by Grace Palmer
Michelle spun around and took stock of the situation all at once. She eyed the suitcase and Jill and then doubled back to the suitcase for good measure before she finally nodded. “That makes sense. You have a life back home.”
When they’d first met, Jill thought Michelle was so much like Grayson. In the days they’d spent together, though, Jill realized how warm and sensitive Michelle could be. The cold, unfeeling façade was reserved for moments she felt vulnerable or uncertain. Michelle wore it like a suit of armor rather than a badge of honor the way Grayson did. It was purely defensive.
And right now, it was flattering. Because on some level, it meant Michelle wanted Jill to stay. It meant she was sad to see her go.
Jill blinked through the tumult of emotion. “The nurse I hired for my mom can’t watch her anymore, so I have to get back to take care of her. I want to stay, but—”
“I get it. We get it,” Michelle said. “You’ve already helped out so much. We wouldn’t be doing this without you.”
“Which is why I feel bad leaving.” She glanced around the room. It looked worse than it had a few days earlier, though she knew that was part of the process. Things had to fall apart before they could come together.
“Leaving?” Jill turned and saw Leslie standing in the kitchen doorway. “Are you going?”
Jill relayed the story again, trying to make it clear she didn’t want to leave. That she wanted to stay and help them renovate. She wanted to know what had happened between Leslie and Michelle to make things so tense between them, and she wanted to try to make sure it never happened again.
Jill wanted these two women in her life and she wanted to be in theirs. But she couldn’t say any of that.
It was too soon. Too much.
They were all dealing with a lot at the moment, and Jill’s wishes were selfish.
Michelle needed to focus on her family and her daughters and her husband’s upcoming trial. Leslie needed to focus on the restaurant and the menu and keeping her dad’s inn open.
It just stunk all around. If life had taught Jill anything, it was that what she wanted to do rarely matched up with what she needed to do.
“I have your number in my cell now and we’ll talk,” Leslie assured Jill as they hugged. “Maybe I’ll even make it up to New York at some point. You can show me around.”
Michelle echoed the same sentiment when she dropped Jill off at Vineyard Haven Terminal. “I’m glad we met. We’ll make sure to keep you and your brother updated on the inn’s progress. And like I said before, we won’t come after you for money. Whatever happens with the inn, happens.”
Jill shrugged. “Even if you do need money, call me. I want to help.”
Michelle smiled. “You better get your ticket and get out of here or you’ll be stuck waiting another hour.”
She waved to Jill from the parking lot. By the time Jill bought her ticket and went back to the window, Michelle’s car was gone.
Fifteen minutes later, so was Jill.
Schenectady, New York
Jill didn’t even bother going to her apartment first. After the ferry ride and the long drive, she felt greasy and dehydrated and in desperate need of a shower, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to truly relax until she saw her mom.
She parked out front of her mother’s building, then trudged in and up. When she unlocked the door and stepped inside, she could hear a Perry Mason episode playing on the television.
“Hey, Mom. It’s me,” Jill yelled. Sometimes, her mom hardly noticed the door opening. Other times, she’d be seconds away from calling the police or pepper-spraying her own daughter.
“Where have you been, dear?” her mom called from the living room. Jill could hear the springs of her rocking chair as she leaned forward to see into the entryway. “I haven’t seen you or Grayson all day.”
Until now, Jill had been clinging to the hope that her mom was having a good day. Apparently not.
“Sorry,” she said. She wrapped an arm around her mom’s shoulders and kissed her head. “I was out, but it’s good to see you. Have you eaten yet?”
She walked into the kitchen and could see the remnants of her mom’s meal delivery service sitting next to the sink. A half-eaten piece of lasagna, green beans, and the crumbs of a brownie.
“Not yet. I was waiting for you.”
Jill opened the fridge. Brenda had stocked it with fruits and vegetables she’d pre-washed and cut, cheese sticks, and yogurt cups. All of her mom’s favorites. Jill grabbed a handful of strawberries and a cheese stick and walked into the living room.
Her stomach rumbled. This wasn’t anything like what Leslie was probably making for dinner.
“Did you and Brenda get along?”
Her mom frowned. “Who?”
“Never mind. How’s Perry Mason doing?” she asked instead. She didn’t want to get in an argument so soon after coming back.
“Oh, I’m not sure. This is a new episode and I don’t think I’m following it very well.”
Jill watched the screen for a minute and recognized the episode. It was the same one that had been on the television the last time she’d seen her mom. She watched it once every few days.
Going to Martha’s Vineyard had made Jill realize how small her life was. How much she’d given up. Now, sitting in her mom’s living room, she realized she’d done the same thing to her mom.
They were hermits, both of them. Shutting themselves inside, watching reruns on television, eating the same few meals night after night after night. And hardly seeing anyone aside from each other.
“What do you think about taking a vacation, Mom?” Jill asked.
Amelia wrinkled her nose. “I’m too old for that.”
“For exploring something new? You’re never too old for that.”
“I don’t want to.” She shook her head. “Plus, you and Grayson have school. And we don’t have the money.”
She was right about one thing: they certainly didn’t have the money for a full-blown vacation. The travel, lodging, and food would wipe out the little savings they had in no time. But Jill still had vacation days to burn and sick days saved up she’d never used. And she knew a place where food and boarding were free.
“Have you ever been to Martha’s Vineyard, mom?”
Jill didn’t expect much in response. With Alzheimer’s, she’d learned to keep her expectations low. That way, she wouldn’t be disappointed.
But she certainly hadn’t expected her mom’s expression to soften. She’d never expected her to sit tall and turn to Jill with clear brown eyes and say, “I used to live there. It’s a beautiful place. I’ve always wanted to show you kids, but… well, life gets in the way. You’d love it, though.”
“Then let’s go,” Jill smiled. “You and me. Let’s go right now.”
“Jilly, we can’t do that.” Her mom was still smiling, but her brow was furrowed. She shook her head. “It’s crazy. We can’t.”
“Of course we can!” Jill jumped up and turned off the TV. She knelt down in front of her mom’s chair and grabbed her hands. “We can go anywhere you want to go, Mom. Let’s take a trip. The two of us. We can go to Martha’s Vineyard and explore.”
“I could show you all my favorite spots,” her mother said dreamily. “I haven’t been there since before you and Grayson were born. My, how time flies!”
“Then it’s decided. We’re going.” Jill pulled her mom to her feet before she realized she still needed to pack. And cancel her meal service. And request more time off of work. And, and, and…
She lowered her mom back into her chair. “You sit tight right here and I’ll pack, okay?”
Her mom was still smiling. “I’ve always missed that place. The beaches are something out of this world...”
The few days Jill had spent on Martha’s Vineyard had changed her for the better. Now, she hoped—something she rarely allowed herself to do—that it would do the same for her mom.
17
Jill
Arrival Back On Ma
rtha’s Vineyard
After some very frantic hours of packing, planning, and organizing, Jill was standing on the front porch of the Wayfarer Inn with her mom next to her. It was well worth the effort.
Jill had hoped her mom would recognize the inn at first sight, but the pleasant smile she’d been wearing since they stepped foot on the ferry remained unchanged. No jolts of recognition. No miraculous flood of recovered memories.
Maybe that was for the best. Amelia had history here—a secret history, at that. A story tucked away behind the walls of the inn. Jill wasn’t sure whether or not it would be good to pry it loose.
Jill knocked on the door and stood back, one eye fixed on the “Temporarily Closed” sign that hung in the front window.
She could have called and given Michelle and Leslie some advance notice, but part of her felt like that would be jinxing this whole escapade. As if speaking her hopes out loud would ruin them. “Mom’s gonna come back and everything will be cured and I’ll find out all the things she’s spent a lifetime keeping from me”—that was the thought running rampant through Jill’s head. Voicing it was dangerous.
After all, maybe Michelle and Leslie wouldn’t want to meet Jill’s mom. Maybe they’d tell her she wasn’t welcome. That the last few days of working together and bonding had been an isolated incident, not to be repeated.
As soon as the door opened, however, Jill knew that had all been in her head.
Leslie gasped and stumbled back a few steps before she launched herself forward and wrapped her arms around Jill’s neck. “You’re back! You’re really back! Why didn’t you tell us you were coming back?” she squealed. “I can’t believe it. Am I dreaming?”
“Sorry,” Jill laughed. “It all happened really fast. We just decided last night.”
“We?” Leslie pulled back, frowning. Then her eyes slipped over to where Amelia Ruthers was standing on the porch.
Jill’s mom was short—even shorter now, thanks to stubborn old gravity—and petite enough that she’d managed to escape Leslie’s notice at first.
“I probably should have checked to make sure it was okay,” Jill started. “In fact, I definitely should have. But this is—”
“Your mom!” Leslie finished. She surged across the porch and swept the woman up in a hug. “Lovely to meet you, Miss Ruthers. Jill has told us so much about you.”
“She hasn’t told me a thing about you,” Amelia retorted with a roguish wink. “Who are you?”
“Oh? I’m—”
“The owner of the Wayfarer Inn,” Jill butted in.
She didn’t want to overwhelm her mom. Not yet—one thing at a time until she could figure out how to untie this whole knotted-up ordeal. In her mother’s condition, the wrong shock could be dangerous.
“Or one of them, at least. Where is Michelle?”
Leslie opened her mouth to answer, but she was cut off by a high-pitched squeal. And then another set of arms were wrapped around Jill’s neck. “You came back! Why? How? When?”
Jill grinned and patted Michelle’s back. “The thought of you trying to flip that furniture we bought the other day without me was terrifying. For the sake of the inn, I had to come back.”
“Har de har har,” Michelle scoffed, rolling her eyes. But she couldn’t even pretend to wipe the smile from her face. “Truly, I’m relieved. I started sanding down one of the end tables last night and nearly took a layer of skin off my hand.”
“And she brought her mom, too,” Leslie nudged. “Amelia, this is my sister, Michelle. Michelle, this is Amelia.”
Everyone hugged and smiled and Jill felt another ounce of pressure ease up off her shoulders.
Then Leslie grabbed Amelia’s hand and led her into the inn. “Watch your step,” she urged. “Michelle will get your bags, but why don’t I get you something to eat and drink? I’m sure you’re tired from a big day of travel.”
“You’re a sweetheart,” Amelia murmured. “A cup of tea would be delightful.”
“And I hope you both like chicken pot pie, because that’s what we were having for dinner.”
“Oh, that’s quite alright, honey. We wouldn’t want to impose,” Amelia said.
Leslie waved her concern away. “I made more than enough.”
Amelia looked over her shoulder at Jill, eyebrows raised in excitement. “Well, in that case, who doesn’t like chicken pot pie? We’d love some.”
It was too cold to eat dinner on the porch, but Jill helped Leslie and Michelle carry plates from the kitchen to the dining room where Amelia was sitting at a table near the large front window. She seemed transfixed by the view of the water, getting lost in it every time she glanced at the horizon. Jill had to remind her more than once to eat her food.
“Chicken pot pie was one of my favorites growing up,” Jill explained. “On my birthday, Mom would make it for dinner and carve ‘Happy B-Day’ into the top crust.”
Leslie shrunk down into her rising shoulders. “If I’d known that, I would have prepared something else.”
“What? Why?”
“It always tastes better made by a parent,” Leslie explained. “My dad used to make us ‘worms and dirt.’ It was just crushed Oreos and cream cheese and sugar with gummy worms mixed in, but we went crazy for it. I tried making it myself once and it was just sugary goop.”
Michelle nodded. “I made it for the girls a few times and they loved it, but I never thought it tasted quite the same.”
“It was the love that made it taste so good,” Amelia said with a smile. Then she turned to Leslie. “Does your father live on the island as well, or…?”
Leslie glanced nervously at Jill before she composed herself. “Oh, um… Yes. Or I mean, no, I’m afraid not. He recently passed.”
“Oh, dear, I’m so sorry.” She reached over and wrapped Leslie’s hand up in both of hers.
Jill thought she noticed a sudden glassiness in Leslie’s eyes, but it was gone before she could be sure. Leslie squeezed Amelia’s hands back and smiled. “Thank you very much,” she said. “That means more than you know.”
Her mom offered up a sympathetic smile and a nod. The reaction everyone reserved for sad news held at a distance. When it didn’t really affect them.
The conversation moved on, but Jill couldn’t help but wonder what her mom’s real reaction would be if she could remember. If she understood who she was talking about.
Wondering would have to be good enough. Because at this rate, Jill would never know.
Dinner passed slowly and pleasantly. Amelia settled into her spot, still staring out at the shifting tides, while Jill, Michelle, and Leslie talked about what to do next with the in..
“…I think we can do it ourselves,” Leslie was saying, leaning back in the chair, her dinner plate empty in front of her. “We don’t need to hire a contractor. It would cost too much and—”
“That mermaid sink has got to go. No debate.” Michelle pressed her palm firmly into the table. “I don’t care who we have to call or how much we have to pay.”
“What about—oh, goodness, what was his name? Shane! Shane, the police officer,” Jill suggested. “He said he’d help. Why don’t we get him over here?”
Leslie shook her head. “Oh, no, I’m sure he’s busy. I don’t want to bother him. We can figure it out—”
“I always loved this view,” Amelia said suddenly. Her eyes were fixed out the window. “From the first time I set foot here.”
Jill’s jaw nearly dropped. Before she could formulate a response, her mom stood up from the table and walked out the front door.
The three women were frozen and speechless, watching as Amelia walked across the wooden front porch to the railing. She gripped the flaking wood with both hands and stared out over the water.
“Should we go out there with her?” Leslie murmured.
Jill blinked. “I guess so.”
She grabbed a thick blanket from one of the sofas in the sitting room and carried it out with her. “Do you want a blanket,
Mom?” she asked as she stepped outside. “It’s cold out here.”
Amelia shrugged and let Jill wrap the blanket around her shoulders. Then she sank into one of the rocking chairs closest to the railing and sighed. “I didn’t think I’d ever see this place again.”
Michelle and Leslie had emerged onto the porch, too, but they were standing back. Without Jill having to say anything, they seemed to inherently understand this moment was fragile.
Whenever her mom latched onto a memory, Jill always felt like she was tiptoeing out onto thin ice. Any wrong move, even the slightest shift in weight, could shatter the memory for good.
“The ocean?” Jill asked.
Her mom nodded. “This ocean. The way it looks from this particular front porch.”
“You’ve been here before?”
“Been here?” she asked, a coy smile on her lips. “Why, I used to live here!”
It felt like the air had been sucked out of Jill’s lungs. Her body stiffened and she didn’t dare breathe.
“Who did you live here with?” Jill asked. “Was it my dad?”
Amelia leaned back in her chair, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “He wasn’t your dad back then. He was my boyfriend. Or my fiancé, I suppose.”
Jill looked back at where Michelle and Leslie were standing. They’d both stepped closer and she could tell they were just as tuned in as she was. This was a history none of them knew. A story they’d never know unless Jill’s mom told them.
“You were engaged to Warren?”
“For a time,” she said. “I came to Martha’s Vineyard to work for a summer. My friend’s family owned a restaurant and they needed seasonal help. Then, one day, Warren Townsend walked in. I was his waitress.”
Amelia’s eyes were gazing into the middle distance—cutting across decades to a time long before any of the Townsend girls were so much as a twinkle in their father’s eye.
“He was tall and handsome and he had the shaggy haircut I used to like back then, though goodness knows why.” She smiled at the thought. “He came in every day for a week to ask me out before I finally agreed. And then we were inseparable.”
