Free Love Finds You in Martha's Vineyard by Melody Carlson Page A

be quite popular in this town.”
    Vivian laughed. “Yes, a normal gallery would be.” Now she was fiddling with some keys as if searching for the right one. “I think we’ll have to go around front,” she finally said. “I don’t have the other key.”
    â€œThat’s fine.”
    Vivian pointed to some rather rickety-looking wooden stairs. “But in the future, you can enter the apartment from back here if you like. There’s a backdoor at the top of those stairs. It’s more private.”
    Waverly looked up to the shadowy structure above her. “Is that where the terrace is?”
    â€œYes.” Vivian headed toward a narrow walkway that ran along one side of the big brown building. “Come along, and we’ll go in the front door. I can give you the full nickel tour.”
    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—”
    â€œDid 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?”
    â€œThis 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.”
    â€œIt’s…not…an art gallery?”
    â€œNo, 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.”
    â€œAre 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 ?
    â€œYou 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