful long weekend. As the departure time approached and the crowd thickened, Maggie couldn’t help but search the faces for one that looked like her own.

The wedding was in four days’ time, though if this small town was anything like the one she hailed from, she would probably cross paths with her birth mother before then. She pulled up Bea’s photo on her phone and took yet another good look at her.

The plan was to settle into the room she’d booked in town before trying to find Beatrix, first getting a feel for her before possibly introducing herself. Maggie was still dead set on notpursuing things any further unless she believed it would be a drama-free, value-added relationship.

Part of her wanted to find her birth mother and make a smart decision about whether to let her into her life, but she knew that another part of her was using this as a stall tactic. Accepting—or refusing—Jason’s proposal would dramatically redefine their relationship. If she wasn’t willing to move forward, then wasn’t she just holding both of them back?

She vowed to use her downtime to think about their future as well.

Maggie’s stomach rumbled, interrupting her thoughts. She realized that the meager flight snack she had bought on the airplane didn’t cut it. She waited in line at the snack counter, where every single person in front of her ordered clam chowder. When in Rome.

Her first bite was delicious—possibly best ever. She hoped it was a sign that she had made the right choice to come here.

“All Aboard Bay Harbor,” the captain crooned.

Maggie boarded the ferry and picked a seat up top, happy to have her face in the sun and the wind in her hair. She slid onto the bench and leaned her elbow over the side rail, enjoying the view of families and friends of all persuasions boarding the boat. She watched as the last passenger stepped aboard. The crew shut the doors and the whirr of the engine sounded. They were off, or so she thought. Seconds later, a stretch limousine pulled into the parking lot, beeping its horn just as the ferry was about to pull away from the dock. The limo driver, a large man with a larger voice, stepped out and bellowed with a sense of urgency:

“Hold the boat!”

The man sitting to Maggie’s left laughed, causing her tolook his way. He grinned, acknowledging her with an explanation.

“They don’t hold the boat for anyone.”

A leggy redhead stepped out of the car and waved up to the captain as if she were not just anyone.

The captain held the boat, the limo driver retrieved her luggage, and the woman paraded onto the deck like she was boarding theQueen Maryinstead of the Fire Island ferry.

“Veronica Silver, as I live and breathe,” the man to Maggie’s left declared.

Silver!

It wasn’t a very common name—Silver—according to the three-day Google trip that Maggie had embarked on after learning her birth mother’s name. The surname Silver ranked around 1600th in popularity in the United States; Wheeler, in comparison, ranked 243rd. But from what Maggie could tell during her brief research as a newly anointed member of the tribe, there were many Jews named Silver. Veronica Silver could very well be related to her mother, though she didn’t look to be.

“It’s not Silver anymore,” the man on the other side of her neighbor corrected. “She’s married to some West Coast crypto tycoon.”

The man seated next to the man seated next to him loud-whispered, “Oh my God, she must be here for the wedding. I can’t believe they invited her. On a boat, no less.”

Did everyone know everyone around here? Was it possible that this place was even smaller than Chagrin Falls?

The hairs on the back of Maggie’s neck stood on end. More than that, they throbbed, as if they were screaming, “Danger—abort mission!”

Said danger rose from the stairs below, smiling coyly at whomever she passed. Some smiled back, others seemed to avoid eye contact.

Veronica Silver Something-or-other sat down on the bench in front of Maggie, causing a plume of Chanel No. 5 to do battle with the fresh sea air. The woman reached into her monogrammed LV tote and pulled out a silk scarf that even Maggie’s humble eyes knew to be Hermès and tied it over her head with ease. Maggie prayed she wasn’t a close relative and, if she were, that her mother would not be as…fancy. Maggie had a style of her own, but her bohemian record store owner vibe mostly came from the thrift shops she frequented in Cleveland. She saw no resemblance between herself, with her dark curls and olive complexion, and this fair-skinned redhead.

Within seconds, her chatty seatmate said hello to the woman in front of him.

“Veronica Silver, it’s been a long time, but I would recognize that carrot top anywhere!”

Maggie wondered if he was making a move. If he were, he should have gone with something sexier thancarrot top. The name brought back images of that unruly comic from the ’90s. Veronica turned back, resting her arm over her seat as if parallel parking, and blinded them with the huge emerald-cut diamond on her finger.

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