“Bumpy ride,” he said.
She looked up. “It is,” she agreed.
“It doesn’t seem to bother you,” he said.
She shrugged. “I’m used to it. I grew up on the island.”
“Did you really?”
A woman in the booth behind him snored explosively.
“Do you mind?” He gestured, rising.
“Sure,” Juliet replied.
He stood up—he was tall. He moved around to sit across from her. “I’m Ryder Hastings.” He held out his hand.
Juliet shook his hand. It was firm, warm, and smooth. So not a manual laborer. “Juliet Hawley.”
“And you grew up on Nantucket?”
“I did. My mom still lives here. I’m on my way to visit her. I live in Boston.”
“Are you a student?”
“No!” she replied sharply. She hated that he thought she was so young. But she had to admit, dressed as she was, she looked like a student. “I work in tech. For Kazaam.” She was not about to tell him she programmed a website about dogs.
“Oh, so you live in Cambridge.”
“Yes, well, uh, I always say Boston because some people think Cambridge means I live in England. Cambridge, England.” She wanted to slap her forehead because a man who looked this sophisticated would know that Cambridge, Massachusetts, was just across the river from Boston.
Ryder laughed. “Yeah, I know. I live in Marblehead. I’m with Ocean Matters, a group working on changes in coastal towns.”
“Tell me more.”
“Okay. So, we’re private, and privately funded. We’re concerned with rising seas, water quality, water pollution, coastal erosion, the loss of eelgrass, that sort of thing. We work with the commonwealth and all of the country’s east coast from the top of Maine down to the tip of Florida. It’s all one coastline, after all.”
“I guess we don’t think of ourselves as being part of the East Coast,” Juliet mused. “But of course we are.”
“By we, you mean Nantucket?”
Juliet nodded. How long are you going to be on the island? she wanted to ask.
Ryder said, “Nantucket’s ecosystem is tied directly to the main coastline. A great white shark has an appetizer near Martha’s Vineyard, an entrée at Chatham, and dessert at Great Point.”
Juliet grinned. Before she could reply, the captain’s voice came over the loudspeaker. “Ladies and Gentlemen, we’re now arriving at Nantucket. Would all drivers please return to your cars on the lower deck. Everyone else, please use the stairs on the starboard side.”
Through the window, Juliet could see the lights of the town and the cheerful blink of the stubby Brant Point lighthouse. The ferry slowed and groaned as it turned toward the dock.
“I’d better get organized,” Ryder said. “It was nice talking to you.”
“Nice talking with you, too,” Juliet said.
It didn’t take long for her to close her computer and slide it into her backpack. She pulled on her leather jacket. Ryder Hastings had already headed toward the stairs, and she was glad. He was too everything for her, too old, too posh, too just plain much.
The ferry butted the dock, bounced, butted again. Chains clanked, men yelled orders as the crew roped the ramp safely to the boat, and passengers filed off one by one. Juliet was several people behind Ryder, so she took her time getting off, letting others go in front of her. She wanted to see who picked Ryder up, who greeted him, perhaps with a hug and a kiss.
She was pleased to see Ryder walk over to the taxi stand and climb into a Chief’s Cab. It was ten-fifteen, and the streets were dark, but Juliet’s home was only a few blocks away on Fair Street. She walked. She liked walking through the small town. All the shops were closed, but laughter came from the Brotherhood restaurant and a kid on a skateboard whizzed down Centre Street. She smiled. Here the sidewalks were clear and dry. Possibly, just when everyone thought spring was here, a week of tempests would blitz the island. But tonight it was only cold and windy.
She passed her mother’s shop, turned down Fair Street, nodded hello to the handsome stone Episcopal church, and kept on walking toward her home, where she’d bet her mother was lying in bed with a cup of hot cocoa and a good mystery. She had her own key, but she didn’t want to alarm her mother by just walking in the door, so Juliet dug out her phone.
“Hi, Mom, hey, you sound out of breath.”
“Hi, sweetheart. How are you?”
“Great. I’m on Fair Street. I’ll be home in about a minute.”
“You what?” Her mother clicked off.
Odd. No point calling again, she was almost there.
Juliet put her key in the lock, opened the door, and stepped inside.
Immediate bliss. Warmth and the perfume of flowers. She called, “I’m home!”
“Hello, darling, what a surprise!” Lisa wore khakis and a light blue sweater with a swirly scarf. She looked exceptionally pretty, and her cheeks were suspiciously red.
“Are you okay, Mom?” Juliet walked forward to embrace her mother. “Do you have the flu?”
Her mother laughed, a little hysterically, Juliet thought.
“No, dear, I’m fine. I was just…um, you know I’m having work done on the house, and with this wind I thought I heard a, um, loose window, so I called Mack Whitney, you know, Beth’s father, well, he’s the carpenter who’s helping renovate the house—and he came over to help. Otherwise, you know, I’d be worried all night. Come meet him.”
Her mother took her hand and pulled her into the living room where a handsome man sat on the sofa, looking as if he’d been there for quite a while.
Mack rose and shook Juliet’s hand. “It’s nice to see you.”
“Hello, Mr. Whitney,” Juliet said politely. She could feel her mother’s eyes on her, imploring her to be good. “I thought I’d surprise my mother and come home sort of spontaneously.”
“Well, you achieved that goal,” her mother said with a laugh. “Mack, I think we left your coat in the kitchen.”
“Right,” he said. “Right.” He strode into the kitchen, came back, slipping his arms into his coat as he walked. “So, Lisa,” he said, “I think those shutters are fastened now. They won’t slap against the house like they were doing.”
“Thanks, Mack. I’ll see you and the guys tomorrow morning.”