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holding a fishing pole. There were several nods of agreement.
    “No need,” said my grandmother with a sharp glance around the gathered locals. “She’s leaving. Ben, I’ll expect you to take her back to Portland first thing in the morning.”
    “All right, Maisie,” said Ben.
    “Come on, then,” my grandmother said, waving a hand.
    “Hold on there.” One of the island men spoke, a burly sunburned guy with his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans. He scuffed his feet. “Maybe we
should
see what the mayor has to say about this.”
    “That’s right. Those are the rules,” said the girl named Zuzu. She still wore that composed, faintly curious expression as she watched me. And she was still holding that rock.
    “No. It’s time to get inside.” It was the tall guy at the back, the one who’d been so stern and silent up until now. “The mist is rising,” he said, jerking a nod. “You know the rules.Everybody back to your own house,” he said. He gave me only a glancing look. “Let’s go. Miz McGovern will take care of her own business.”
    My grandmother almost imperceptibly relaxed the set of her shoulders, and gave him a nod. “That’s right, Sean.”
    Despite his youth the tall guy seemed to carry some weight of authority, because people started to disperse, still casting curious glances my way.
    I looked around. Ben had disappeared too. I felt bad; the old man had only tried to help me, and I didn’t want him to be in trouble over it. But it was beginning to get dark, and my grandmother crunched across the parking lot, giving me no choice but to follow.
    Wordlessly she grabbed my soggy suitcase, headed over to one of the golf carts and flung it into the back as easily as if it had been a bag of knitting. I crawled into the little vehicle and sat, holding myself stiffly away from her. From the corner of my eye, I watched her hands, big on the tiny steering wheel. There was dirt under her fingernails and her hands were rough, with prominent reddened knuckles. I could hardly believe this woman had given birth to my mother. Mom had been delicate and beautiful. And kind. And thoughtful.
    The apple had fallen pretty far from the tree, I thought.
Like in a different orchard. On a different planet
.
    “I don’t have to stay with you, you know,” I said as the golf cart chugged up the street. “I’m sure I could find someplace else.”
    My grandmother’s eyes never left the road. “Don’t be foolish. Of course you’ll stay with me.”
    It wasn’t an invitation. There was no way to lend it any graciousness. Every syllable this woman uttered, every look she gave me, said I was nothing more than a burden to be tolerated.
    We rode in silence up the main road past the little storefronts. The sandy terrain disappeared. Green grass and bushes with pink flowers overtook the roadside. My grandmother kept a sneakered foot hammered to the pedal, making the golf cart whine.
    She kept glancing to either side of the narrow road. I followed her gaze into the densely shadowed trees. All I saw were lengthening shadows between the pines and that strange, thick mist that covered everything. We turned off onto a dirt road and then again, onto a packed track in the grass. The golf cart rolled to a stop.
    A small yellow house with white shutters stood before me, hemmed in by tall bushes of lilac. I could hear the surf somewhere nearby, and the air smelled tangy with salt. A big hanging basket next to the front door held red geraniums and trailing ivy. An old-fashioned globe-style lamp glowed in the window, making a cozy, welcoming beacon against the gloom of the mist. But there was a general look of disrepair about the house; the wraparound porch sagged and there was a broken window on the second floor. The whole thing needed a paint job.
    I wished I could say something cool or snide. Something that showed her I didn’t care. But I couldn’t.
    I loved it.
    I just stood looking at the house for a moment, then ran my hand