Rounding the curve, driving up and over the drawbridge, Annie headed toward the pier, deciding that, yes, while Donna was there, they would have that conversation. Perhaps when they were hunting for sea glass on a beach—any beach, other than the one on the shoreline of the Inn.

With her plan in place, Annie felt relieved until she reached the last leg of the road, where five spokes of four streets merged tenuously together—and were flooded.

* * *

A U-turn. Back to Oak Bluffs. Cutting through back roads of which she was unsure. Noting the time that rapidly ticked toward the arrival of the Island Home if it had not been canceled. Why hadn’t she checked before she’d set out? Too late now, Annie thought. She didn’t want to waste time pulling over to call the Steamship Authority. And the number she had for Donna was a Boston landline.

When she finally reached the roundabout, she turned onto Edgartown-Vineyard Haven Road as the rain pummeled her windshield. She passed the alpaca farm, the campgrounds, and the unofficial wild turkey crossing. Once on State Road, she slowly headed down the hill toward the boat, avoiding those infamous five corners by turning onto Main Street and then cutting down Union. She was glad it was still April so few cars were on the road; after all, even tropical storms did not deter tourists from visiting in season—not even Annie’s dad. Her dad, Bob Sutton. Not the dad she knew nothing about.

Surprisingly, she made it on time.

Zipping across the street to the terminal lot, she parked just as vehicles began to slither from the mouth of the giant white boat that now was safely in its berth, its passengers huddled in an assortment of drenched slickers as they shuffled down the ramp.

Annie grabbed her umbrella, got out of the Jeep, and gingerly crossed to the covered portico that faced the boat. She scanned the soggy crowd, but did not see Donna. Then a woman moved slowly toward her. She was stooped and thin; she carried a black-and-white polka dot umbrella; she wore a long raincoat, red rain boots, and a small grin. She was wheeling a large suitcase and a carry-on that was almost as big. Perhaps she was planning on a lengthy visit, or maybe she lived on the island and was coming home. Annie grinned back and continued to scan the crowd.

“Annie!” the woman called from beneath the polka dots. Her voice barely rose above the splats of unrelenting rain, the cries of puddle-jumping people, and the stop-and-go insistence of cars and trucks and slapping windshield-wiper blades. Annie tipped her umbrella, allowing a better view. The woman’s face was thin—no, gaunt. But it was Donna.