A Vineyard Christmas

by Jean Stone

  Once on the porch, Annie shifted the baby in order to open the front door. As she lowered her head to put the key into the lock, she saw a small piece of paper parked on the doorstep where Bella’s basket once had been.

  At first, she thought it might be another label from her soap, something else the girl had dropped when she’d been there. But it was too big. And it wasn’t oval. She reached down and picked it up: it was a bookmark from the Edgartown library, a list of titles of the documentaries that Virginia planned to show on Wednesday evenings throughout the winter.

  Annie frowned. Had she—not Bella’s mother, but herself—taken one of these when she’d been at the library? Had it fallen out of her pocket? She supposed it was possible. And probable, she admonished herself. It was her own doing. Nothing sinister. Nothing more.

  With Bella in one arm, she dropped the bookmark into the side pocket of her purse. Then she and the baby went inside.

  * * *

  A while later, Annie felt better, so she made tea and ate a few nachos that she hoped would help settle her stomach the way saltines did. Mark once told her that saltines helped curb seasickness. He had loved sailing—or, at least, he’d loved the social part of sailing: rubbing elbows with those who had way more money, way more things than they did, though God knew he’d done his best to keep up. Among other “necessities,” he’d bought a boat, one of the many toys that Annie later learned he’d owed more on—correction: that she’d owed more on—than it was worth. She’d ended up using the proceeds from her second novel to cover that debt.

  She crunched another nacho and remembered the reason he’d told her about the saltines was that she’d been having morning sickness, though she’d told him her doctor said she had a small ulcer. As the years passed, during those times when she regretted the abortion, she took some satisfaction from knowing that she’d kept a secret from him, after all the ones he’d kept from her.

  With a small sigh, she wondered about the Thurmans now, and if, whoever they were, they had any idea that Bella’s mother had been looking for them. If the girl had jumped off the ferry, maybe she’d had an ID in her pocket, one that hadn’t been ruined by the water. Maybe the police had found a connection to the Thurmans by now and had already contacted them. Maybe the Thurmans—whatever roles they had in the story—had rushed to the girl’s side and were at the hospital, so she wasn’t alone.

  Maybe! Annie shook her head at her persistent need for a happy ending. Murphy once told her it was why she’d make a good novelist. But Annie often wondered if it was because she was still searching for her own.

  With that thought, she laughed. At herself. At her foolishness. Then she went to her bookcase, took out the Island Book, and brought it back to the table. A small phone book, with both white and yellow pages, the book also had green pages that held all sorts of data about each of the island’s six towns; it had been heralded by the Chamber of Commerce as essential reading for those who lived there year-round. Opening the book, Annie also realized that, as with most books, she now needed glasses to look up the Thurmans’ name and address. She reached around the back of her chair where she’d hung her purse and pulled out her glasses.The bookmark from the library slid out with them and fell to the floor.

  Strange, she thought as she bent to get it. She really didn’t remember having taken it from the library; she must have picked it up off the counter when she and Earl were waiting to find out who’d checked out her book. Annie had been so nervous then, it was something she could have done subconsciously—something to do with her hands while Virginia scoured the database.

  Setting the bookmark on the table, she put on her glasses and opened the Island Book. But her gaze was drawn back to the bookmark . . . it had landed upside down on the table; there was no printing on the back except for three handwritten words:

  I trusted you, it read.

  Chills swirled through Annie’s body the way the snow had swirled during the storm.

  Bella’s mother must have left the bookmark on the doorstep when Annie was in Vineyard Haven. She must have messed with the latch on the outer door, which was why, that time, the door hadn’t shut firmly at all. It was clear that she’d left the message for Annie. Then she’d walked down to the ferry. Gotten on it. And jumped off.

  Worst of all, Annie was now to blame.

  * * *

  She let out a scream that startled Bella and set her to screaming, too. Annie wanted to be wrong. Oh, how she wanted to be wrong.

  I trusted you.

  Had the girl thought Annie had ratted her out? That she’d shipped Bella off to a foster home? Hadn’t she seen the little lamb Annie had made? It was on the rocking chair right where she had left it.

  “Oh, God,” Annie cried, picking up the baby and wrapping her in her unsteady arms. She sat on the rocker, and the two of them rocked, cried, and rocked some more.

  There was no other explanation. The girl had accused Annie of not taking care of Bella as she had begged. And she’d used three simple words that were unmistakably portentous. And, apparently, meant to be final.

  After a few minutes, Bella settled down. Annie dried both their tears and tried to think about what her next step should be.

  First, she needed to be sure that the girl in the hospital was Bella’s mother. The best way to do that was to hear it from John. If they could talk quietly together, she might get up the courage to tell him the whole story.

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out his card. Then she picked up her cell phone and dialed. His voice mail kicked in.

  “John?” she asked. “It’s Annie Sutton. I’m feeling so much better now.And I’ve been thinking about your offer for dinner. I’ve decided to take you up on it after all. My treat. It’s the least I can do for how you helped me today. Let me know when. Hopefully your mother will watch the baby.”

  She set down the phone and hugged Bella more closely. “Oh, little one,” she whispered. “Oh, you poor, poor little one. What have I done to you?”

  Chapter 20

  Annie ordered chowder and a salad; John, the bangers and mash.

  “I suppose it’s not the healthiest thing for a guy of my advanced years,” he said, then gestured to the next table, where a man was diving into the British Cumberland sausage. “But, man, it looks great.”

  So did he. Dressed in jeans and a charcoal sweater, he might have been a lover instead of a cop. Or instead of the father of two teenage girls, who were scheduled to arrive the next day to spend a long weekend with their father. Which was why, when he’d replied to Annie’s message, he’d suggested that they go out that night.

  Clearing her throat, Annie sipped her chardonnay. “Your years aren’t so advanced. Not as advanced as mine.”

  “Forty-eight,” he said. “Forty-nine in April.”

  A Taurus, like Murphy, Annie thought. She pushed back the fantasy that it might be a good omen for compatibility. And the fact that a two-year age difference was fairly insignificant. “I still win.”

  “Not by much,” he said. “I Googled you.”

  Her laugh was sudden and unexpected. “You use Google? I would have thought you’d have a covert search engine. Like VitalStatistics–dot–com, if there is such a thing.”

  He cocked one side of his mouth into a smile. She liked how he looked when he did that. “I didn’t want to feel like I was a stalker.”

  She came very close to saying she’d already had one of those. She decided, instead, to choose to be flattered. Then she set down her glass and reminded herself this wasn’t a date. Not to her. This was her chance to learn about the girl who’d nearly drowned. “I’ll take that as a compliment. But I’m not here for those. I really did want to thank you for helping me out today. It was not my finest hour.”

  “No problem. Lots of people have reactions when they get near death, even when someone’s had a close call.”

  “Does that mean she’ll be okay?

  Toying with a mug of local beer, John said,” All I c
an say is she’s in critical condition.”

  “Did you find out who she is? Or if she lives here?” Annie wondered if she sounded frantic. Slow down, Murphy’s voice whispered in her ear.

  He smiled. “She’s in critical condition.”

  A waitress arrived, a different one from the one who’d taken their orders. She was paying attention to balancing a tray until she set the chowder and salad in front of Annie and then spotted John. “Johnny!” she cried. “Haven’t seen you in a while. How are those girls of yours?” She wore a maroon T-shirt with the Newes logo and black pants that hugged her thin body as if they were leggings. Her over-bleached curls were anchored by a sparkly headband; a fake tan accentuated whitened teeth.

  “Hey, Michelle. The girls are great. They’ll be here for the weekend.”

  She put the bangers in front of him. “Be sure to bring ’em round. Speaking of girls, I heard there was some excitement at the On Time today.”

  He paused, as if carefully forming his words. Then he said, “Yup. You could call it that.”

  “Bob Morton said she jumped right off the back.”

  “Yup. Pretty much.” He lowered his eyes and took another drink.

  “He said she was a wash-ashore. None of the captains remembered bringing her to Chappy.”

  He lifted his beer mug. “You know how it is. This time of year there are so many tourists, it’s hard to remember faces.”

  The girl named Michelle stared at him a moment, then let out a laugh. “Oh, John Lyons, you’re such a kidder. It’s December. Nobody’s here. Even in high school, you were a kidder.”

  The fact that the waitress was flirting with him did not slip past Annie.

  “This is my friend Annie,” John said. “Annie, meet Michelle.”

  Michelle nodded at her. “Seen you here before.Well, enjoy your meals!” She turned to go, then pivoted back to John. “They said she has a baby.”

  Annie blinked.

  The waitress continued chattering. “They said she muttered something about a baby when she got on board. Such a shame. I sure hope the kid’s okay.” She shook her head and walked away, her bleached curls bouncing in her wake.

  Picking up her spoon, Annie poised it over the chowder, but her appetite had disappeared again. The young woman was Bella’s mother. She was sure of that now.

  “What you just heard was not an official comment,” John said. “It was island gossip. In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a lot of that around here.”

  She tried to smile. “It’s hard to stop people from talking.” She set down her spoon, picked up her fork, and poked at the greens on her plate as if she were a child. She could almost hear her mother’s stern words: Young ladies don’t play with their food. Yet Annie could not stop. The next thing she knew, John’s hand was on hers.

  “Annie? Has all this talk upset you? Would you like to leave?”

  It was the right time to tell him. It was absolutely the right time. But Annie could only think about Bella being taken away from her and shoved into a foster home. The way she once had been. She had no way of knowing why the girl thought Annie had gone against her wishes, but she couldn’t worry about that now. The bottom line, as her practical, straight-to-the-point dad would have said, was that the girl had trusted her to take care of Bella, and, legal or not, she was going to do it. As long as she could. She took her napkin from her lap and set it on the table. “Yes, I’m upset,” she said. “And I’m sorry. But I need to leave.”

  John pulled back his hand and stood up. “I’ll get take-out containers. We can do this some other time.”

  * * *

  They walked down the hill, because John had left his pickup on the Chappy side. As a police officer, he probably always got a free ride, but Annie supposed he wouldn’t take advantage of that. She wondered if he would have held her hand if she hadn’t folded her arms at her waist and walked with her head down. After all, it would not do his career any good if he got too close to her. Especially since she was now withholding evidence about an investigation.

  Once on the boat, the cold, clear night enveloped her. Though she knew that a billion stars must be visible, Annie did not look up. She didn’t want to think about Murphy then, or about her dad, who might be disappointed in her for keeping such a secret. Instead, Annie sat next to John on the bench and kept her eyes fixed on her feet, on the knockoff Ugg boots she’d bought at Trader Fred’s last fall. They weren’t fancy, but they were warm. And staring at them seemed preferable to looking at the canvas strip that Bella’s mother must have stepped over before she’d gone into the water. God, it must have been freezing. The only consolation was that because she’d done it in the daylight, maybe she’d wanted to be noticed, maybe she’d wanted someone to stop her. If she’d jumped off in the darkness, chances were she wouldn’t have been found until it was too late. If it weren’t already.

  “How deep is it here?” Annie asked John in a whisper.

  “Around twenty-five feet, I think.”

  “The girl could have killed herself.”

  “Sure. But I’d like to think she would have changed her mind. I mean, if someone jumps into the water—even if they fully intend to drown—won’t their first instinct be to swim? Of course, this time of year, hypothermia kicks in pretty fast.”

  She didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing.

  He took her hand. But because they both had on thick gloves, she felt no warmth from his fingers or palm. “Annie, I have to ask you something.”

  They’d reached the halfway point across the channel; the current was strong, forcing the captain to veer slightly north in order to safely dock once they reached the other side. The chug-chug of the motor rose; Annie wondered if she could pretend she hadn’t heard John above the increase in sound.

  And then he squeezed her hand. “Annie? Are you afraid that girl who . . . who did this is your niece?”

  Of course, she’d forgotten all about her long-lost relative. Worse, she couldn’t think straight enough to know how to respond. So she pulled her hand from his and entwined her arms below her breasts. “I don’t know.”

  John folded his hands as if she hadn’t brushed him off. “Once she’s stable, I’ll bring you to the hospital to see her. If we haven’t ID’d her by then.”

  So he’d admitted they didn’t know the girl’s identity. Not that Annie needed further proof of who it was.

  The On Time docked between the pilings. Annie and John stayed seated until the captain unhooked the restraining strap—which, Annie thought wryly, had not restrained Bella’s mother—then John helped Annie up. “My mother wouldn’t mind if you want to keep the baby at their house tonight,” he said as they disembarked and walked toward his truck.

  “No,” Annie quickly replied. “Thanks, but I’d rather have Bella home tonight.”

  One more night and one more day might be all Annie needed to somehow change the course of Bella’s future. If only she could do it before John learned the truth.

  * * *

  When they stepped into Earl and Claire’s kitchen, the lights were on. Earl sat at the table, a coffee mug in front of him; Claire was in her wool plaid bathrobe, knotting and unknotting the long belt as she paced.

  “What’s wrong?” Annie cried. “Is Bella okay?” Her words burst out before she could swallow her guilt.

  “She’s fine,” Earl replied. “Upstairs. Asleep.” His words, however, did little to mask the pallor in the air, the colorless, toneless energy that made Annie’s stomach tighten again.

  Claire moved from the kitchen sink and marched directly toward Annie, her white hair wild, her eyes the same, her forefinger flapping at her like a child’s broken toy. “How dare you!” she snarled. “Earl has done so much for you. And I treated you like one of ours. How dare you, Annie Sutton!”

  Annie stepped back.

  John shot between them. “Mom. Stop. What the hell are you doing?”

  She glared at Annie, then caught her breath. “Well, one th
ing I am NOT doing is harboring a kidnapper. That’s what she is, aren’t you, Ms. Sutton? Ms. Big-Shot-Goody-Two-Shoes coming to our island, as if you’re doing us a favor? Well, how’s this for a favor? You’re going to be arrested.Arrest her, John! Arrest her this minute!”

  Annie was so startled she could barely breathe. “Claire . . .” she started, but the woman cut her off.

  “No! I will not listen. Earl told me how Bella arrived on your doorstep in the middle of the blizzard and how you kept her—you kept her!—as if she was yours to keep. As if she were a batch of Christmas cookies or a loaf of homemade fruitcake. Well, you’re the fruitcake, missy. And you need to get out of my house!”

  Earl was suddenly behind Claire. He grabbed her hand. “Claire. Stop. Your blood pressure . . .” He looked back at Annie. “I’m so sorry, Annie. But she kept grilling me . . .”

  “Grilling you?” Claire screeched and turned to John, her finger still flapping at the air. “As soon as Taylor said the baby’s mother was this . . . this kidnapper’s niece, I knew something was fishy. Annie told me she was sitting for a friend. An up-island friend.” She twisted back to Annie. “I gave you the benefit of the doubt! I believed your cockamamy lies. I let you spend Christmas with my family!”

  “Mom,” John said again, “no one can understand you when you’re screaming.”

  Claire wiped her mouth, lowered her voice. “Then Taylor came by today. She said she didn’t trust you. She said you don’t even have a cat like you said you do. She knows you’ve been lying. I’ve known that woman since she was born. I’ve only known you three days. Who was I going to believe? Who? My husband, that’s who. So I asked him. I’m not stupid, you know.” She vigorously shook her head. “No. I’m not stupid.”

  “Mom,” John interrupted. Then he took both her arms and quietly said, “No one said you’re stupid. Now please, calm down. I’ll take care of this.”

  Claire’s words came out in a whimper. “She won’t leave here with that baby girl. She’ll take her out of here over my dead body.”