Love Finds You in Martha's Vineyard (9 page)

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 T
HE
G
ALLERY
. “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.

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.

“See.” Janice shrugged with an I-told-you-so look.

He frowned. “But I can't leave her home alone…or even with your mother. The point of bringing her out here was so we could spend time together.”

“My theory is”—Janice lowered her voice and stepped away from the kitchen window—“leave her alone long enough and the next thing you know she'll be begging for you to spend time with her.” She winked at him. “You know,
reverse psychology.
Isn't that supposed to work on teens?”

“She's not a teen.”

“Well, she's acting like one. So maybe that's how you should treat her.” Janice checked her watch. “Come on, Blake. My mother already started putting together a picnic basket for us.”

Blake sighed. “Sorry, Janice, but I'm going to have to say no.”

She made a pouty expression. “But it's going to be a gorgeous day and—”

“If Sicily doesn't go, I don't go,” he said, loudly enough that Sicily could easily hear him. “Sorry, Janice, but Sicily is my daughter, and I can't keep leaving her behind all the time.”

“Fine.” Janice nodded with a determined expression. “Then I'll have to see if I can talk Sicily into coming too.”

Just like that she turned and went into the house. Even though Blake knew Janice was simply trying to help, he felt aggravated by her boldness. It was starting to feel like Janice didn't have many boundaries. As much as he liked the company of another adult—especially one who knew how to carry on an intelligent conversation—he was starting to resent Janice's intrusion into his life. Even if Janice did manage to entice Sicily to come along today, Blake wasn't certain he wanted to do this now. He was just thinking of a polite way to make this clear when Janice emerged from the house with a victorious grin.