Chapter 2 #3
Chase rubbed his temples. He was about the same age as this guy, but Wabanaki Dana was already making waves.
Meanwhile, Chase was barely treading water.
He’d inherited the newspaper from his father, an enduring family business that was turning into a crumbling cliff.
He felt like he was on the precipice, about to lose the very ground he stood on.
This shipwreck and gold story might change all that.
He needed information. But from whom? Instinctively, he knew the Penobscot policymaker wouldn’t talk.
The older ranger was a no-go—too experienced to let anything slip.
Scout? Possibly. But after the way she shut the kid down at the pier, she might shut Chase down just as fast. And he didn’t want to blow it with her.
There was something special between them, and it was worth protecting.
Now, the kid—that was a different story. Kids talked. Kids didn’t think about what they were saying half the time.
Yeah, the kid. That was Chase’s way in.
Maisie Mitchell practically bounced in her seat as the bus rolled off the highway to head toward Bar Harbor.
She could hardly believe she was almost at Acadia National Park, where the salty air met the evergreen smell of pines and the mist lingered over the ocean like a secret.
That’s how it was phrased in the guidebook, anyway.
She’d been looking forward to this moment for months, counting down the days until she’d see her grandfather again—and Frankie.
It had been two whole years since Grand Teton, but she wasn’t that awkward kid with braces anymore.
She’d begged her orthodontist to take them off a month early, and now her teeth felt smooth and grown-up.
Perfect for smiling at Frankie. Perfect for kissing.
She practiced her smiling at the elderly lady sitting behind her on the bus.
Acadia, Maisie told her, was the first national park east of the Mississippi, though it didn’t get the name Acadia until much later.
The old lady looked at her curiously, just enough encouragement for Maisie to continue her fun facts.
“Jordan Pond is supposed to be so clear you can see all the rocks at the bottom. The guidebook keeps going on and on and on about the popovers at the Jordan Pond House too.”
Maisie wasn’t totally sure what a popover was, but if they were that famous, she already knew she’d have to try one. Maybe two.
“And the carriage roads were built by John D. Rockefeller Jr. to keep cars out and make the park more horse friendly.” Over the seat, she showed the elderly woman a picture in the guidebook of horse-drawn carriages trotting along those postcard-perfect stone bridges.
“Look at that. The guidebook isn’t exaggerating. ”
The old lady smiled at her.
So Maisie decided to keep going. “And the hiking! Over 150 miles of trails, from mountain climbs like the Beehive to paths that hug the ocean. I’m going to hike every mile.
Well, maybe not every single one. Still, I don’t care how sweaty I’ll be.
This is going to be epic.” That was a word Frankie used a lot. That and “keep your cool on.”
The bus came to a stop, and Maisie turned around to gather her belongings. As she rose to leave, she smiled at the old lady. “Very nice to chat with you.”
The lady smiled back. “Ya ne zrozumila, shcho vy skazaly.”
Oh.
As Maisie stepped off the bus at the Village Green and took her first breath of Acadia air, she scanned the little crowd, looking for her grandfather’s familiar, reassuring face.
But . . . no sign of him. She frowned, checked her phone—no new messages from him.
Okay, no big deal. Pops was probably just parking or something.
She shot him a quick text—I’m here!—and looked around.
She wandered over to the cluster of shops that lined the harbor.
The guidebook had reported the magic of this little town, with its rustic charm and old-fashioned storefronts.
She wandered past a candy shop with a display of saltwater taffy in every color, piles of red-and-white-striped lobsters, and blue taffies with little white boats stamped on them.
Next to it, a gift shop was packed with miniature lighthouse figurines, Acadia National Park hoodies, stuffed red lobster toys, and glossy postcards of thunderous waves crashing against cliffs.
Wow. She was here! She was actually in Maine. But where was Pops? He said he’d be at the bus stop to meet her. They hadn’t made a contingency plan.
Had he forgotten she was coming?
Maybe something terrible had happened to him. The person sitting next to Maisie on the plane was heading home to say goodbye to her mother, who’d had a massive stroke. Maybe Pops had suffered a massive stroke. He was old, after all. Fifty-six.
She pulled out her phone and called her grandfather. Straight to voicemail.
“Come on, Pops.” A little knot of worry was growing larger. It wasn’t like him to be late—or to ignore her messages. She bit her lip and strolled along, peeking into each shop, looking for any sign of his ranger hat.
Her gaze fell on a little bookstore with a hand-painted sign above the door: Foggy Pages.
Cute. Inside, shelves were packed to the rafters with books, and the smell of old paper and coffee drifted out.
A tiny bell tinkled as someone stepped out and shouted a “Hey!” She spun around, thinking it sounded like Frankie, longing to see the trademark smirk on his face, but it was just some guy calling out to someone across the street.
Maisie sighed and shook her head at herself, pulling out her phone to check for any notifications—still nothing.
Keep your cool on, she repeated to herself, the way Frankie said it.
She’d been working on her cool ever since she’d said goodbye to him, years ago, in Grand Teton National Park.
This summer, she was going to show Frankie just how cool she’d become.
Breezy, calm, aloof, radiating an air of mystery.
She’d even practiced a word diet. Fun fact—the average person used 16,000 words a day.
Maisie knew she might be a tiny bit over that average, so she allowed herself only 20,000 words a day.
No more endless talking about everything and nothing.
She glanced in a shop window and gave herself a smile, checking out her braces-free teeth. Not bad.
With a deep breath, she turned back to the harbor, watching the water recede and the bar to the island emerge.
Twice a day, people could walk or even drive the sand path to Bar Island.
And twice a day, someone would forget that the tide was turning and end up getting stuck on the island until the next low tide.
She’d read about that in the guidebook too.
She watched the boats come in and out of the harbor.
A huge cruise ship was anchored far in the distance, in deeper waters, but even from the land, it looked ginormous.
Crazy big! She turned and walked all the way back to the bus stop, checking her phone every minute or so.
Any minute, she told herself, Pops would text that he was looking for her.
And that’s what she wanted more than anything else.
Because as exciting as Bar Harbor was, and even Acadia National Park, there was one person she really, really, really wanted to see today.
Next to Pops, of course.
She plopped down on the bench at the bus stop, her legs swinging back and forth as she tried not to feel increasingly disappointed. Upset. The sun had disappeared behind clouds that looked dark and heavy, there was a chill in the air, and she could practically hear her stomach grumble in protest.
Maisie glanced up and down the street, her head swiveling like one of those bobblehead toys her mom kept on her dashboard. Where was Pops? He never forgot about her. Never. Mom forgot her a lot, but not Pops. He always kept his word.
Maybe the guidebook was right about cell service being terrible here—was he stuck somewhere without a signal? Was he hurt? Or . . . was he dead?
She tried to shake that worrisome thought away, tugging at her ponytail and squinting up the road. He’d show up. Of course, he would.
Text message conversation between Scout and her mother:
Scout
What’s the emergency?
Mother
I left you a voicemail. Did you listen to it?
Four. You left four voicemails. So what’s the big emergency?
I want you to come home for the 4th of July weekend.
That’s not an emergency.
Donna McComber’s son is going to be here. He just finished medical school.
Even less of an emergency.
Don’t be difficult. Someone can cover for you.
Not possible. July 4th is the busiest weekend of the year. Gotta go. And please remember that I can’t take calls during work hours.
But you’re always working!
I am my parents’ daughter.??