Now she began to wonder about Martha’s Vineyard. What would it be like? What would the people be like? Suddenly she realized how much she wanted to fit in. But when she thought about her no-nonsense working wardrobe, she instantly knew it would never do. Why hadn’t she thought to get rid of that too? Hurrying to her bedroom, where most of her clothes were already packed in boxes or ready to go into her suitcase, she quickly began to cull through the pile. Finally, she took most of it and placed it by the door for the super to sort through and probably send on to charity. She didn’t really care where her dowdy old work suits wound up…as long as she never had to see them again.
And now, she told herself, it’s time to go shopping. When she landed in Martha’s Vineyard, she planned to hit the road running. She wanted to look like the manager of a successful, yet beachy, art gallery. As she rode the “L” into the city that day, she imagined herself in classic linens and other casual but stylish garments. Maybe even some dangly earrings, colorful scarves, and beaded necklaces. She would finally get to dress like a creative soul again—return to the person she once was, the person she hoped to be again…only she would do it better this time.
As she shopped, she knew it was a bit foolish to deplete her savings like this. But she remembered what her mother had promised—free rent, a salary, and a percentage of the gallery. What more could she want? Well, besides a bicycle. She planned to get a retro sort of bicycle when she got there. A fat-tired girl’s bike with a basket in front. She couldn’t wait to ride it around on the island. She would go to grocery stores and open air markets, filling the basket with fresh produce and other good things. Yes, her new life was going to be good. Very good. Perhaps in time she would get used to this strange feeling—what was it anyway? Anticipation? Optimism? Perhaps it was simply hope. Whatever it was, it was welcome. It had been a long time since she’d experienced any real sense of hope.
Chapter Four
As it turned out, the soonest flight Blake could get was on Thursday. But that would allow him some time to fix up Sicily’s room. He wanted everything to be perfect. For that reason, he had scoured the island, bringing home an odd assortment of things. Now he didn’t have the slightest clue what to do with all the stuff. Consequently, the small bedroom looked more cluttered and chaotic than charming.
“Hello the house?” called a woman’s voice.
Blake came out and peered through the screen door to see Vivian standing there with a brown paper bag.
“I brought you something,” she told him.
“Come in,” he said, opening the door.
“I got carried away at the farmers’ market.” She held out the bag sheepishly. “It probably has to do with having been in Nepal all those months. But when Louise saw how much produce I bought, she couldn’t stop laughing. Can you use some?”
He peered into the bag to see a colorful assortment of fruits and vegetables. “As a matter of fact, I can.” Then he told her of his plans to meet his nine-year-old daughter tomorrow. “She has a connection in Atlanta. I’ll meet her flight; then we’ll fly together to Logan. I made a ferry reservation, and we should be here in time for a late dinner. So it will be great to have this on hand.” He smiled. “Thank you.”
“Well, you must be quite busy then,” she said. “Don’t let me keep you.”
“Actually, I am. I’m desperately trying to get Sicily’s room ready.”
“Desperately?”
“Yes, But instead of making it better, I’m afraid I’m only making a mess of the whole thing,” he confessed.
Vivian looked curious. “How so?”
So he told her about buying some things. “I imagined putting it together to create a beachy sort of bedroom. The items I got looked good in the shops, but not so good here. I guess that’s why I always worked behind the camera and not in set design. Anyway, I think I need to go back to the drawing board.”
“Would you like any help?”
“Do you enjoy that sort of thing?”
She smiled. “I used to run several shops in the Bay area. Some people thought I had a knack for setting up interesting displays.”
“If you can spare the time, I’d love to get some advice.”
“I can definitely spare the time.” She laughed. “In fact, it’d be a relief not to have to go back to the house just now. Louise is unpacking, and I only get in her way. Our design styles are vastly different. She wants everything to be proper traditional, and I suppose I prefer shabby beach chic.”
“Shabby beach chic?” he said hopefully. “That sounds perfect.”
She looked pleased now. “Let me see what you have to work with.”
He led her back to the bedroom. Picking up a shell mobile, he held it up. “This looked like fun in the shop, but now I’m worried Sicily will think I’m decorating a baby’s room. Do you think nine is too old for something like this?”
She ran her fingers through the shells, making them clink together. “I don’t even think seventy is too old for this.” She started to go through the things he had piled on the bed, studying them and sorting them. Finally she looked at him. “Can you trust me with this?”
“Trust you?”
“To arrange this room for you?”
“You’d do that?”
“I’d love to do it.”
He grinned happily. “It’s all yours, Vivian. Knock yourself out. Well, not literally. But do what you like in here. You can’t possibly do any worse than I’ve been doing.”
Her eyebrows raised as she picked up a fabric sculpture mermaid that someone had talked him into purchasing. “This is interesting.”
“So, anyway, I’ll leave you to it.” He stepped back, eager to escape this impossible task. “Seeing that produce you brought over is a reminder that I still need to stock up some groceries and things. I don’t have too much around here that a kid would want to eat. I should probably get some DVDs too since I don’t have cable.”
She waved at him. “Be off then. I’ll happily amuse myself here.”
He thanked her and went into the kitchen, where he attempted to make a shopping list, then left. It took him a couple of hours to locate everything. But he was determined not to give up until he finally found some photo frames. The one thing he really wanted to do for Sicily’s room was to print out some photos he’d taken with her at the beach last Easter. She’d had on the sweetest pink and white gingham dress and a white straw hat. He knew the shots would look perfect, enlarged and framed and hanging on her walls.
When he got home, his front door was locked, so he assumed Vivian had either finished the task or, more likely, given up. After a couple of trips of unloading the car, he went to peek in the bedroom. But when he opened the door, he blinked in surprise. Was Vivian a magician? Because the room looked simply magical. Somehow she had taken his motley assortment of sea treasures and placed them perfectly. Shells and glass balls and sea animals and mermaids and even the ship in the bottle were artistically arranged in a way that was neither childish nor expected. Not only that, he knew just where he’d hang the enlarged photos once he got to that later tonight. The room would be perfect!
He wanted to run next door and give Vivian a big hug. But first he needed to put the milk and other perishables away. If he was going to succeed at being a full-time dad, it would probably help if his daughter didn’t perish from food poisoning on her first day here. But as soon as he closed the refrigerator, he headed off to thank Vivian.
“You are absolutely amazing,” he told her when he found Vivian out on their front porch repotting some geraniums into flower pots.
“Amazing?” She stood and smiled. “Now, am I?”
He hugged her. “Thank you so much for working your wonders in Sicily’s room.”
“Thank you for letting me.” She set down her spade. “I had such fun, Blake.” Now her smile faded ever so slightly. “You know, I never had a grandchild, and I suppose, if the truth be told, I was never much good at mothering either.”
“It would be my pleasure.”
“What’s this?” Louise said as she came out onto the porch. “Do I hear that Vivian is getting to play grandmother to your child, and I’m not even invited to the party?”
“I’m sure Sicily would love to have two grandmothers next door,” Blake assured her. “Sicily only has one—my wife’s mother—and that woman doesn’t particularly enjoy playing the grandma role.”
“So when does the little princess arrive?” Louise asked.
Blake explained the plan. Then Louise declared that he and Sicily would have to join them for dinner on Saturday. “We’ll have seafood and corn on the cob. It will be a welcome dinner,” she said. “And Janice will be here too.”
“Well, I don’t know,” he said slowly. He felt somewhat torn now. Partly because he wanted to keep Sicily to himself for the first few days and partly because he was curious to meet Janice.
“You must come,” Louise insisted. “I will not take no for an answer.”
Blake looked at Vivian for support.
“I think Blake needs to determine what’s best for his young daughter,” she said quietly. “It might be that she’ll need some time to adjust to her new surroundings before she’s thrust into any social settings.”
“Oh, Vivian.” Louise frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous. The child is only nine. How much adjusting does she need to do?”
“Everyone is different,” Vivian said simply.
“Come now.” Louise shook her head. “Why don’t you support me on this?”
“Because it’s Blake’s decision, and you shouldn’t—”
“We’ll come,” he said abruptly. The last thing he wanted was to instigate a family feud, especially when Vivian had been so helpful. “Sicily will probably enjoy meeting our neighbors.”
“See,” Louise said triumphantly.
Vivian shrugged and returned to her flowers.
“I really do appreciate what you did for Sicily’s room,” he said again. “I think Sicily will like it too.”
“Which reminds me, I need to finish up on Janice’s room,” Louise said. “She’s decided to take an early morning ferry tomorrow, to beat the traffic. She’ll be here before eight.”
So they all said good-bye and returned to their various tasks. Blake felt unexplainably happy as he returned to his house. He knew it was mostly due to Sicily’s impending arrival. But it was also partly due to having neighbors and feeling an odd sense of family with them. That was something he’d missed over the years. His parents had both died within a year of each other, shortly before his marriage had dissolved. For a long time he thought perhaps he was jinxed when it came to relationships in general. As a result, he had thrown himself wholeheartedly into his work, allowing it to devour his life. But now he suspected there was more for him. And he felt strangely hopeful.
Sicily wasn’t only sporting an adolescent attitude when he met her at the Atlanta terminal, she looked like a punk rocker had picked out her wardrobe. But the worst part was that someone, she wouldn’t even tell him who, had put a large purple streak into her otherwise golden hair. What was wrong with this world?
Blake tried not to show his disappointment in her appearance as he hugged her, lifting her high into the air like he used to do.
“Daddy,” she exclaimed in a scandalized tone, “put me down.”
“Oh, okay.” He nodded as he placed her black biker-style boots back onto the floor. “It’s just that I’m so glad to see you.”
“Duh.” She rolled her big blue eyes.
“So, how was your flight?” he asked as he reached for her carry-on, a black backpack with purple skulls that matched her hair.
“I can get that,” she told him as she tugged the backpack back, slinging one strap over her shoulder.
“Fine. Just trying to help, Sweet Pea.”
“Puleeze, do not call me that. It’s so juvenile.”
“Right.” He nodded, standing straighter. “So, do you want something to eat? I noticed a McDonald’s near our gate, or we could—”
“McDonald’s?” She made a disgusted face.
“You used to like Mc—”
“That was before I learned about things like fats and calories and carbs.” She spat out the words like she was describing arsenic, deadly nightshade, and hemlock. Then she started rattling off stats and numbers like an obsessed nutritionist.
“But you don’t need to worry about those things,” he assured her. “You’re not fat.”
“Oh, Dad.” She shook her head like he was hopeless.
Now he didn’t know what to say. “Low-fat yogurt then?”
Fortunately, she seemed all right with that. But it took her a long time to decide whether to go with chocolate or orange, and the line behind them was growing.
“Why not get some of both?” he suggested.
She looked at him like she was about to roll her eyes again. Instead, she just nodded. “Okay.”
He couldn’t believe how relieved it made him feel that he’d gotten at least one thing right. He’d been with her for less than ten minutes, and already he was walking on eggshells. What would a whole summer be like?
“Do you want anything to read?” he asked as they were finishing up their yogurts.
She pulled a small handheld video game contraption from her bag, holding it up. “No, I’ve got this to do.”
“All right then.” He’d never been terribly keen on these electronic babysitters and was disappointed to see her so absorbed by one now—hunched over, pushing the buttons. When had she given up reading?
Finally, their flight was boarding, so she temporarily shoved the game back into her pack. But no sooner was she on the plane than she got it out again, continuing to play until right before takeoff, when the attendant announced that electronic devices needed to be turned off. Sicily then simply stuck her ear buds into her ears, connecting the other end to her armrest and tuning in to one of the airline’s music selections. Some kind of thumping rap music from the sounds of it. And cranked up too loud as well.
Blake wasn’t sure if it was possible to damage one’s hearing from this sort of thing—it was what his own parents used to tell him when he’d listen to Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” too loudly as a teen. He hated to start sounding like his parents. Really, wasn’t he cooler than that? However, and as much as he hated to admit it, it appeared that Gia was right this time. Sicily truly was nine going on fifteen. It made him want to pull his hair out and scream.
Instead, he opened his paperback and pretended to be reading the latest Grisham novel. But out of one corner of his eye, he was studying his daughter, trying to figure out this stranger sitting next to him. He wanted to be a good father. He wanted to understand how his dear Sicily had been transformed from his adorable princess—Sweet Pea—into this obnoxious prepubescent punk rocker with the horrid purple streak in her hair. More than anything, he wanted someone to change her back. Please, change her back!
Chapter Five
Blake knew he should be grateful. Summer commuting was never easy, but despite a last-minute booking, and the usual oversold flights, the traveling part of the day was going smoothly. Other than a little turbulence over Virginia, the flight to Boston was uneventful. And Sicily’s bags were intact and already rolling around the baggage carousel when they got there. He found the Audi with no problems, and the drive to the ferry was peaceful and quiet…rather, it was stone silent.
Thanks to Sicily’s charger cord, which she promptly plugged into his car’s outlet since her battery pack had expired, she was, once again, hunched over and glued to that confounded video game contraption. Blake wanted to curse whoever had bought her that stupid electronic nonsense. Probably Gregory, trying to buy her affections. Blake knew that if he could come up with a believable way to accidentally dispose of that thing, he would most happily do so.
As he approached Woods H
ole to catch the ferry, he imagined standing with Sicily on the side of the boat. They would be looking out over the ocean—more likely, he would be looking out and she would be playing a silly game—and then, oops, he would accidentally bump her elbow and the whole works would tumble down into the waves below. Oh, he would be terribly, terribly sorry. He’d even promise to try to find her another one. But, alas, he would make certain that never happened.
Was he a bad father for imagining such things? Probably so. But desperate times called for desperate measures. And right now he felt like Daddy Desperate.
However, as fate would have it, Sicily didn’t want to stand outside of the boat. She said it was too windy and cold. Instead, she hunkered down in a plastic chair by the snack bar where a TV was blaring loudly, and, sipping on yet another diet soda, she continued to play her video game.
Grieving for lost innocence and sacrificed childhoods, Blake tried to read his book.
It was past eight by the time they made it to his house. So far today, as far as he knew, the only thing Sicily had consumed was the chocolate-orange yogurt, a bag of peanuts, and several diet sodas, which she liked to point out rated a big “Zero. No carbs, no fats, no calories.”
“How about I make us veggie omelets?” he offered after he showed her the house and finally her bedroom, which she had simply glanced at and shrugged indifferently as she tossed her bags onto the floor.
“Eggs?” she said, as if he really was trying to poison her. “Are you kidding?”
“No. Eggs happen to be a good source of protein and omega—”
“And fat!” She firmly shook her head. “No way am I eating an egg, Dad.”
He thought hard. “What if I make yours with only the egg whites? I heard the white is very low-fat.”
Her brow creased as if considering this. “What else would be in the omelet?”
Love Finds You in Martha's Vineyard Page 4
