Page 74 of Our Last Vineyard Summer

It was three in the afternoon when they got back to Martha’s Vineyard, the sun dappling the roadway, the tall swaying oaks welcoming them home as they pulled up onto South Water Street. On the lawn was Sally Channing’s real estate sign, gently rocking in the breeze.

James put the Land Cruiser in park, and he stiffened when Louisa leaned across the front seat to give him a hug. “Thank you for your help,” she said. “You’re a Whiting in spirit.”

They all got out of the car then, standing at the open car trunk. Louisa yanked out her bag and said, “Seriously, James, I’m forever grateful for what you did for us.”

“Anytime,” he said. He gazed up at the green shutters of the house; they hadn’t changed since they were kids, small cutouts of seashells cut into the upper panels. “Gosh, I hope your family doesn’t sell. This house was a constant for me, just knowing you all were here… It got me through some dark times.”

Louisa hoisted her quilted weekend bag on her shoulder. “Well, those days are behind you now, and besides, we’re not going anywhere. Right, Betsy?”

Betsy leaned against the car, the corners of her mouth turning up. “Right.”

A couple of kids pedaled by, squeaking their horns for fun. Louisa disappeared inside.

“Thanks for calming me down yesterday,” Betsy said, embarrassed by her outburst on the beach. “You know I don’t think you’re some kind of leech, right?”

He kicked at the rubber tire with his Nike sneakers, his hair curling up from the ferry winds. “Iamkind of a leech. I mean, not now, but before.” When he looked up, he smiled. He presented like he was shy, but he wasn’t. He was gentle. “Anyway, we all lose it sometimes. I certainly did after my mother died.”

She wanted to hug him, but she felt funny; her embrace would feel different from the sisterly one Louisa had given him.

Betsy lifted her backpack, tucking her long brown hair behind one ear. “Well, it was nice seeing you, and like Louisa said, thanks for helping us out.”

He smiled. “I know you’re on the island for a little longer, but before you leave, can we take out my old boat?”

A tingling surged inside her chest, a million little beats pulsing through its center. “The little rowboat?”

“We’d still fit.” He rose up on his heels, grinning. “We can bring it over to the cove, float around and talk about life.”

Betsy chuckled. “You sound like one of those stoners with a guitar.”

He laughed. “I can bring a guitar if you’d like.”

Betsy had the sense that she was suspended above them, watching two friends become close once more. Theirs would be the truest kind of friendship, where they talked on the phone and visited each other sometimes. If he took the NYU job, he’d get to see the baby after it was born. He could be Uncle James.

It was a decision Betsy had made all over again that morning on the ferry back to the Vineyard. In the end, just like Louisa, Betsy would choose love. It was hard to explain, even to herself, why she loved this little lima bean that was growing inside her, but she did. She would be a woman who chose to do things on her own, even if she was the last person in her family that anyone ever expected to have those kind of guts.

Betsy hugged James, and he hugged her back. He was right. She would need a lot of somebodies to make it in this life, but she also wanted him to be one of hers. He’d been her best friend for so many years, and she’d been wrong to write him out of her life, simply because it was too complicated to keep him in it.

“Can we take outSenatorialtoo?” Betsy said. “You never did get to sail on her.”

She wished her father could see James now, how he believed in himself, how he had been determined to be better than his mother.

A dimple formed in James’s left cheek. “Okay, but the rowboat first.”

She shook her head, even though she loved the idea of it. “We’re going to sink that thing. We’re grown-ups now.”

“But we can still act like kids sometimes, right?”

“We can,” she said.

At that moment, James kissed her. Just once, soft on the lips. He met her stunned expression with confidence, his face inches from hers. “I don’t want to just run into you sometimes, Betts. I want to see you. On purpose.”

It no longer felt like there was a hard layer around her heart. “I waited for you outside the hardware store the other day, but you never came.” She hid her face, then found the courage to lift her eyes to his. Perhaps, all this time, Betsy had been looking for the wrong things—degrees and achievements and men who thought her sexy rather than smart. She wondered then if Andy had simply been a placeholder until she found her way back to James. If she was finally where she was meant to be.

“Look out your window tonight,” he said, his head motioning to her house. His hand opened and closed, and she knew what he meant. He would say good night.

Betsy stepped away from him, walking up the steps to the front door, feeling his eyes on her as she moved. He had never stopped being hers.

There was another conversation waiting inside for her, and this one would be even harder. Betsy waved goodbye as James slid into the driver’s seat, revving the engine just once so she’d turn back and smile one more time. Then she went to open the imposing front door, inhaling a breath so deep she imagined filling the baby’s lungs inside her.

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