My One and Only(111)

“Should I call him? Tell him to wait?”

“No! No. Um…he might not want to see me.”

I flew out of the house, leaving my dog yapping a reproach for not taking her. In a spray of crushed shells, I peeled out of my driveway, cutting off an earth-raping Hummer with Virginia plates and earning a few enraged shouts. I ignored them, my little yellow car eating up the road. The route from Menemsha to Oak Bluffs usually took about half an hour, more with tourist traffic. Which we had in droves, it being Columbus Day weekend. I’d never make it if I went through Vineyard Haven proper, so I went down past Fiddlehead Farm, through Tisbury, my hands clenched on the wheel. Past the airport. Onto Barnes Road, where I got stuck behind a minivan from New Jersey.

“Come on, come on, come on, don’t you have your own shore?” I muttered, chewing my cuticle. When the coast was clear, I passed them, flooring it. Hey. I was from Massachusetts, thank you very much. Speed limits were for other states.

But I hadn’t counted on traffic being so damn thick as I came into Oak Bluffs. Short of driving on the lawns (a definite option) and vehicular manslaughter (not so much), I wasn’t going to make it. Tourists decked out in Black Dog hats and T-shirts milled around, and the road was packed with cars.

I glanced at the clock. 6:56.

I wasn’t going to make it. Not on my own, anyway.

I snatched up my phone and pressed the number of someone known and liked by virtually everyone on this island, someone with friends in high places. “Pick up. Please, please, please,” I chanted. My prayer was answered.

“Dude, how’s it hanging?”

“Oh, Dennis, thank God. Listen, I have kind of an emergency. I need to stop the ferry.”

“Why?”

I hesitated. “To stop Nick. To try to get back with him.”

“Awesome,” Dennis said sincerely, and I felt such a rush of affection for him with that word, because Dennis’s heart didn’t have room for resentment.

“But I’m stuck in traffic, and I’m not gonna make the ferry. I thought about calling in a bomb scare—”

“Uncool.”

“—I know, and I don’t want to get arrested. So. Can you help me? I just need a few minutes.”

“Let’s see.” There was a thoughtful pause. “I think Gerry might be working tonight. I’ll make a call, sure.”

“Really?” Hope, that thing with feathers, gave a healthy flap.

“I’ll give it a shot.”

“Oh, thank you. Thank you so much.”

“You bet, dude.”

“Dennis, you’re the best.”

“Yeah, whatever. Hey, Harp, listen. You should probably know…I’m back with Jodi.”

“Jodi-with-an-I?” I said automatically, veering around a Mercedes whose driver clearly didn’t know ass from elbow and was trying to turn onto a one-way street.

“Yeah. We hung out the other night, and it was like old times.”

I laughed. “Invite me to the wedding, okay, Den?”

“Dude. Totally.” There was a pause. “Good luck, Harper.”

My throat tightened abruptly. “Thanks, Dennis.”

After what seemed like an eternity, I finally drew within view of the ferry landing. Unfortunately, there was a concert at the gazebo in Ocean Park, and we were inching along. But the ferry was in, even though it was 7:09. Maybe I’d make it after all, and God bless Dennis Patrick Costello. I’d pay for his honeymoon with Jodi, I vowed I would.

Then the air tore with the sound of the ferry’s horn. “No!” I groaned. “Oh, damn it.” I was still two blocks away, there was nowhere to park, dang it all, and my teeth ground in frustration. But then again, if I didn’t catch Nick today, and it was looking as if that was a very real possibility, I could always try some other time.

Except that some other time didn’t have the same appeal as right now. Now. It had to be now.

I pulled over, double-parking next to a red Porsche, and hurtled out of the car.

“You can’t park there!” called a cop.

“Emergency!” I said, bolting across the street. The ramp to the ferry was a long post-and-beam structure, and tonight, it was full of people taking in the sights or seeing off their friends. “Excuse me, excuse me!” I called, pushing through the crowd. “Stop the ferry! Hold the ferry, please!” My feet thudded along the wooden slats as I ran, then jumped over a coil of rope. A radio was playing somewhere, and my busy brain registered the lyrics. “Sweet Home Alabama.” It had to be a sign from God, or Bev, or the universe.

The horn sounded again.

“Stop the ferry!” I shouted. “Please!”

“Too late, lady,” said one of the ferry workers as he tossed a rope to one of the men on board. “No one past this point.”

Then I saw Nick. He stood on the lower deck of the boat, staring out at Martha’s Vineyard as the ferry inched away, the ever-present wind ruffling his hair, his gypsy eyes distant and…sad.

Well. He wasn’t going to be sad anymore, damn it.

“Nick!” I bellowed. “Nick!”

He didn’t see me.

“Nick!” I turned to one of the ferry workers. Leonard was embroidered over his pocket. “Leonard!” I barked. “Stop this ferry.”