Last Chance Summer

Two: Welcome to Lilac Drive

Two

            The plane hits the ground and I jolt forwards, the only thing preventing me from colliding head on with the seat in front of me is the seat belt around my waist. I resist the urge to swear colorfully and clutch the armrests in a vain attempt to sit normally.

            I’ve landed in Martha’s freaking Vineyard. Some small little vacation island that apparently is popular. Nicola and Tara don’t talk, so I’m a little curious as to what she’ll be like. Will she be totally perfectionist and uptight like my mother, or some sort of rebellious hippie that believes in being a free spirit or whatever? The thought amuses me as I gather up my purse and make sure my sunglasses are still safely perched on the top of my head. They were my favorite pair—big and black and Jessica Simpson.

            It was hot here, I knew. With the same soupy humidity as New York, but the island was less stifled by city life and millions of bodies alive in moving inside the metropolis. I slung my purse over my shoulder and joined the line that trickled off the plane and into the small airport.

            I had been told Nicola’s address, but it hadn’t been clarified if she was going to pick me up. A little part of me, the logical part, wondered if my mother had said something about it, but I told it to shut the fuck up promptly. I was independent, and I could do this on my own if need be.

            I scanned the small crowd for any face that faintly resembled my mother’s. None of them gave me a sense of recognition. “Shit,” I muttered under my breath, pulling put my phone and starting to make my way to the baggage claim.

            Once my three Louis Vuitton suitcases came round the bend, I gathered them up and decided that I would just hail a taxi. If they even had taxis here, that is. Sighing, I hauled the luggage outside and glanced down at my cell to dial Nicola’s number. It rang once, twice, three times before reverting to voicemail.

            Hey, you’ve reached Nicola Samson. I’m on a yoga retreat until the twentieth so please leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.

            I swore loudly under my breath and hung up before it could beep at me to leave a voicemail. This was perfect. I wondered briefly if Nicola even knew I was coming. Having not seen her in years, I didn’t dare dismiss it as a possibility.

            “Excuse me,” I said, approaching a woman who clearly worked at the airport. “Is there somewhere I can rent a taxi or something?”

            The woman blinked and scrutinized me. I hoped to God she didn’t recognize me, especially if she’d read the crappy tabloids lately. I didn’t want paparazzi this summer. I wanted to be free to do whatever the hell I wanted without it being broadcasted to the world. 

            “No taxis here, but there are rental cars if you’re over eighteen,” she informed me, eyebrows raising as she noted the designer luggage.

            “Well, I’m not eighteen, I’m sixteen, and I have to get somewhere on my own, and I don’t have a car,” I told her, grimacing.

            “There is a bus that goes around most of the island. You can take it and then get off somewhere closer to your destination,” the woman offered up, leaning against her desk.

            “That would be great, actually,” I said, forcing a fake smile on my face. Bus ride? Followed by a walk that was however long it took to get to my aunt’s house from the bus stop? And let’s not forget the luggage I’d have to haul there on my own.