Page 62 of Our Last Vineyard Summer

Look too closely, and suddenly, all you can see are the flaws.

Their mother refused them the use of her station wagon, but she did drop Betsy and Louisa off at the ferry terminal in Vineyard Haven at ten the following morning. Here, they would catch the passenger ferry, docking in the tiny village of Woods Hole and taxiing forty-five minutes to star-studded Hyannis, thanks to the Kennedys. There, they’d board a second ferry to Nantucket.

A well of possibilities had blossomed inside Betsy’s mind since she’d found her father’s letter the day before, and she was chattier than she’d been in days, even with that little dark cloud following her.

“What an ordeal,” Louisa complained of the crowds, as she and Betsy pushed through the throngs of tourists. Each sister carried a small overnight bag slung over one shoulder, although they had noidea where they even planned to sleep that night, since neither had ever been to Nantucket. The two islands were close in distance but worlds apart; you were either a Nantucketer or a Vineyarder, never both, and the Whitings had pledged their allegiance long ago.

Louisa grimaced when she tripped over a teenage boy who abruptly stopped on the busy sidewalk to tie his shoe. “We’re really going to need a car. Nantucket isn’t small and taxis are expensive.”

“We’ll be fine.” Betsy blew at the bangs sticking to her forehead. “Nantucket is half the size of the Vineyard. Besides, the records office will likely be right in town. We can walk.”

They found seats topside at a picnic table, Betsy shuffling off to the café. She returned holding a chocolate milk, a buttered roll, and a bag of Lay’s chips. “The salt is just perfect,” she moaned, gobbling down the chips.

“That’s disgusting.” Louisa stroked her throat, her fingers finding her gold locket and gently tugging.

“You’re just jealous because you don’t let yourself eatanything.”

The ferry pushed off from the dock, the water a clear aquamarine with seagulls gliding overhead. Betsy guzzled the carton of chocolate milk. In the distance, she did a double take at a familiar face, a man wearing Nikes, a faded red T-shirt, and a baseball hat. A dog trotted beside him.

James spotted her from the start, waving.

She felt butterflies, squeezing her abdomen to force away the fluttering.

“Hi, James.” She’d tried to “run” into him the day before, swinging past the hardware store in case he was inside.

“Hey, how are you?” He sat at the picnic table beside them. “I’m running errands off island.”

“Ah.”

“Hi, Louisa.”

“Nice to see you,” she said.

James sat at the next table, unwrapping the plastic from his Danish, using a small plastic knife to cut it into quarters. He’d never said anything about the letter Betsy wrote. “You look great,” he told Louisa.

“Thank you,” she said. Peanut Butter nudged Louisa’s hand. Seeing as much, James said, “I can move. I don’t want Peanut Butter to bother you.”

Betsy was about to say,That’s probably a good idea. How would she talk to him for forty-five minutes now that she barely knew this adult version of James?

But then Louisa spoke up first and told James to stay. “We love dogs, don’t we, Betsy?”

“Sure.” Betsy faked a smile.

Another colony of seagulls flew overhead. There was always a stray bird that followed the boat to the mainland. James offered Betsy a piece of the Danish he’d sliced on a napkin, and she popped it in her mouth. “It’s from this bakery in Vineyard Haven.”

“You always did love your sweets,” she said. “Thank you.”

Betsy folded her hands on the tabletop and pretended to be engrossed with the scenery. Her mind drifted to Wiley’s words.The past follows us wherever we go. The past seemed to follow her all over the island.

A leashed Labrador meandered past, Peanut Butter going in for a friendly sniff. “Where are you two off to?” The conversation skimmed the surface so expertly they could have been strangers on a Manhattan bus.

They were going to visit Louisa’s colleagues at a luncheon on Nantucket, she said.

As if on cue, Louisa placed her book down on the table. “Except our mother is a true model of kindness and wouldn’t let us use her car, so we have to take a taxi to Hyannis.” Louisa stood, adjusting her shorts where they had ridden up, and she announced she was going to the restroom. Betsy nearly reached for her hand and yanked her sister back down.

The ferry was busy even on a Monday, families ending their vacations staring mournfully out at the passing cliffs. Betsy distracted herself by watching a young girl sitting on her father’s lap, giggling as he bounced her on his knee; a memory of her father doing something similar making her smile. Then she remembered she was sitting beside James, all awkward and trying to act normal, when it was her father that had driven them apart.

Her lips parted with a nervous smile. “How is the…”

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