Suzanne's Diary for Nicholas Read Free Page B

beams—which
     had once supported stored boats—crisscrossed the ceiling. Upstairs I eventually put in corner portholes to let the sun come
     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 practical 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;
another
guy 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 be condescending when he said it. “I know I drive a fancy car, but I’m not really a fancy person.”
    “Thanks, but I took my spare out to make room for more important things like my stereo and my antique candlestick collection.”
    He laughed . . . and he was
so familiar.
Who was he? Where did I know him from?
    “I’m flattered, though,” I continued. “A man in a shiny convertible willing to change a tire.”
    He laughed again—a nice laugh.
So familiar.
“Hey, I’m vast. . . . I contain multitudes.”
    “Walt Whitman!” I said—and then I remembered who this was. “You used to say that
all the time.
You quoted Walt Whitman.
Matt?
”
    “Suzanne Bedford!” he said. “I was almost sure it was you.”
    He was so surprised—bumping into me like this after such a long time. It must have been almost twenty years.
    Matt Wolfe looked even handsomer than I remembered him. At thirty-seven, he had grown up very nicely. He was slender with
     closely cropped brown hair and an endearing smile. He looked in great shape. We talked on the side of the road. He had become
     a lawyer for the Environmental Protection Agency as well as a fine-arts dealer. I had to laugh when he told me that. Matt
     used to joke that