After a frantic two months of work to free herself up, she wanted to slow down, decompress, and maybe, just maybe figure out why she had agreed to a last summer on Quinnipeague. Giddy with excitement, she stashed the soft top in back, and, as the warm June air flowed freely through windows and roof, drove up from New York herself. The car was an old Jeep Wrangler, bought from a friend of a friend for a fraction of its original cost. Nicole had offered airfare to speed up the trip, but Charlotte flew everywhere else in life. Since Charlotte had one of those for the first time in her life, she proudly booked the ferry, boarding in Rockland on a Tuesday, which was one of only three days each week when its captain cruised past Vinalhaven to islands like Quinnipeague. With a year-round population of nearly three hundred, it was serviced by a daily mail boat that carried groceries and a handful of passengers, but no cars. QUINNIPEAGUE LAY ELEVEN MILES FROM the mainland.
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