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bobbing in her chest, and she couldn’t believe her good luck.
    “You do?” she asked quickly. “Do you know how to get there?”
    Luke glanced out the window, squinting and biting the corner of his lip. “I’d give you a ride, but I walked to town,” he said. “There’s a free shuttle bus that stops across the street from the merry-go-round. Take it all the way into Chilmark and tell the driver to drop you off at the General Store. There’s a trail on the left. Walk all the way down to the water, and you’ll see it. It’s pretty hard to miss.”
    Hazel was halfway to the door when he’d finished giving directions. She only remembered to thank him when she was out on the street.
    She turned to see Luke leaning against the glass, one hand raised in a tentative wave. “Thanks!” she called out to the window, before racing off toward the bus.
    Hazel felt a tiny tug between her ribs and quickly wondered if she’d ever see him again, this Prince Charming who’d swooped in and saved her day. But the wrinkled paper in her hand reminded her of why she was here. She was about to find what she was looking for.
    Her mother was only a bus ride away.

7
    “H ere you go.”
    After clattering for what felt like miles down a long, bumpy dirt road, the shuttle bus slowed to a stop. The driver, a cheerful man in a floppy red visor, pulled the door open and Hazel stepped onto a gravel trail.
    “Follow the path,” the driver urged, pointing over Hazel’s shoulder toward an expanse of lawn and sky. Just beyond the peaks of a tall, green cliff, she saw the ocean, deep blue and dotted with rolling whitecaps. “If you end up underwater, you’ve gone too far.”
    Hazel thanked him and stood in place as the van rolled back over the gravel driveway. She started down the path, her feet crunching over the layers of crumbled seashells, jagged and fine with hints of pale purple inside.
    The house was one low level sprawled out across the lawn. Covered, open-air walkways connected different sections, and rounded cupolas peeked out of the whitecedar-shingled roof. Hazel stood at the entrance and peeled the now-sticky material of her dress away from her body. She took a deep breath.
    She was about to knock when she heard a noise behind her. It sounded like a screen door swinging shut. As she listened harder, sounds of soft, classical music wafted past, punctuated by the rolling rhythm of the waves in the distance.
    Hazel stepped back onto the path and followed the melodic strains of violins. The smell of fresh-cut grass mingled with the salty sea air, and Hazel gaped at the rolling hills, the manicured gardens, the open view of soft, gentle surf. At the edge of a cliff, she spotted a cozy wooden cottage, and headed for it.
    A sharp pang tightened around her heart. It was the most beautiful place Hazel had ever seen. And it could have been home. It
should
have been home. If only her mother hadn’t given her away.
    The screen door to the cottage was stuck slightly open, and Hazel peered inside. It was just one room, with dark wood panels and a giant circular window, cut in the shape of a captain’s wheel and overlooking the horizon. The walls were covered with colorful canvases, some framed, some half-finished, with many more crowded together and propped up against one another on the floor.
    A woman stood in the far corner of the room, at an easel by the window. She was tall and thin, with broad shoulders and long, dark blond hair that cascaded in waves down her back. Her arms were folded at her waist and she rocked back gently on her heels, staring at the empty canvas as if waiting for it to tell her where to begin.
    Hazel stood on the other side of the screen door, tiny ripples of excitement chasing away any negative thoughts. Even if she hadn’t seen Rosanna’s photograph, she would have known this was the woman she had spent her whole life waiting to meet. Something about just being near her made Hazel feel warm and full, and she