Love Finds You in Martha's Vineyard

by Melody Carlson

  But she and Janice had never really hit it off as children. Maybe it had been related to their mothers, who were different as night and day, or maybe it was the girls’ own unique personalities. Despite only being a year apart in age and sometimes thrust together at family events, the two girls never connected the way some cousins do. Janice had always been a little high-maintenance or, perhaps, simply goal-driven. When they were young, Janice was somewhat demanding, extremely competitive, and a little bossy, whereas Waverly had always been the dreamer, the artist, the girl who enjoyed silence, solitude, and a sketchpad. Sometimes Janice had even called her “boring.” But Waverly hadn’t minded. She’d preferred being labeled as dull rather than keep pace with Janice.

  Of course, that was a lot of years ago. Hopefully they’d both grown up since then. But in case they hadn’t, Waverly was determined to keep a healthy amount of space between them. Not having a car made her even more determined to stay close to town. No way did she want to be stuck out at a beach house, no matter how delightful, with her yammering cousin and no means of transportation to escape. Although Waverly did plan to go bike shopping as soon as she got settled. She’d even searched the Internet, locating several bike shops around the island.

  Waverly felt a fresh surge of happiness as she sighted the island ahead. She felt almost giddy. Like she was going to a different country, a different life…a new beginning, doing something she truly wanted to do. The idea of operating an art gallery—in Martha’s Vineyard—well, it was a dream come true! And each time she’d shared this tidbit with people during the past week and during her trip, she’d seen the interest and admiration in their eyes. Some of them even got a wistful look, as if they wished they could trade places with her.

  For the first time in such a long time, Waverly felt as if her life was finally and truly blessed. As the ferry pulled into the dock, she whispered a prayer of thanksgiving. After these past few years of darkness and drought, God was finally shining His goodness down on her.

  Knowing she’d be riding on a plane, bus, and ferry boat, Waverly had purposely chosen to travel light today. Just a carry-on that piggybacked on the same midsized roller bag she’d used for the Yucatan trip. The rest of her things would be here by Friday. She gathered these things and followed a few other passengers, who appeared to know where they were going, and disembarked from the boat. She was here at last—in Martha’s Vineyard!

  The parking lot was busy with cars and trucks loading and unloading, as well as a number of cars waiting to pick up passengers. She hadn’t thought to ask Vivian what make or color of vehicle to look for, but it was so nice out that many of the cars had their windows down. But the more Waverly looked for her mother, the more she realized that Vivian had forgotten. Really, that wasn’t surprising. Waverly had a long history of her mother forgetting things. Sometimes small things, like where she’d last placed her car keys when Waverly had been late for an art lesson, and sometimes big things, like the time and place of Waverly’s wedding. She had arrived eventually, but because the church had more than one wedding that day, they had been unable to wait. However, she was very much present during the reception.

  “Waverly!”

  Waverly turned to see a red BMW coming toward her. And there was her mother, waving frantically with her head stuck out the window, orange scarf blowing in the breeze, and a big smile.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Vivian said as she pulled up.

  “That’s all right.” Waverly opened the door, then wondered where to put her suitcase in the small car.

  “I think there’s a trunk,” Vivian said as she looked around the controls.

  “You think?”

  Vivian laughed. “This is Janice’s car. She let me drive it. Isn’t it cute?”

  Before she could answer, the trunk popped open and Waverly hurried back to put her bags in it, then back around just as a delivery truck behind them honked. “I’m going as fast as I can,” Waverly called as she jumped into the car.

  “He’s probably trying to get onto the ferry,” Vivian said as she pulled out. “I think I was in the wrong line. I’m still trying to figure this ferry thing out. Lou has it down, but I haven’t been driving much.”

  “Do you have a car here?”

  “Just one that we share.” She turned, beaming at Waverly, as she waited for the stoplight. “You look beautiful, darling. How was your trip?”

  “Wonderful. I loved the ferry. I’m so excited to be here, Vivian. Thank you so much for asking me…and paying for me to come.”

  The light changed, and Vivian pulled out. “I’m so glad you could come. And, don’t fool yourself, we really need you.” She shook her head. “I still don’t know what your aunt was thinking, talking me into investing in The Gallery like she did. Certainly it was a great deal, good investment, but why she thought we could actually run something like that….”

  “Well, that’s why I’m here. Is there any art in it at all?”

  “Art?” Vivian glanced curiously at Waverly. “I don’t know.” Just then a Range Rover darted in front of them, and Vivian stomped on the brakes. “This traffic! It gets worse every week. Lou and I got here before Memorial Day, and everything was moving a lot slower then.”

  “I hear the summertime crowd is really something.” Waverly held onto the dashboard as Vivian jerked her way through the crowded street.

  “But that’s what keeps everyone in business,” Vivian said. “So I guess we can’t complain.”

  Waverly smiled. “I’m not complaining. Not a bit.”

  “Good.” Vivian pointed to a side street, or maybe it was an alley, ahead. “This is where you turn to get into the back parking lot. It’s kind of tight, but there’s room to park one car back there. As you can imagine, parking is at a premium around here.”

  “I plan to get a bike.”

  “Smart.” Vivian pulled up behind a wooden building and turned off the car engine. “Well, here we are. Home sweet home.”

  It wasn’t impressive, but then Waverly reminded herself, this was the back of the building. What did she expect?

  “It’s kind of on the edge of the busy part of town,” Vivian explained as they got out. “That’s probably one reason it was such a good deal. That and because no else showed interest in running a business like this.”

  “Really?” This surprised Waverly. “I’d think a gallery would be quite popular in this town.”

  Vivian laughed. “Yes, a normal gallery would be.” Now she was fiddling with some keys as if searching for the right one. “I think we’ll have to go around front,” she finally said. “I don’t have the other key.”

  “That’s fine.”

  Vivian pointed to some rather rickety-looking wooden stairs. “But in the future, you can enter the apartment from back here if you like. There’s a backdoor at the top of those stairs. It’s more private.”

  Waverly looked up to the shadowy structure above her. “Is that where the terrace is?”

  “Yes.” Vivian headed toward a narrow walkway that ran along one side of the big brown building. “Come along, and we’ll go in the front door. I can give you the full nickel tour.”

  Waverly followed her mother around the corner. The building was situated just off of Main Street, but the traffic passing by looked as busy as the rest of town.

  Vivian stopped and held both hands up, as if to point out something. “And here we are—The Gallery.”

  Waverly looked up to see a rather flashy sign with lights and big yellow and red letters that said THE GALLERY. “So that’s the name? The Gallery?”

  Vivian looked confused. “Yes, of course, that’s what I told you.”

  Waverly forced a smile. “Right. I guess that makes sense. An art gallery called The Gallery. It’s kind of quaint, and I suppose—”

  “Did you say an art gallery?” Vivian’s brows creased together.

  Waverly nodded. “Yes. It’s an art gallery…right?”

  With wide eyes, Vivian slowly shook her
head. “Wrong.”

  Waverly was having one of those moments now…kind of like slow motion, like the way it might feel to be in a car wreck, watching your vehicle tumbling over or leaving the road, or your life flashing before your eyes, or a dream going up in smoke. “Wh–what? What are you saying?”

  “This is not an art gallery.” Her mother spoke the words slowly, concisely, as if concerned that Waverly didn’t understand English. “This is a video arcade. You know, for kids to hang out and play games. It’s called The Gallery.” She blinked. “Did you honestly think this place was an art gallery? As in we’d be selling paintings and sculptures and such?”

  Waverly was speechless. Utterly speechless.

  Now Vivian began to giggle. “Oh, darling, that’s too precious.”

  “It’s…not…an art gallery?”

  “No, it’s a video arcade. Complete with all the bells and whistles and machines. I’ve been told that some of them are collectable. And there are also a few antique pinball machines and some other old-style arcade games. Apparently it’s been here for close to seventy years, if you can believe it.”

  “Are you serious?” Waverly bent forward, cupping her hands to peer into the front window now. Sure enough, the space was filled with hideous-looking machines. Like a bad sort of carnival—or a cruel joke.

  Vivian was laughing loudly now. “Did you honestly think it was an art gallery, honey?”

  Waverly was torn between wanting to sob and scream. Instead, she simply stood there, trying to absorb what was happening. She had given up her job, her apartment, even her work wardrobe…she had burnt her bridges…for this?

  “You look like you’re in shock.” Vivian put a hand on her shoulder. “Maybe you can’t see the humor in this yet. But I know you will…eventually.” She gently tugged Waverly toward the door now. “Come on in. I’ll show you around.”

  Suddenly they were inside what was most definitely a video arcade. Machines were banging and dinging and buzzing and making all kinds of loud, obnoxious noises—the kinds of sounds that reminded Waverly of a headache. A big, bad, blaring headache.

  “That’s Rosie.” Vivian pointed to a brown-haired girl. “She’s helping us for now, but she has to move back to the mainland by the end of the month.”

  Waverly said nothing as her mother led her down row after row of obnoxious, loud, flashing, blaring, repulsive machines. Hot tears burned behind her eyes; her head really was starting to throb now. Waverly had never liked these kinds of places as a child, and she liked them even less as an adult. What could her mother have been thinking to ask her to come and manage —this?

  “This is the other way to get to your apartment,” Vivian said in a calm voice as she led Waverly into a dim hallway. “I told Lou we might want to put another door here. Maybe with a lock, although everyone says no one locks doors in this town. But that would give you more privacy. I’ve noticed that kids sometimes wander up this stairway. It might be aggravating to have them knocking at your door.” She chattered on obliviously until they reached the top of the stairs, where she slipped a key into the deadbolt, opening the wooden door wide. “Ta-da,” she announced. “Isn’t it great?”

  Waverly swallowed hard against the lump growing in her throat and gazed blankly around the dull, dusty space. There, in the center of the room, as promised, were several pieces of homely furniture. A brown-and-tan-plaid sofa, mismatched end tables, an ugly gold recliner, and a dresser. Home sweet home.

  “Oh, darling.” Vivian’s voice oozed with sympathy. “Are you disappointed?”

  Waverly didn’t know what to say. Disappointed didn’t begin to cover it. Not even close. Try traumatized, devastated, crushed, ruined. But those were strong words and Waverly didn’t want to hurt her mother’s feelings. Not yet anyway. “I…uh…I’m not sure. I think I’m in shock.”

  “Because you thought it was an art gallery?” Now Vivian was starting to giggle again. “I feel completely clueless as to how that happened, Waverly. Perhaps our phone connections were worse than I realized. But I can’t help but think it’s terribly funny. Don’t you? I can’t wait to tell Lou and Janice about this.” She laughed harder now. “Oh, my.”

  “This is not a joke,” Waverly said quietly.

  “No, no, of course not. But it is humorous. Don’t you think?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Oh…”

  They both stood in silence. Well, as silent as it could be with the sounds of electronic explosives and other noises that filtered through the floors and walls. Waverly wondered if this space was ever quiet. She knew tears were even closer now, but she didn’t want to cry in front of her mother. “Maybe I should get my bags from the car,” she said quickly.

  “You’re going to stay here?”

  “Yes.” Waverly nodded as she went toward the back door. “For now.” She unlocked and opened the door, hurrying down the stairs to the car.

  Vivian followed. “You’re certain that’s a good idea?” She looked dubious as she opened the trunk and Waverly tugged out her bags.

  “Yes.” Waverly nodded again. She was afraid to say too much, afraid she was going to completely lose it and start bawling like a three-year-old. “I want to stay here.”

  “Okay.” Vivian smiled now. “Once you’re settled in, I’m sure you’ll see how amusing this is.” She shook her head. “An art gallery.”

  “Thanks, Vivian.” Waverly was lugging her bags through the gravel toward the rickety stairs now, wondering if they could safely support both her and her bags.

  “I really do wish it were an art gallery,” Vivian called out a bit sadly. “But this was the only business Aunt Lou and I could afford, and we felt we needed something to bring in some cash. I don’t know, Waverly, it seemed like a good idea…at the time.”

  “It’s all right.” Waverly waved to her mother. “We can discuss it later.”

  “Yes, of course.” Vivian opened the car door. “I’ll call you. Aunt Lou wants you to come over for dinner. But maybe you’ll want to get settled in first.”

  “Yes,” Waverly called as she dragged her wheeled bag up the stairs. “I’ll call you later…maybe tomorrow.” And maybe she’d be calling from the deck of the ferry, informing her mother that she was on her way…where? Where could Waverly go?

  At the top of the stairs, she turned in time to see the pretty red convertible exiting the tiny parking area below. As the scene fuzzed around the edges, she realized the tears she’d been holding back were spilling now. Perhaps she was being childish about this whole thing, not to mention foolish for daring to dream big. She took in a deep breath, pausing to look out farther, out to where the supposedly wonderful ocean view should be lurking, but all she could see were blurry shades of blue.

  Waverly turned away, opening the door to the apartment, where she was greeted by the musty aroma of a neglected space. She knew she’d fallen for the oldest trick in the book. When everything had seemed too good to be true, she should’ve known better.

  Chapter Seven

  Blake didn’t know if he’d been sending some kind of signal or if Janice was simply the type of woman who went after what she wanted, but they’d only met a few days ago and already she’d turned into an expected part of his day. It usually started with coffee. But then on Sunday afternoon she’d invited him to go on a bike ride, touring their side of the island. At first he’d made an excuse, saying he needed to find a bike for Sicily first. But Sicily, overhearing him, insisted that he and Janice go without her.

  “I’m old enough to be alone,” she’d assured him. Then Janice reminded him that Vivian and Lou were within shouting distance and even suggested that her mother would gladly come over to stay with the girl.

  “I don’t need a babysitter,” Sicily had declared. “FYI, I can take care of myself.”

  Blake had suspected Sicily was already getting sick of him. He’d probably been smothering her with too much attention, acting too much like a parent, coddling. Trying not to look like
his feelings weren’t hurt, he’d gone off for a short ride with Janice, promising to be back in an hour. Then, only a mile into the ride, he’d felt guilty for leaving his daughter home alone. To Janice’s disappointment, he’d cut the ride short. Of course, Sicily barely acknowledged his return. As usual, she was parked in front of the TV, where she’d hooked up her video game console and pretty much taken over the living room area. He wasn’t ready to fight that battle yet.

  After their morning coffee yesterday, Janice had invited him to drive over to Edgartown with her to pick up a lampshade for her mother. When he’d refused to leave Sicily home alone, Janice had informed Sicily that Vivian and Lou were baking pies and had invited Sicily to help. Apparently, that had sealed the deal. And Blake had to admit that riding across the island in the sleek BMW convertible wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

  Then on Tuesday, Janice had stopped by again, but he’d made it clear he didn’t want to go anywhere. So they’d simply sat and visited for a couple of hours. Meanwhile Sicily had remained in the house and, no surprises here, played video games.

  But today, when Janice asked Blake to join her in a beach picnic over near Oak Bluffs, he decided it was time to draw the line. “Unless Sicily comes along, I’ll have to decline,” he firmly told her. He knew that Sicily was in the kitchen, that the window was open, and that she could hear their conversation.

  “Oh.” Janice smiled stiffly. “Of course Sicily can come along, if she likes. But I got the impression she didn’t want to.”

  Blake wondered how Janice could possibly know what Sicily did or did not want to do. First of all, Janice had barely exchanged more than a few sentences with the girl. Not that it was Janice’s fault exactly. She’d tried a few times. Blake himself could barely get his daughter to talk to him. He had no way to determine what Sicily wanted to do—besides playing the hermit and her confounded video games, which were way beyond getting old by now. “Well, it seems reasonable that Sicily would want to go to the beach,” Blake said rather loudly.

  “Not particularly,” Sicily had called through the open window.