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vegetation. I opened the door for Bella. A grand piano, antique roll-top desk and French doors dominated the entrance and stairway. “Hello?” I called out, but no one was there.
    â€œDoreen said she might not be here,” Bella explained. “She said to get comfortable and leave the door unlocked, if we step out.”
    There was a note at the top of the stairs, directing us to one of the three bedrooms. Bella opened the door and sighed. “Definitely heaven,” she said. It was a little girl’s dream, with a queen-sized bed, antique chests and floral prints from floor to ceiling.
    As we’d arrived early enough to salvage some of the day, I paced with an energy I hadn’t felt in weeks. I helped Bella unpack our bags, while she began making the cozy room our home for the weekend.
    Once finished, Bella turned to me and smiled. “All settled in,” she said.
    I nodded. “Good…so let’s go have that walk Dr. Rice prescribed.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

    Hand-in-hand and dressed in thick sweaters, we took our first stroll down Main Street in Vineyard Haven. Shops, untouched by time, lined both sides of the narrow street; art galleries, sellers of home accents and furniture, antiques and collectibles. We walked by a French restaurant. I looked at Bella. “Maybe tonight?”
    She shook her head. “I was hoping for something a little more casual.”
    â€œAnd healthy?” I teased.
    She nodded.
    There was another B&B beside a gourmet shop that Bella stepped into. They had all the ingredients she needed to make bruschetta. “Now we’re talking,” she said, “We’ll be back for some things tomorrow.”
    We took our time and looked at everything. There were nostalgic candy stores that still twisted saltwater taffy – in every pastel color imaginable – right in the front window for everyone to see. Fudge was also made by hand; most things done like days of old. We bought a half-pound of chocolate walnut fudge and took turns with the small white bag as we went along. There were jewelers, gift shops and clothiers. Led by my curious wife, I poked my head into each and wasted the afternoon away. Past the goldsmith, photographer and realtor’s office, we made it to the Mansion House Inn on the corner. And then it was time to make our way back up the other side of the street.
    The Island Theater, closed for renovations, was a definite glimpse of yesterday. I dragged Bella back across the street to check out Bunch of Grapes Bookstore.
    It was a busy, independent shop that seemed to capture the spirit of the island. We browsed for a while. They had a wide range of island books, from local hiking-trail guides to cookbooks and collections of poetry by local artists. The atmosphere was personal and made book shopping a pleasure, something the major franchises had long abandoned. I walked upstairs to find a small parlor where they hosted local authors and poets. Unfortunately, there were none scheduled for the weekend. I bought a copy of Roland Merullo’s Revere Beach Elegy and followed Bella out into the early spring sun.
    We spent an hour or so comparing prices at a few of the mom and pop souvenir shops. Each one had an abundance of similar items to tempt buyers: scrimshaw jewelry and other imports from Cape Cod (most including cranberries), seashell wind chimes, old lobster pots converted into tables, and buoys for sale in every primary color. I considered buying a puzzle of the island, but thought, I doubt I’ll have the time to fi n ish it – and quickly pushed the thought out of my head. Even if I hadn’t known, I would have been able to tell we were at an artist’s colony. There were sculptures, watercolor paintings and beautiful pieces done in metal. Nantucket lightship baskets and gold charms led me to the white braided bracelets that children soaked and let shrink to their skin. They were the same ones that