The following morning Daniel awoke to the gray fog and mist that was one source—along with the perennially gray shingled structures—of the island’s nickname, Little Gray Lady of the Sea. On his way to the lone bathroom at the end of the upstairs hall, he tapped on the closed door of Jazz’s room. “Start getting ready,” he said. “We need to get to the hospital.”
A muffled groan told him he’d been heard. He showered and shaved and dressed in his suit pants and the clean shirt he always carried in his computer bag. On his way downstairs, he knocked on Jazz’s door again. This time he opened it and left it open. “Rise and shine,” he bellowed.
“Dad! Take a chill pill,” she protested.
In the kitchen Daniel turned on the coffeemaker and prepared bowls of instant oatmeal he found in his mother’s well-stocked pantry. “Jasmine, now!”
“It’s freezing,” she grumbled ten minutes later when she finally appeared with the quilt from her bed draped over her shoulders. She slouched into a kitchen chair, then took note of the headset Daniel wore as he conducted the dual business of making breakfast in Nantucket and running a hotel in Manhattan. “Do I get my phone back today?”
Daniel held up one finger. “And Greg, call me if there’s anything major. I know you’ve got everything covered, but keep me in the loop. Yeah. Bye.” He set a bowl of oatmeal in front of Jazz. “I left your phone and laptop at the hotel when we stopped to get my things. No phone until the end of the school year, and then we’ll discuss the matter.”
Her mouth formed an O of pure horror. “You’re joking.”
“Not so much,” Daniel replied as he took the chair across from her and dug into his oatmeal, all the while entering notes on his phone’s day planner between bites. When she didn’t say anything he glanced at her. She sat with folded arms staring daggers at him. “Eat up and then get dressed.”
“I’m going back to bed,” she announced defiantly.
Daniel considered this. He needed to focus on his mother and finding out from the doctors whether or not she could get the care she needed here on the island. He was prepared to have her transferred to a hospital in Manhattan, just in case. If he didn’t have to worry about Jazz while he attended to all that, he could be more efficient. Besides, what trouble could she get into here?
“Sounds like a plan. You go back to bed and I’ll be home by lunch.” He opened the refrigerator. “We’ll need to pick up some stuff. Make a list, okay?”
Her eyes widened with surprise at his capitulation, followed by wariness. “Just how long are we staying?”
“As long as we need—until I can figure out what’s best for Grandma.” Jazz looked as if she’d just been blindsided, and Daniel actually felt a little sorry for her. “Honey, I know neither of us saw this coming, but Grandma needs us. Okay?”
Her eyes brimmed with tears. “Is Grandma going to be okay or is she going to be—you know—like, crippled or something?”
Daniel could see that this question only touched the surface of what went unasked. The truth was that many of the same questions were racing through his head. He hugged her hard, then let her go. “I’ll have more information on that by lunchtime, okay?”
Jazz nodded and headed for the stairs. For a moment Daniel envied her youth and wished he could turn back the clock to the days when he, too, had no cares because he knew his parents would handle everything. Now he was the parent. Now his father was gone, and his mother, looking more frail than he’d ever thought possible, needed him.
As he rinsed out the dishes, he saw Jo leaning out the driver’s side of her battered pickup and talking to a man in a bigger truck. She was dressed in bright yellow rain gear, the hood pulled up and concealing everything but the lower half of her face. Through the glass of the kitchen window he heard her laugh—a laugh that he found amazingly feminine and attractive. For a woman who carried herself like a tomboy, the sound made him look twice to be certain of its source.
By the time he arrived at the hospital, Ella had already been moved out of intensive care.
“The bone is still properly aligned,” the doctor explained.
“So we could perform a procedure called internal fixation.”
“Plain talk, Doc,” Ella said.
“We put in metal screws to hold the bone in place while the fracture heals.”
“But?” She had always been an expert at reading between the lines.
The doctor smiled. “But if you were my mother I’d suggest a total hip replacement. Given your age—”
“Watch it, sonny,” Ella teased.
“You’ve experienced some arthritis in that hip before. I understand you can actually predict the weather?”
“Only the occasional nor’easter,” Ella admitted. “So, when can you do this thing?”
“Mom, let’s talk about this,” Daniel interjected.
“We just did. The doctor’s right. Cyrus Banks had that surgery three years ago and you should see him. He’s better than ever—always bragging about having a new spring in his step. Sounds to me like the metal screws would end up being a temporary fix.”
“We could do the surgery late tomorrow afternoon.”
“Then what?” she demanded.
“Well, you won’t exactly hop off the operating table. You’ll probably need to be here at least through the weekend so we can get you started on some rehab therapy. After that we can send you home with home care services.” He turned his attention to Daniel. “You can check with Social Services. They’ll send someone out to the house to go over modifications you might need to make there.”
Daniel was speechless. Did this guy not get it? His mother lived alone—on a farm—five miles from town. Her only son had a demanding job in Manhattan. Exactly how was this supposed to work?
“Well, you get some rest now,” the doctor told Ella, squeezing her hand as he nodded to Daniel and left the room. They could hear him greet the patient across the hall, much the same as he had greeted Ella ten minutes earlier.
“Mom, we have to discuss this,” Daniel said.
Ella’s smile changed instantly to a scowl, one that reminded Daniel of his daughter. “There is nothing to discuss, Daniel. You heard the doctor. This is the way to go—the fastest way to get me up and around again so we can all get back to our normal lives.”
Exactly what was normal anymore? Daniel wondered. In just twenty-four hours enough had changed that he doubted he’d ever see normal again.
“Let’s get a second opinion, at least. I’ve got everything set to have you transferred to Cedars and—”
“And suppose they say the same thing?”
“Then you’ll have the surgery. They have some of the best surgeons in the country.”
“Oh, come off your high horse. There is nothing miraculous about those doctors just because they practice in New York City. That city is a madhouse—fun to visit, but do not ask me to have surgery there.”
Daniel knew better than to pursue the matter further, at least for the time being. “I brought you the paper,” he said, handing Ella the weekly Nantucket Telegraph Inquirer.
“Give me the headlines,” Ella said, relaxing onto the pillows and closing her eyes. In five minutes she was sound asleep.
“Mr. Armstrong?” A middle-aged woman stood at the door. “I’m Barbara Chase, from Social Services?”
Daniel stood and extended his hand. “Let’s talk outside,” he said.
Finally, he thought, someone who might actually understand that Ella returning to that farmhouse was impossible.
“Hey! Get out of there,” Jo shouted when one of the two men she’d hired to set up the sprinkler system pointed out the girl walking through the newly planted cranberry bed. Jo recognized her from the night before and saw that once again her choice of clothing was totally inappropriate for both the weather and the setting. “Out!” she yelled, and started across one of the dikes toward where the girl had sunk ankle deep into the rain-soaked sand, flailing as she tried to pull herself free and remain upright.
“Climb up right here,” Jo ordered when she got close enough.
“I’m stuck.” The girl reeked of attitude.
“Well, get yourself unstuck and get out of there.” Jo looked around and saw a length of the sprinkler pipe the crew had been putting together. “Here, grab on.” Jo lay down on her stomach and stretched the pipe toward the girl, who looked at it as if it were a cobra.
“It’s all yucky,” she shouted.
“That’s called rust—it washes off. Now, grab on or stay there until your dad gets back. At least if you’re stuck you can’t trample any more innocent plants.”
The girl glanced around. Her long hair—the same color as her father’s—was wet and plastered against her face and the shoulders of her leather jacket. One of those oversize shawls that were big sellers in the city was looped around her throat. Under the short jacket she wore a long, fitted T-shirt that covered her hips. Her jeans were tucked into knee-high boots.
“Can you lose the boots? That might help.”
“Do you have any idea what these boots cost? They are designer originals, not some cheap knockoff. Just figure out something else.”
“Excuse me? I was sure I heard you demand help just thirty seconds ago.” Jo put down the pipe and stood up. If she were still a praying woman, she might be begging God for patience. “I’ve got work to do. You figure it out, but if you so much as touch any more of those plants…”
“Where are you going? You can’t leave me here. It’s pouring. I’ll catch pneumonia!”
“It’s a light drizzle, and perhaps you should have considered that when you got dressed this morning.” Jo paused. “Where were you headed, anyway?” A sudden fear gripped her. “It’s not your grandmother, is it?” She’d seen Ella’s son drive away earlier and taken note of the fact that his daughter was not with him. Maybe something had happened and the girl—upset and irrational—had tried to get to the hospital.
“Just please get me out of here,” the girl begged, her features contrite, and Jo began to actually feel genuine sympathy for the kid.
She lay back down on the ground and extended the pipe. The girl wrapped her scarf around it before taking hold. Jo tugged and the girl fell forward. She came up spitting sand and Jo saw the men working across the way turn away, their hands covering their laughter. Even so, their muffled chuckles drifted across the open berry beds. The girl glared up at them and then at Jo.
“Look, your feet popped free—expensive boots and all. Now hang on to the pole and walk carefully this way.” Once she had her safely on the dike, Jo took off her slicker and handed it to the girl. “Put this on,” she instructed, then turned to her crew. “I’m taking her back to the house,” she shouted.
One of the men waved.
“This way,” Jo said. “That’s my truck there.”
It took less than five minutes to reach the house, but nevertheless the girl’s teeth were chattering and her shoulders shook under the oversize slicker. Jo decided the cottage was closer. “Come on. Let’s get you into a warm shower and out of those wet clothes.”
For once there was no protest.
“Jasmine, right?” Jo said, making small talk as she turned on the shower and helped the kid undress. “Well, Jasmine, a nice, warm shower and a cup of hot tea—maybe some chicken broth. Did you have lunch yet?”
“I can undress myself,” Jasmine protested.
“Fine. Leave everything on the floor.” She handed Jasmine her terry-cloth robe.
Jasmine held it with two fingers as if it were diseased.
“Take it or go naked,” Jo muttered as she exited the bathroom and closed the door. She needed this?
Daniel was at his wit’s end. His mother refused to listen to reason and now his daughter was nowhere to be found. He’d been through the house calling her name, checking her room, taking note of the absence of her jacket and scarf. At the same time he’d been momentarily relieved that the rest of her stuff was still spilled across the dresser and unmade bed in the small bedroom. Downstairs nothing had changed since breakfast—dishes as he’d left them—but the phone was off the hook, which explained why he’d gotten a busy signal every time he’d tried calling.
He saw the farmer’s red truck by the cottage. Maybe Jo had noticed something. He grabbed one of several rain slickers his parents had kept by the back door since he could remember and started across the yard. He was just about to knock when he heard his daughter’s all-too-familiar whine of protest.
“You can’t be serious, lady.”
Daniel tried the door, found it unlocked and walked in.
“What’s going on?” he asked as he took in the unlikely scene before him.
Jazz was hunched in a corner of the sofa, wrapped in a wine-colored terry robe. There was a fire in the fireplace and over the screen hung a pair of jeans next to a flimsy, long-sleeved knit top that he recognized as belonging to Jazz.
Jo Cooper was calmly slurping down the last of what he assumed was a bowl of soup. “Completely serious,” she was saying as Daniel stepped inside.
“Dad! Do something,” Jazz demanded, while Jo barely acknowledged his presence.
“Is there a problem here?” he asked, directing the question to Jo.
“Your daughter apparently got her GPS system out of whack. Seems she was on her way to the airport—a five-mile hike in the opposite direction from where she was headed, I might add. She walked into the middle of the hybrid bed I just planted, uprooting several plants in the process. She got stuck in the wet sand, so I pulled her out and brought her here to dry out.” She delivered this information in the same no-nonsense manner with which she had enumerated her résumé the evening before. Then she brushed past him on her way to the kitchen. “Want some soup?” she asked.
“And,” Jazz shouted after her, “now Farmer Brown here demands that I show up tomorrow to repair the damage to her precious plants. She actually expects me to work in the fields like some migrant field hand or something.”
“The correct term is bog, and what do you have against migrant workers?” Jo called from the kitchen.
Daniel frowned and Jazz clearly took that as a signal that he was wavering, so she pressed her case. “I offered to pay for the damage, Dad—out of my own pocket. As soon as I can get to an ATM. I mean, I at least said I was sorry. Unlike somebody, who in rescuing me probably destroyed an expensive leather jacket, not to mention my new boots.” This last was directed toward the kitchen before Jazz turned back to her father. “I’d say we’re even, wouldn’t you?”
Before Daniel could reply Jo was back. She handed him a bowl of soup and turned to Jazz. “No, we are not even. The damage to your clothing was your doing—you chose to enter that cranberry bed. As Ella’s granddaughter, I assume you are a young woman who takes responsibility for the choices she makes.”
“I’m sixteen,” Jazz protested.
“Funny, I thought you were older—the way you dress, I mean. But now that you mention it, I can see I was wrong. Someone older would be mature enough to accept responsibility.”
“Okay, okay,” Daniel said when Jazz looked as if she might actually propel herself off the sofa and attack the farmer. “Let’s all settle down. Jazz, what were you doing out in this weather? Where were you going?”
Jazz muttered something.
“I didn’t catch that.”
“As I mentioned,” Jo said, “she tells me she was on her way to the airport.”
“Is that true?”
Jazz shrugged and sighed wearily.
“I checked the house before coming here, as well as my voice mail. You were just planning to leave with no explanation?” Feeling suddenly exhausted, Daniel sank down on the opposite end of the sofa.
Jazz buried her face in the crook of her elbow against the back of the sofa and burst into sobs. “I need my phone,” she wailed as if her father had denied her the bare essentials of life.
This rendered Daniel speechless. Then he saw Jo hide a smile as she looked at him with raised eyebrows that seemed to ask, What now, Dad?
Daniel deliberately turned his back on that look and forced his concentration on his daughter. “Jasmine, we have got to work out some basic guidelines here. You can’t just run off.”
The teen’s head shot up, her eyes defiant. “Why not? Mom has no problem just up and leaving without so much as a phone call. And you—it takes a major incident to get your attention.” She curled herself more tightly into the corner of the sofa.
Daniel felt himself flush—whether with anger or embarrassment that Jo was hearing this he didn’t take the time to decide. He turned to Jo. “I wonder if you might give us a moment here. Thank you for what you’ve done for Jasmine.”
Jazz snorted but said nothing.
“Stay as long as you like,” Jo replied as she pulled on her rain gear. She glanced over at Jazz. “See you in the morning at seven.”
“Dad!”
Daniel heard Jo chuckle as she shut the door on Jazz’s cry of protest. She revved her truck and headed back to work.
I could use a little help here, he raged silently at the closed door. But no, instead of minding her own business or offering something in the way of actual assistance and support, little miss farmer was only adding to his problems.