Driftwood Lane (Nantucket #4)(2)

Then they should’ve left the children to you! Meridith pressed her fingertips to her forehead. Impossible. What did she know about children? Especially these children?

“I don’t know what to say, Mr. Thomas.” A gross understatement.

“This is a lot to take in all at once, I understand. But we’re in a bit of a pickle here. An elderly neighbor has been staying at Summer Place, caring for the children. As I said, it’s taken two weeks to locate your number. Mrs. Hubbard is in poor health, and there’s no one else. Your presence is needed rather immediately.”

“My job . . .”

“Might I suggest a short leave of absence?”

There had to be somebody. Somebody else. Eva had a brother, didn’t she?

As if reading her mind, Mr. Thomas continued. “We’ve been unable to reach Eva’s brother. He’s traveling, and last the children heard, he was in Georgia, but that’s all we know. You should know that he was named as a possible guardian in the event that you declined the task. But again, the need for help is immediate.”

She played with her engagement ring. She couldn’t leave Stephen, couldn’t leave her job, could she? The thought of leaving St. Louis, leaving all that was familiar, even for a short time, brought a tidal wave of anxiety she hadn’t felt since college. She drew a deep breath, then another.

“The fact is, the children are in dire need of your assistance, Meridith. Since Mrs. Hubbard fell ill, members of the church have been taking shifts. Very kind of them, of course, but it can’t go on. If you don’t come quickly, I’m afraid I’ll have no choice but to alert Child Protective Services. I’d hate to see the children go to foster care, even temporarily. And there’s no assurance they’d be placed together.”

Foster care! Meridith imagined suited men coming into their home, carrying them off. She imagined the littlest, a boy, screaming for his mommy.

From somewhere deep inside compassion swelled, followed quickly by a surge of protectiveness she didn’t know she was capable of. She had no doubt there were decent foster homes. But the thought of the children being separated seemed cruel when they’d just lost their parents. Besides that, they were orphans. And didn’t the Good Book admonish them to look after the orphans?

She had to do something. It was her responsibility, even if she’d never met them, because T. J. and Eva had named her the children’s guardian. And because, like it or not, she was their sister.





Two

“Summer Place Bed-and-Breakfast, please.” Meridith buckled her belt, settling into the cab’s cracked vinyl seat.

As the driver accelerated, Meridith eyed the pedestrians strolling the brick sidewalks. So this was it. The place where her dad had started a new family with his young wife. It was a far cry from the St. Louis neighborhood that had been her childhood home. No window-barred stores here. No sign of potholed pavement or littered curbs. Nantucket boasted shingled storefronts and pristine tree-lined streets made of cobblestone. How quaint.

She folded her hands in her lap. She didn’t want to think about her father today. As it was, her stomach churned, not from the waves that had rolled under the ferry, but from the stress of being away. She hadn’t traveled since college, and now she remembered why. She longed for her tidy lawn, her garden window over the porcelain sink, even her nappy rug that welcomed her home.

Soon enough, she comforted herself. After receiving Mr. Thomas’s call, she’d decided she’d stay with the children until their uncle returned from his vacation. They had a relationship with him. He was the obvious person for the job, and as soon as he returned, she’d be on the first plane back to St. Louis. Surely that was as far as her Christian duty extended.

A bed-and-breakfast. What did she know about running a business?

Meridith stuffed the fear down. How hard could it be? She knew how to cook and clean and be professional. She’d probably only be there a week or two. Her boss hadn’t been happy about the leave of absence, but he’d reluctantly granted her two weeks.

When the driver turned down a pebbled lane parallel to the shore, Meridith read the street sign. Driftwood Lane. She was nearly there. The houses were parted by generous lawns that sprouted barren trees. Skeletal flower beds lined the walks and drives leading to the shake-shingled homes. Come spring, the lawns would probably blossom into a virtual fairy tale, but winter hadn’t yet released its cold grip on the island.

“Here we are.” The driver pulled into a hedge-lined drive. Gravel popped under the tires as he drove down the lane and stopped by the walk.

Meridith got out, removed a few bills from her bag, then surveyed the house while the driver retrieved her luggage. Like most of the island homes, Summer Place was clothed in weathered gray shingles and trimmed in white. A widow’s walk perched on top and no doubt provided a stunning view of the harbor. A shaded porch stretched along the house’s front, wide and welcoming. Between the porch’s columns, a handmade shingle proclaiming “Summer Place” swung in the breeze. Wasn’t this cozy.

Meridith paid the driver and started down the flagstone path, pulling her suitcase. The house looked older as she neared. The white paint was peeling in spots, and the thick vines that crawled up the house hadn’t appeared overnight. The porch was not quite level, as if time and gravity had weighed it down.

A plethora of wind chimes stretched the length of the porch, bits of shells, glass, and bamboo tinkling and rattling together. She wondered if Eva had collected them. If her dad had gifted her with the chimes on her birthday, on their anniversary.