Chapter Six
Six
As much as I loved my dad, I hated his taste in music. Here we were, three hours into our six-hour Sunday drive to Woods Hole, blasting Tool’s greatest hits. Rock-metal fusion wasn’t my carpool karaoke cup of tea, but he was in the zone and it was my fault for not charging my AirPods.
No one else had an issue with it. From the way back of our Ford Expedition, I leaned forward in my seat to see my siblings totally focused on their iPads.
Maisie was watching Encanto while Bryce played some LEGO game.
“Crap,” he’d mutter every now and again, but my dad had only reprimanded him once. Language, pal…
In the front, Erica had set up a mobile office.
Over the past several days, she’d been working overtime to have enough stored content to cover her imminent three-week hiatus.
“I hope you don’t plan on bringing your lights, camera, etcetera…
” I’d overheard a call with her mom last week.
Erica had her on speakerphone. “This month is all about being present, Erica.”
My stepmother was the youngest of the three Carmichael kids and most definitely a “surprise.” Her sister Beth was eighteen years older than her and next came her brother Jay.
His age was hazy. She also had several adult nieces and nephews who she didn’t see much, but as far as I knew, she never missed a birthday card.
At the thought of a big group, my stomach squirmed a little; Maisie, Bryce, and I were Annie’s only grandchildren, and I rarely saw my two cousins on my mom’s side of the family. They lived abroad in Hong Kong.
Would the Carmichaels want to get to know me? I’d only met them a handful of times and it’d been small-talk city.
To distract myself, I unzipped my backpack and pulled out a folder containing Annie’s Polaroids and paintings. I shuffled through the stack for the shot of her standing in front of the John Deere tractor. It was my favorite; she looked so happy, so carefree, so beautiful.
Why did she go? I asked myself for the hundredth time. Who was with her?
It had crossed my mind to bring the pictures to Elkins and ask, but part of me worried Annie would spiral and accuse me of stealing her stuff.
I didn’t want to risk returning her memories, only for her to later rip them up and throw them out, as if they were nothing more than a promotion for a new credit card.
Plus, her words kept swirling through my mind. Martha’s Vineyard is a magical place… Go fall under its spell… If not for yourself, dearest, then for me.
Now, in a startling twist of fate, I could not wait to reach Martha’s Vineyard.
I was excited, because I had a mission. I was going to let Annie’s Polaroids lead me around the island and take pictures of myself at all the sights she’d visited.
Then I was going to make a memory book with our photos side by side.
Even if she didn’t recognize her younger self, I knew she would love it.
But maybe she will recognize everything, I couldn’t help but hope as I admired an intricate watercolor of a white lighthouse.
I wondered if Annie had painted it herself.
Her father had been an amateur artist, but the most artistic I’d ever seen my grandmother was helping Maisie work through a paint-by-numbers kit or assisting Bryce with a Lupo family–themed cartoon strip for school.
Her caricatures of us had been pretty accurate…
After finishing my packing late last night, Google had helped me discover the inspirations for the rest of Annie’s hidden artwork. Then I’d made a list.
Aquinnah Cliffs (Aquinnah)
Old Whaling Church (Edgartown)
Flying Horses Carousel (Oak Bluffs)
Grange Hall (West Tisbury)
Dike Bridge (Chappaquiddick)
Ocean Park Gazebo (Oak Bluffs)
Menemsha fishing village (Chilmark)
White lighthouse (Edgartown? East Chop?)
While I couldn’t tell exactly which lighthouse the watercolor was—Edgartown’s and East Chop’s were practically identical—only one location was still a true mystery.
Tractor Polaroid (???)
Hmm, I mused and straightened up in my seat, determined. I was going to piece this story together one way or another.
* * *
Lo and behold, my dad turned down Pearl Jam (still not my jam, but at least he’d tired of Tool) when we finally made it to Woods Hole, home of the Steamship Authority!
“Holy crap,” I said to no one in particular, unbuckling my seat belt so I could move up front, near the center console.
I wanted a better view; this place was bustling like a busy airport. “Are they going to give us a map?”
There were people everywhere, a blend of preppy Lilly Pulitzer and Vineyard Vines meets granola T-shirts and Birkenstocks, and cars upon cars were parked in numbered lanes facing the harbor.
It looked like they were waiting in line to willingly drive into the ocean.
Jeep Wranglers, Suburbans, Range Rovers, Subarus, and even an eighteen-wheeler Stop he’d said no.)
My dad chuckled. “No,” he said, “for turning a corner and being so upbeat about this trip.” He put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “I really appreciate it, and so does Erica.”
“Well, of course.” I smiled. “Annie told me the Vineyard’s magical, and she would know, so…” I shrugged.
“Mmm.” He nodded. “I still can’t remember for the life of me when she would’ve come here.” He considered, but before I could mention the Polaroids, he wrapped me in a hug. He smelled like Irish Spring soap and cold brew coffee. “I know you’re going to miss her.”
So much, I thought, but I reminded myself it’d be okay. My plan was to call her every couple of days. She didn’t often pick up the phone anymore, but I’d spoken to the Finlay House nurses to schedule a standing call.
“I love you, Liv,” my dad whispered.
“I love you too,” I whispered back. “You’re the best dad ever.”
“I’m your only dad.”
“Well, even if I had two dads, or three à la Mamma Mia…” I broke away to give him a dazzling grin. “You’d still be the best.”
He smiled back, then nodded at the restaurant. “Fish-and-chips?”
“Fuck fish-and-chips,” I said. “We’re in New England; I’m getting New England clam chowder!”
* * *
We barely made it back to the car before it was our turn to drive onto the ferry. There was no sunshine to be found in its dimmed belly. “I am taking a nap,” Erica announced once my dad put the car in park. “There’s nothing better than a forty-five-minute Steamship Authority snooze…”
I was tempted to follow her lead, but when I noticed all the people disappearing into the nearby stairwell, I knew the upper deck really must be the best way to experience the ride. Grabbing Swede’s leash, I looked at my siblings and said, “Let’s go!”
The harbor breeze hit us as soon as we reached the top of the stairs, blowing my hair into my face and mouth; I felt like an idiot as I tried to smooth it back into place.
Rows of metal seats were bolted to the deck, and I let Swede take the reins; he led the twins and me to the very front of the of the boat so he could introduce himself to a small Jack Russell Terrier.
“Is your dog friendly?” I asked the owners, a middle-aged couple.
“Very!” the woman replied, and thus we let the dogs start enthusiastically smelling each other. “Although Loki doesn’t like having his butt sniffed.”
“I’ll make sure Swede stays away,” Bryce said as I scanned the horizon. The blue-green water glimmered in the sunshine, buoys bobbed along, and I squinted at the houses scattered along the coast.
“Have you been to the Vineyard before?” Loki’s owners asked.
“Bryce and I have,” Maisie answered. “It’s Olivia’s first time.”
The couple smiled before lovingly looking at each other, as if remembering their first visit. “Where are you—” the man started to ask, but the ferry horn sounding cut him off.
It blared so loudly that my sister grabbed my hand and I nearly jolted out of my skin.
And then off to sea we went, with hammering hearts.