Chapter 16
January–February
When Maddie was a little girl her favorite toy was her mother’s jack-in-the-box.
Maddie loved sitting cross-legged in the middle of her small bed in her room in Green Hills and winding the crank over and over.
“All around the mulberry bush”—her little shoulders tensing, tensing—“the monkey chased the weasel.” Then, as if hypnotized, she slowed the pace of the cranking, slower, slower, her anticipation building with the lyrics until “pop!”—the lid snapped open and Jack shot up—“goes the weasel!” And Maddie burst into peals of laughter.
Jack wasn’t a weasel after all, but a funny clown in a polka-dot shirt.
She’d thought of that toy many times since Rex’s accident, not the music or the verse or the laughter, but the way she’d been submerged in a dazed state.
She also pretended to pay attention to conversations around her and to the responsibilities of starting a new business.
But in truth, Maddie was lost in her own space, anticipating the next pop of surprise.
Her father came back to the Vineyard soon after Brandon called him. So did Rafe, who flew back from Barbados, where Owen and the stepfamily were cruising. Joe came to the cottage every day; after all, Grandma had always thought of Rex as one of her own, and Joe had come to feel that way, too.
Maddie’s relationship with Rex went unmentioned, though everyone’s support suggested they knew about it. It was, after all, tough to hide the fact that she was upset, worried, afraid for Rex and sad for herself—a casserole of emotions that only Rex, the chef, could have created.
Joe set up a space at his house for Grandma and Rafe to work on their baskets during the day, away from the commotion at the cottage—the bookshop planning discussions, the updates on the building renovations, the weeding through piles of construction and decorating samples.
And, of course, distanced from the stacks of books that would soon start to arrive.
For the time being, Stephen was keeping them in Hannah’s old bedroom—where, next to the bed he was using, he’d set up a small office for himself—so Maddie wouldn’t have to be faced with them yet.
At first, she hadn’t known if she should fly to California, if Rex would want her at his bedside.
But she hadn’t known if anyone would expect her to go, including him, if he wasn’t in a medically induced coma and had a say in the matter.
Then Kevin said Taylor was going. And that ended Maddie’s dilemma, because, fear of flying aside, Taylor was Rex’s next of kin.
Besides, Annie Sutton was there, however she fit into the mix.
All Maddie knew for certain was on the day they’d learned about the accident, she’d put on the wampum bracelet he’d given her and hadn’t removed it.
Like Kevin, Francine and her family returned to the Vineyard.
Maddie vaguely recalled that Francine stopped by one afternoon and said she was going to supervise Rex’s restaurant staff for the annual deep cleaning and touch-ups inside the Lord James, and to make sure all was shipshape for the reopening on Valentine’s Day weekend.
She said that Rex—in addition to wanting the place looking good—never wanted his workers to lose their paychecks, especially in winter.
Because Francine ran the Vineyard Inn and its food service on Chappy, she’d already passed the exam for the food handlers’ license needed to run a commercial kitchen, which would also allow her to step in and do that at the Lord James if needed.
Staying busy on Rex’s behalf seemed important to everyone.
Maddie, however, often woke up drenched in a sweaty, scared panic that she’d committed to opening a business she now struggled to care about.
She considered asking Grandma to sell one of the land parcels in Aquinnah in order to pay off the lease.
Once that was done, she could have her father take her home to Green Hills so she could climb into her familiar, comfortable bed—alone—the way she’d been most of her life.
For weeks, the only positive step she’d taken was to phone Dan Jarvis at the college, and leave a message saying she couldn’t teach this semester, and to please scrub her name from the roster for good.
No matter what happened—or didn’t—in the days and weeks ahead, she no longer cared about teaching, either.
People came and went from the cottage, some bringing meals and cookies or cakes, which Maddie mindlessly ate. Many of the kindhearted contributors hung out for a while and spoke in quiet voices as if someone had died, which no one had. As far as they knew.
On a not-too-cold last-week-of-January day, the day before Rafe had to go back to Amherst, Joe arranged for a Fireball ceremony, a traditional Wampanoag healing ritual.
He and Rafe rolled up bedsheets, encased them in chicken wire, then shaped them to look like soccer balls.
Next, they soaked the balls in kerosene.
A group gathered on the beach at dusk; they chanted and prayed and drummed a little, then Joe and Rafe lit the soccer ball shapes on fire and kicked them from one person to another.
The traditional belief was that when the participants came in contact with the flames, the pain they felt would help heal Rex, their brother not by origin, but a White man who had helped the tribe in many ways for many years.
Maddie participated because she did not want to say no.
Two surgeries and a godsend of meds later, Rex was inched out of the coma. Taylor reported that he now knew his name, and that he recognized her. But he didn’t seem to know what happened, where he was, or why Annie Sutton was there.
Another week passed, and another.
One cloudy afternoon, as Maddie was devouring half of the last slice of chocolate cake baked by neighbor Lisa, she was musing as to whether Rex would notice or care that her jeans had grown tight, thanks to bursts of sugar she’d come to depend on to give her body a quick charge and help take her mind off of him.
Then she wondered why, no matter how benign her thoughts were, they always seemed to wind up on Rex.
She was thinking about that when the back door opened; she figured it was Kevin with the latest news. He’d been calling Taylor every day and reporting upbeat updates to Maddie:
“He’s doing great.”
“He’s starting to talk.”
“He took three steps today.”
Each time, he added, “Rex survived, Maddie. And he’s not paralyzed.”
She had no way of knowing if all of it was true or simply words shared to boost her spirits and offer a spark of hope. Kevin wasn’t chocolate or sugar, but she appreciated his effort.
“Maddie?”
The voice wasn’t Kevin’s but her father’s. She shoved the second half of the chocolaty slice into her mouth.
“Kevin needs an okay on some improvements to the original layout before he takes the next step,” Stephen said.
It had been over a month since Rex’s accident, yet her father was still there, still watching out for her.
Glancing at the table, at the stack of papers he’d put there the night before, she remembered him saying he’d read a number of book reviews on summer releases that they could pre-order. He’d asked for her thoughts on them; she hadn’t done that yet.
“Let’s go see Kevin,” she answered. “Then I promise to check the reviews.” Maybe the sugar would have done its job by then.
Besides, right then walking down the hill seemed easier than reading—and trying to absorb any written words.
And maybe seeing the physical space would help reboot her enthusiasm again, even if she needed to pretend for her father’s sake and Kevin’s.
“You might want to change into your boots,” Stephen said. “There’s snow on the ground.”
She didn’t ask when it had snowed or how much there was. She simply bypassed her sneakers and laced up her boots. Then she went to the hall closet, put on her jacket, knit hat, and mittens, and followed him out the front door.
She wouldn’t have been surprised if a note was sticking out from under one of the steps—unless the sender feared it would get lost under what looked like an inch of snow. Or maybe he or she had lost interest in everything, too.
The changes to the bait and tackle shop were jaw-dropping.
Gone were the narrow aisles, the ancient coolers, and, most importantly, the acrid aroma of fish.
Unclogged from Arnie’s stinky bait and colorful tackle, the space seemed larger, brighter, more inviting.
The back wall was a window that showcased what would become the deck, its railing peeking out over the water.
A long counter was framed against a sidewall with lots of space to display extra merchandise like Grandma’s baskets, herbal teas, and whatever else might come their way.
On the other side of the room, Maddie spotted a staircase; she mentioned that she didn’t remember seeing it before.
“Pull-down stairs were there,” Kevin said. “They led to an attic.”
“An attic?” Her voice sounded weak, as if she hadn’t been using it much. Probably because she hadn’t.
Kevin shrugged. “It was more like a crawl space, but the town let me raise the roof three feet, which makes a huge difference.”
“It’s empty now,” her father contributed. “We thought you could use it to expand the retail area. Or maybe use half the space for retail, and half for storage and a small office.”
“But won’t running up and down the stairs to replenish stock be exhausting for customers?” she asked.
“Got it covered,” Kevin said. “We’ve made room for a small lift that’s being designed to also work for wheelchair patrons or other people who might have trouble using stairs.
Also, before you ask, I ordered a new HVAC system; it has a high-power dehumidifier that will mitigate dampness on both floors, because the books will need protecting from being practically on top of the water.
I put in the same system at the Lord James, and it works great. ”
They fell silent for a moment, as if the mention of Rex’s restaurant reminded them of where he was and why he wasn’t there, chatting, laughing, adding his two helpful cents.
Maddie broke the silence and climbed the steps to the upstairs space, which was as welcoming as the first floor.
Between new skylights set into a cathedral ceiling and full glass walls on the front and back, the reflection off the harbor created a sensation of being in a snow globe, with rays of sunlight whirling in the air instead of flecks of snow.
Once the finish work was done, the effect would be awesome.
“We also reinforced the flooring to accommodate the weight of books,” Kevin said. “I worked with the town engineer to determine the average weight of a dozen books, multiplied it by how many would comfortably fit in the room, then doubled it, and added the weight of a dozen well-fed customers.”
“Does the town have to approve it?”
“Already done,” Kevin replied.
She sighed. “How did you do this so … fast?”
“Pigheadedness,” Kevin said. “I got that from knowing Rex.” Now that his name had been said out loud, Maddie felt calmer.
It was true that Rex could be a pigheaded stickler about his work. So she laughed. It was the first time she’d laughed in weeks.
“But what do you think?” her father asked. “Do you like what we’ve done with the place?”
“It’s incredible,” she said, her voice now sounding almost real again. “I can’t believe you did all this while I was …”
“While you were getting organized,” her father said, and rested a hand on her shoulder.
She closed her eyes.
“Hey,” Kevin said, “let’s go back down, and I’ll show you something else.”
They moved toward the steps; Kevin kept talking while they made their descent.
“There was only room for one restroom,” he said, “but we found a way to make it private by putting it at the end of the hall past the showroom, the lift, and a small storage closet for miscellaneous things.”
“No offense, but I’m amazed that a man would have thought about privacy,” Maddie said.
“I’m also surprised that both of you plowed ahead with all this.
Did it ever occur to either of you that I might want to forget about doing this and leave the Vineyard?
” She tried to sound cheerful, not that it worked.
They were back on the main floor by then. Her dad looked at Kevin. Kevin looked at him.
“No,” Stephen said, “it did not occur to me that you’d change your mind.” He shook his head. “Not once.”
Which Maddie knew was his way of saying he’d be okay if she stayed there. Then it occurred to her that maybe the fallout from Rex’s accident wasn’t the only reason her brain and body had been rocking—maybe it was also a kind of menopausal mania. Or a combination of both.
“So,” Kevin said, his mischievous eyes dancing, “shall we talk about paint? Powder blue and pale green? Like the shades of sea glass we did in the new bedroom at the cottage?”
As their conversation continued, the haze slowly lifted, and Maddie felt herself begin to resurface at last.