Driftwood Lane (Nantucket #4)(24)

Her first year in college she’d finally gotten a few letters from him. But it was too little too late, and she’d discarded them unread.

She looked down at the stack. But he’d saved all these as if he cherished them. Was it possible . . . what if he had written her, and her mom had disposed of his letters? What if he’d called, and she’d told him Meridith didn’t want to speak to him?

Meridith forced herself to grab the last few things in the shoebox. Then she could throw it away and forget what she’d found. Forget these memories and the questions they stirred.

The photos took her by surprise. She flipped through them, four all together. They were of her. Her high school graduation. Her college graduation. How did he . . . ?

Maybe her mother had taken them, sent them to her dad. But no, she would never have done that. And her mother hadn’t even attended her high school graduation.

How had he gotten them? No one had attended her high school graduation. But there she was in the picture, walking across the stage. And there she was afterward, clutching her diploma, her long hair fluttering in the breeze. The college graduation pictures were taken from a distance, zoomed until the shot was grainy.

Was it possible . . . ? But he couldn’t have been there. Why would he come so far, get so close, and not speak to her? Why wouldn’t he hug her and tell her he was proud of her? Because she hadn’t responded to his letters and calls? Because he thought she didn’t want to see him?

Her breath seemed trapped in her lungs by the knot that swelled in her throat. She had to get out of there.

The stool squawked across the floor and she fled outside, across the porch and down the steps toward the beach. The air nipped at her flesh, raising goose bumps, and she curled her arms around herself.

She stopped at the edge of the lawn where the grass gave way to the sea oats and sucked in air like it would clear her lungs. It was the smoke. That’s why her eyes burned, her throat ached.

Had her father come to her graduations? She let time rewind, reliving her high school ceremony. She’d waited in the folding chair for her name to be announced, wishing, not for the first time, that her last name didn’t put her near the end of the alphabet.

“Meridith Elaine Ward.”

Returning to her seat among the 212 graduating seniors, Meridith felt lonelier than she had in all her life. If it were true, if her father really had been present that day, had come all that way and watched her receive her diploma, she wasn’t sure which she wanted to do most: hug him or hit him.

Not that it mattered. It was too late to do either now. Her eyes fell to an old piece of driftwood just inside the sea oats. Some time in the past it had been pulled from its home by a storm and spent heaven knew how long drifting aimlessly before reaching shore. Only to lay here, discarded for months or years.

“Meridith.”

The sound of Jake’s voice startled her, made her heart jump into the next gear. Why was he always sneaking up on her? She turned, glaring.

“Sorry, I—” He stopped a car’s length from her.

She realized belatedly how she must look. Her eyes still burned, were no doubt red. She faced the shore, cleared the knot from her throat.

“I—checked out the smoke detectors,” he said. “Batteries are old.”

The wind whistled through the budding trees, stirred the wind chimes on the front porch. “Great. Thanks.” She rubbed her arms.

“The ones upstairs are working.” His voice was closer. “Need to run to the store and get more nine-volts and some other things.”

“Okay.” She wished he’d leave, go get the stupid batteries. She drew in a deep cleansing breath. Salt, grass, and Jake’s woodsy scent filled her nostrils.

“Sorry if I was out of line in there,” he said. “I get testy sometimes—was having trouble with the porch spindles, shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

He thought she was teary-eyed because he’d snapped at her. If she were that sensitive, Noelle would have her in tears on a daily basis.

She waved away his apology. “Don’t worry about it.”

The muted ring of the phone saved her from an explanation. “Excuse me.”

She hurried to the phone, catching it on the fourth ring.

“Meridith, hi. It’s Rita.”

Meridith greeted the woman and thanked her again for staying with the children while she ran Ben to the ER.

“I know it’s late notice,” Rita said, “but it’s turning into a nice day, and I wondered if you’d want to have a picnic lunch at Brant Point. You probably haven’t had much chance to see the island.”

“No, I haven’t.” She could go. She trusted Jake alone at the house now, but she also preferred to keep to herself, especially where this island and friends of her father and Eva were concerned.

The back door closed as Jake entered. She heard his heavy footfalls across the kitchen floor. He was going to get batteries, but that wouldn’t take long. Suddenly she longed to get out of the house, away from Jake and the memories she’d long since thought dead and buried.

“Actually, lunch sounds great,” she said.





Thirteen

The wind flipped the blanket’s corner, and Meridith anchored it with the basket. “You should’ve let me bring something.” Beside her, the solid white structure of Brant Point Lighthouse squatted, guarding the harbor. Out on the sound, a lone sailboat drifted by.