Suzanne's Diary for Nicholas Read Free Page B

call on the boy who fell off his sled and broke an arm along with his pride.
This was for me. I was experiencing a fantasy that was a million miles away when I lived in Boston.
But, in fact, it was just down Route 3 and across the water.
I felt I had come home.
Nicholas,

I had no idea that the love of my life was here--just waiting for me. If I had, I would have run straight into Daddy's arms. In a heartbeat.
When I first arrived on Martha's Vineyard, I was unsure about everything, but especially where to settle. I drove around looking for something that said “home,” “you'll be okay here,” “look no further.”
There are so many parts of our island that are beautiful, and even though I knew it in some ways, it sang out differently to me this time.
Everything was different because I felt different. Up Island was always special to me, because this is where I had spent so many glorious summers. It lay like a child's picture book of farms and fences, dirt roads, and cliffs. Down Island was a whirl of widow's walks, gazebos, lighthouses, and harbors.
It was a turn-of-the-century boathouse that finally stole my heart. And still does. This truly was home.
It needed to be fixed up, but it was winterized, and I loved it at first sight, first smell, first touch. Old beams--which had once supported stored boats--crisscrossed the ceiling. Upstairs I eventually put in corner portholes to let the sun come in in hoops of light. The walls had to be painted robin's-egg blue because the whole downstairs opened to a view of the sea. Big barnlike doors slid port and starboard to bring everything that was once outside, inside.
Can you imagine, Nicky, living practically right on the beach, like that? Every part of me, body and soul, knew I'd made the right decision. Even my sensible side was in agreement. I now lived between Vineyard Haven and Oak Bluffs. Sometimes I'd be working out of my home or making house calls, but the rest of the time I'd be at Martha's Vineyard Hospital or the Vineyard Walk-In Medical Center in Vineyard Haven. I was also doing some cardiology rehab at the Medical Center.
I was alone, except for Gus, living a solitary life, but I was content for the most part.
Maybe it was because I had no idea what I was missing at the time: your daddy and you.
Nicholas,

I was driving home from the hospital when I heard a funny noise. What's that? Shhhhh . . . bump shhhhh . . . bump shhhh . . . bump.
I had to pull over onto the shoulder of the road. I got out of my Jeep to take a look.
Shitfire and save matches. The right wheel was as flat as a pancake. I could have, and I would have, changed the tire if I hadn't taken out the spare in order to make room for all my other stuff when I was moving.
I called the gas station from my cell phone, mad at myself for having to call a garage. A guy answered and condescended to me a little; anotherguy would come to fix the flat. It made me feel like “such a girl,” and I hated that. I knew how to change a tire perfectly well. I pride myself on self-sufficiency and independence. And good old-fashioned stubbornness.
I was standing against the passenger-side door, pretending to admire the beautiful landscape and making it seem to passing cars that I had pulled over for that reason, when a car pulled up right in back of mine.
Clearly it wasn't from the gas station.
Not unless they'd sent a forest green Jaguar convertible.
“You need some help?” a man asked. He was already walking slowly toward my car, and honestly, I couldn't take my eyes off him.
“No, thanks . . . I called the Shell station in town. They'll be here soon. Thanks, anyway.”
There was something familiar about this guy. I wondered if I had met him in one of the stores around the island. Or maybe at the hospital.
But he was tall and good-looking, and I thought that I'd have remembered him. He had a nice, easy smile and he was kind of laid-back.
“I can change the tire,” he offered, and somehow managed not to