Chapter 1 #2
Her handmade baskets were legendary. Maddie had learned about them when Rex and his friend Francine showed up at Grandma’s cottage in July, wanting to buy one for a friend’s baby.
It turned out that for carting pies and cakes to potlucks, keeping knitting and embroidery essentials together, and even safely toting babies, Grandma Nancy’s handwoven Wampanoag baskets had been in demand for decades.
“Joe says nobody makes them like you do,” Rafe continued. “I saw some in your storage unit at the airport when I was here before. They’re so cool. And traditional, right?”
“Y-y-yes,” Grandma stammered, as if she’d suddenly become confused, an occasional occurrence. “But I never taught anyone how to make them. I-I-I don’t think I know how to do that.”
“Sure you do,” he said. “I’m a fast learner. Besides, somebody taught you, right? Was it your mother?”
She shook her head. “No. My grandmother Gladys. Gladys Nightingale.”
Spotted Fawn. Maddie remembered finding the names of their ancestors in an old family Bible. Spotted Fawn had been Nancy’s grandmother’s Wampanoag name—Maddie’s maternal great-great-grandmother, and Rafe’s great-great-great. Wow, she thought. How wonderful that Rafe wants to revive a tribal art.
“How about if we start over Christmas break?” he was asking. “I’ll be here a couple of weeks, so maybe you’ll have time to teach me then?”
Maddie didn’t ask what he thought Grandma did that could possibly keep her too busy to be with him.
Nor did she ask how he would spend the rest of his winter break beyond the “couple of weeks” he’d be there.
Chances were, Rafe’s father had booked what had become an annual New Year’s cruise-ship Caribbean vacation for him, his second wife, their twin daughters, and Rafe.
Owen didn’t know that his son hated the crowds, the ridiculous games (as Rafe called them), and the midnight buffets.
Or that Rafe mostly occupied himself by babysitting his now nine-year-old half sisters because, as he’d told Maddie, it was more fun.
Every year, he read Treasure Island to them, showed them magic tricks, and helped them master swimming, though the pool was jam-packed and the water too warm.
He also said he counted the hours until each cruise would be over.
Grandma lowered her voice and said, “I stopped making baskets because of my arthritis. I’m not sure I can do it anymore.”
“Maybe you can if we work together?” Rafe asked. “I bet there’s still a good market for them. And the project might help keep both of us out of trouble.”
Maddie stifled a giggle; Grandma, however, let out a big laugh, and, of course, would not say no to him.
So she spit out a string of questions about what size baskets he wanted to make, and if he’d like to use ash or hickory, wide planks or thin strips.
As they exchanged ideas, Grandma stuttered less and became more animated, and Maddie’s heart swelled with love for them both.
Then, as Maddie finished her breakfast, she spotted a figure outside passing by the window.
Rex. She quickly stood, then scooted out the front door and down the steps.
“Did I leave you enough?” she asked, prepared to apologize for having raided the last of his blueberry crop.
“Got plenty.” He tipped his pail to show a hefty mound of luscious-looking blue orbs. “I know where they hide.”
“Great. Well, happy cooking. Or baking. Whatever it entails.” She brushed back a runaway shock of her not-quite-shoulder-length hair, shoved her hands in the pockets of her jeans, and rocked back and forth a little. “And thanks again for picking up Rafe.”
“Happy to help. Like I said, I had to come up-island anyway.” He gestured to the pail again.
“Well, my son has asked Nancy to teach him how to weave her baskets. He feels like he fits in here, so thanks for all you’ve done to help make that happen. But I’ll be sure he doesn’t designate you as his personal chauffeur.”
“Ha ha. I don’t mind. And he does fit in, Maddie.
The same way you do.” The big man shifted onto one foot, and the other.
Then he paused and looked at the ground.
For a second, it seemed like he wanted to say something more.
But instead of speaking, he lifted his chin, gave her a nice smile, and walked away toting his berries.
He hopped in his truck and, as the ignition hummed, he raised his hand in a short wave.
Then he deftly backed out of the bumpy, narrow dirt driveway as if he owned the place. Which, of course, he did.
As Maddie watched him go, she wondered why she felt disappointed that he hadn’t said more. Trying to shrug it off, she fixed her eyes on her footing and climbed the few steps back onto the porch.
Which was where Grandma now stood at the screen door, hands on her hips.
“He left awfully fast,” she groused, speaking her piece, as Grandma liked to do.
Maddie tried to act unaffected. “The Lord James will be busy today.”
“Well, while you two were jabbering, Rafe and I decided we’ll take a poll at the potluck about which style of baskets we should make.”
“Great idea.” Maddie offered half a grin and hoped that cleaning up the kitchen would dissolve her frustration.
But as she maneuvered around her grandmother and went back inside, she saw Rafe standing at the sink, rinsing the dishes, and humming, so she refused to spend another second thinking about Rex.
After all, life was beautiful, and friends didn’t always need to know what was going on in each other’s head.
And Rex was, indeed, just a friend.
Which was good, because Maddie had too much going on in her life to have room for anything more.