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

big, bad, blaring headache.
    â€œThat’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?
    â€œThis 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.
    â€œOh, 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.”
    â€œBecause 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.”
    â€œThis is not a joke,” Waverly said quietly.
    â€œNo, no, of course not. But it is humorous. Don’t you think?”
    â€œNot particularly.”
    â€œOh…”
    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.
    â€œYou’re going to stay here?”
    â€œYes.” 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.
    â€œYes.” 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.”
    â€œOkay.” 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.”
    â€œThanks, 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.
    â€œI 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