Page 8 of The Price of Protection

At around eight, Mike texted to say that Maxine had a date with that kid from the beach.

MIKE: I don’t like it. Who told her she’s allowed to grow up?

ROSE: It’s sweet that she’s putting herself out there… right? I want to tell myself that.

MIKE: I know you’re right. I know we have to let her make mistakes and build character or whatever. But why can’t she hang out at home with her old man and watch movies?

Rose laughed to herself, momentarily pleased that both she and Mike were home alone. But as she sat listlessly in front of the television, her thoughts returned to her own teenage years—to the final year before everything changed in her life.

Before she knew it, she pulled an old photo album from the bookshelf. It was the worn-out blue one, into which she’d slipped more than a hundred photographs from the summer of 1999. Back then, she’d been sixteen and a server at a burger restaurant. She’d also been madly in love with her boyfriend at the time, Rhett Baldwin.

In the photographs, Rose and Rhett were all over one another. They hugged on sailboats, docks, beaches, and in the water. They kissed next to bonfires and grills. They held hands before sunsets. They drank beers, their cheeks either too red or deeply tanned, depending on which stage of the summer it was. Now, Rhett looked at Rose like a kid, but she still remembered what he’d looked like to her then: so handsome, with black hair and black eyes. In the photographs, she looked pretty, with similarly dark hair and a secretive smile that made Rose think of everything that had happened after that summer, the tremendous messes that had been made.

“Oh, Rhett Baldwin,” Rose murmured to the photographs on her lap. “If only I had married you!”

Of course, saying things like this was stupid and never what she really meant. Marrying Mike had been essential, as it had led to the birth of her beloved Maxine.

But a small and tender part of her heart still ached for what might have been with sweet and funny and adventurous Rhett. As far as she knew, Rhett wasn’t as overwhelmingly successful as Mike. He also didn’t live on the island. He’d left when he was nineteen years old and never really come back.

Now, for the first time in many years, Rose got up the nerve to search for Rhett Baldwin online. He wasn’t the only person with that name, of course, but it didn’t take long to discover his website—one that marketed him as a freelance photographer. This was a surprise. Although he’d gone to art school back in the day, Rhett hadn’t actually thought he’d make it as an artist. “Nobody makes it,” he’d said, flashing that arrogant, dashing smile. “But I don’t know. I guess I’d better take a risk anyway, huh?”

Rose scrolled through his numerous photographs and learned that his work as a freelance photographer was actually rather new. In his bio, he’d written: My name is Rhett Baldwin. After a recent job loss (and a marriage loss and an identity loss), I’ve moved into a sailboat and returned to my first love of photography. You'll find me sailing up and down the coastline, photographing my beloved country. Maybe soon, I’ll have the nerve to get off this continent and go somewhere else. Write me if you want to commission something or purchase one of my photos. Thanks a lot for stopping by.

Rose’s heart pumped with excitement. Rhett was divorced! Of course, Rose knew Rhett and Rose were now strangers, with no route forward to any kind of resolution. But it still thrilled her to know that other people, especially people she’d once cared for, had lost their way, as she had. It thrilled her to know that she wasn’t alone on this planet.

It wasn’t a surprise that Rose adored Rhett’s photographs. They captured something personal about the coast, about the Atlantic, about the sand, the houses, the fishermen, and the people. It seemed that Rhett had mostly focused his attention on states south of Nantucket, but she decided to hold out hope that he’d one day return to their island to photograph it.

Maybe, just maybe, he’d step into her bakery, and they’d find themselves on a romantic journey—one that led them back where they’d begun.

Who was she kidding? Rose laughed at herself, then stood to put her photo album away. She couldn’t indulge such wild fantasies. They took her away from the truth of her life.

Monday, Maxine returned to the bakery after school. Hovering over a tray of scones, Rose watched her daughter, eager to ask her questions about her date. But Rose knew how her mother would have reacted if she'd asked her something like that. Embarrassment would have made her lash out.

“I think Minnie’s going to come over to study later,” Maxine said as she donned a pair of gloves to prep some sourdough.

“What are you studying for?” Rose asked.

“We have a math test on Wednesday,” Maxine said.

“Cool,” Rose said, cupping her elbows. And then she added, “Why don’t you tell Minnie to invite her mother over when you’re nearly done? I’d love to get to know her.”

Maxine gave Rose a curious look, her eyes glinting. “You want to hang out with someone?”

Rose tried to laugh. “Why is that so weird?”

“It’s just, you never want to hang out,” Maxine said.

“I don’t dislike people,” Rose said. “I’ve just been busy.”

Maxine shrugged and said she’d tell Minnie.

“Did you meet your father’s…” Rose trailed off.

“Yeah. I did.” Maxine looked too nervous to talk about it, as though any mention of her father’s new fiancée might hurt Rose’s feelings. “She’s fine.”

Rose could have crushed her daughter in a hug. “You can like your dad’s new girlfriend, Max. In fact, I want you to.”

“I still don’t know if I do,” Maxine said. “But I’m going to try to. I know it means a lot to Dad.”