by Jean Stone
Donna tasted the chowder. “Kevin didn’t tell you because he doesn’t know. I didn’t look this bad when I saw him at Christmas.”
“You should have called. Either one of us would have gone up there . . .”
The older woman shook her head. “I did not want to crowd you. You’ll never know how thrilled I am that you two are friends. But you and your brother have each been through a lot. So, yes, I did not want to crowd you. You’re both working hard; you didn’t need your mother interrupting that.”
Annie winced at the reference to “mother.” There was definitely a fine line between Donna MacNeish and Ellen Sutton that Annie did not want to cross. Maybe things would have been different if Annie had responded years ago when Donna first reached out to her.
That was then and this is now, Murphy whispered.
Taking another spoonful of chowder, Annie was aware that Donna was barely eating. “You would not have invaded our space,” she finally said. “Do you want to tell me what was wrong?”
“No.”
The ferry whistle blew; Annie turned her attention to the harbor where the big Island Home—the lifeline to the island—was pulling out of the dock, making its way back to Woods Hole.
Donna sighed. “I don’t want to tell you, but I will. It’s really the reason I’ve come.”
The same instinct Annie had had the night that Mark hadn’t come home—had never come home again—rose in Annie’s stomach. This time, it churned the chowder.
“I’ve had a bout with cancer,” Donna continued. “Ovarian. Not the best kind—as if there is a best kind.”
Raising one hand to her temple, Annie reached across the table and rested her other hand on Donna’s. “Oh, Donna. I’m so sorry. Are you having treatment?”
“I was. They’re done. It wasn’t pleasant, but now it’s time for me to recuperate.”
More than anything, Annie wanted to find the right words—if there were any right ones. She didn’t have the courage to ask—what was the term? If they’d “gotten it all”? In her peripheral vision, she was aware of the white behemoth inching out toward Vineyard Sound, its back-and-forth mission similar to life: some crossings were smoother than others. “Kevin doesn’t know?” she asked, though Donna had already said he did not.
Donna shook her head and sipped her tea again. “I hope you’ll be there when I tell him. He and I have always been so close . . . after his father left . . . You know, Kevin was only four.” She shifted her eyes down to the table and stared at Annie’s hand that rested on hers. “I’m afraid he’ll be upset. And he’ll ask a thousand questions that I don’t really want to answer. I only want to recuperate so I can get back to my life.”
Annie knew that sometimes a conversation between two people was more about the words that were left unspoken. But all she could think about was Murphy. She supposed it was only natural that once anyone had lost a loved one to the disease, whenever they heard the word, they jumped to the conclusion: terminal. Still, Annie knew that ovarian cancer could be tough to cure. And that, no matter what, Kevin would take the news far harder than she would. Or could. Donna had been the one who had raised him, nurtured him, loved him, picked him up when he fell down, nursed his outer and inner wounds. Donna had done those things for Kevin—Ellen Sutton hadn’t. And now, in that moment, Annie became more concerned about Kevin than about Donna.
Neither mother nor daughter finished their chowder or tea.
It wasn’t until they were in the Jeep, the wipers swiping the windshield with rhythmic gusto, that Annie suddenly understood why Donna’s luggage was so large.
* * *
“Mom?” Kevin called out from the living room. “You’re here?”
Annie and Donna were in the bedroom; Annie had been showing her a couple of empty drawers she could use.
“Jesus,” he said now as he stood in the doorway, “you’ve lost weight. Are you on one of those stupid diets again?”
Donna laughed. “You know me, Kev. If I gain two pounds, I have to lose five to compensate.” She went over and kissed his cheek. “But look at you. You’re looking fitter than ever. Manual labor agrees with you.”
“Yup. And I’m hoping it lasts. Did Annie tell you what happened?”
She turned back to Annie, who was watching the mother-son reunion with a hint of envy. “I did not,” Annie replied. “I wanted you to have the pleasure.”
“Very funny,” Kevin replied.
Donna looked from one of her children to the other. “Perhaps we should go into the living room and talk?”
“Good idea,” Annie said.
So that’s what they did. Annie sat on the sofa, Donna went to the rocker, and Kevin whipped around a kitchen chair and sat backward on it, facing them.
“It’s Annie’s fault,” Kevin said wryly. He began with Annie’s idea to decorate the Inn with “Vineyard natural” accents, then told Donna about the skull and all that had happened since, ending by saying that the skull was in Boston being examined. At the onset, Donna’s eyes had grown large; they stayed that way throughout the tale.
“And then, thanks to Annie’s boyfriend’s daughter,” he added, “the whole story went viral. Photos included.” He began to clarify the term “going viral,” until Donna reminded him that she wasn’t a Luddite, and knew full well what it meant.
“So now what?” Donna asked Annie.
“Now we wait. And we pray that the remains aren’t Native American, because if this is determined to be sacred ground, we can’t have the Inn. I don’t know what will happen to the house. Or to Kevin and Earl’s investment.”
The three of them stopped talking. Annie wished she’d made tea, if only to give them something to do. Sip. Stir. Sip. Be productive in their silence.
“It’s quite a story,” Donna finally said. “When will you know the outcome?”
“Obviously, we hope it’s in time for us to finish what needs finishing so we can open Memorial Day weekend. Mostly because we’re already booked.”
“Five weeks,” Donna said.
“Four weeks and six days,” Kevin corrected. “The first reservation is for Friday of that weekend.”
“And our year-round renters will be moving in then, too. They don’t have to pay rent until June first, but we gave them extra days because that’s when they have to be out of their winter rentals.”
“Which means,” Kevin said, as he stood up and moved the chair back to the table, “I need to get back to work. Earl and I are calling ourselves the ‘skeleton crew,’ pun intended.”
“Wait,” Annie said as she, too, stood up. “Donna . . . Mom . . . has some news, too.”
Kevin glanced at his watch. “Can it wait ’til later? Dinner, maybe? I’ve got to help Earl finish painting now that it’s stopped raining.”
That’s when Annie noticed the sun peeking into the cottage. And that the Vineyard was looking like a happy place again.
“Of course,” Donna said. “Go back to work. It’s nothing important, anyway.”
“You’re not getting married or anything, are you?”
“No, dear. I am not getting married. We’ll talk later. Shall we go to the Newes? I like it there. My treat.”
Kevin said, “Absolutely,” and that he’d be back at six o’clock to pick them up.
And Annie was left standing, wondering what to do with Donna until then, since it was apparent that the woman was in no shape for beachcombing, and had been too nervous to tell her son what was really going on.
Chapter 13
Entertaining Donna hadn’t turned out to be a problem. After Annie helped her unpack and find places for almost everything, Donna said she needed a nap. Annie told her to make herself at home, that she’d be back later. “There’s plenty of food in the refrigerator if you get hungry. Please, help yourself.”
All Annie needed then was to find something to do. She could not go to the main house; she didn’t want to see Kevin, for fear she’d give away Donna’s secret. Even with the positive ca
ncer outcome, it was up to Donna to tell him, especially since he’d be upset that he hadn’t found out sooner.
Annie thought about driving up island to see Winnie, but trekking up and back, and having a good visit, would simply take too long.
She didn’t want to go to Earl and Claire’s, because Claire had a way of reading people’s minds. If she asked Annie outright if everything with Donna was okay, Annie might spill what she knew. Then there’d be no telling whom Claire might tell. She was a wonderful, caring woman, but sometimes it was hard for her to hold her tongue. And if she told Taylor . . . Well, the news was sure to be dispersed across the island faster than skunk spray in breeding season.
Before spending more time ruminating, Annie realized there was only one place other than Winnie’s where she could go and feel safe sharing Donna’s news. So she boarded the On Time and went to John’s.
“He’s still sleeping,” Lucy said when she greeted Annie at the door. “But go upstairs and wake him. He won’t care if it’s you.”
Annie hesitated. After all, the bedroom was off-limits when Lucy was around.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Lucy said. “Go upstairs. I’m not stupid. And I’m not five years old. If it makes you feel better, I’ll walk over to the library.”
Annie smiled. “Yes, that would make me feel better.”
Lucy rolled her eyes, grabbed her backpack, and meandered out the door, texting as she walked away.
The heavy drapes in John’s room blocked out every ray of daylight that might have tried to sneak in. Which was why when Annie opened the door, stepped inside, and was accosted by something small and furry, she let out a shriek. She wasn’t yet accustomed to Restless being there.
“Hey,” John mumbled from under the covers. “Whoever is entering this room better have a good reason.”
“It’s me,” Annie whispered, as if whispering would make her interruption less startling. She bent down and scratched Restless behind his ears, which only resulted in him running in circles, yipping for more attention. “I’m sorry. I forgot about the dog.” Her vision started to adjust to the lack of light.
“Restless,” John said in a hushed, barely audible tone, “c’mere.”
The dog leapt onto the bed, wiggling and whimpering, amazing Annie with both his acute hearing and his astute instinct to obey John’s soft command.
“He loves you,” Annie said. She sat down on the edge of the bed. “So do I.”
John rolled onto his side, pulled her down, and kissed her. Then Restless jumped between them, his little tongue joining in the kisses while he panted his sweet puppy breath.
“No,” John said, laughing. “Lie down. Sit. Go somewhere else.”
“Are you talking to the dog or to me?”
“Get in your crate!” he continued with halfhearted authority, laughing again.
“I don’t have a crate,” Annie replied, just as Restless jumped off the bed, scuttled through the little door of the dog crate in the corner of the room, and plunked down on the blue plaid doggie cushion that John had bought online from L.L.Bean. “He’s very good, isn’t he?”
“He’s getting spoiled. Like me.” John kissed her again and ran his hands through her hair. “Speaking of which, to what do I owe the pleasure of being awakened from a dead sleep?”
She wished he hadn’t said the word dead. It made her think of cancer and of Murphy and of the prognosis that Donna had just dodged. Annie sighed and sat up. “Lucy went to the library. She had the impression I wanted to be alone with you.”
John propped himself up on one elbow. “Suddenly, I have a feeling this isn’t a bootie call.”
Smoothing the navy-striped comforter, she remembered when she’d gone over to the Cape with him to pick out all new bedding: the comforter, sheets, blankets, pillows, the works. It had been early in their relationship, that stage when everything was magical. “You don’t have to try to impress me,” she’d said. “I’ll slide under your covers no matter how old they are.” They’d been on the boat, loaded down with Bed, Bath & Beyond coupons, whispering like newlyweds, though no commitment had been involved. He’d shaken his head. “I will not have you burrowing under the same blankets that I’ve taken camping for over thirty years. Nor will I have you sniffing the questionable sanitation of my bachelorhood.” That, of course, was before his daughter had moved back home and he’d cleaned up his act. Now, his bedding carried an aroma of his woodsy deodorant, fabric softener, and a bit of dog.
“I have a problem,” Annie said.
He frowned. His brow furrowed, his eyebrows crinkled. He reached up and snapped on the lamp. “What’s wrong?”
“Donna.”
“You picked her up?” He fell silent then, waiting for Annie to go on.
“I did. She told me she had cancer.”
He pulled himself up and put his arm around her. “Had, not has?”
She shrugged. “Had. But it feels strange that I didn’t know.”
“How does Kevin feel about it?”
“He doesn’t know yet. And there’s more. She says she came here to recuperate.”
“And . . . ?”
“I have no idea how long it’s going to take. Her suitcase is enormous. In fact, she has two.”
“Maybe she brought you something special. Wasn’t she into antiques? Maybe the suitcases are full of cash. Bills. Money she laundered through her business and wants to give you for the Inn.”
Annie knew he was trying to lift her spirits. “Or maybe they contain all her worldly possessions,” she said. “Like maybe she’s planning to move here permanently.”
His face turned serious. “How would you feel about that?”
“How would I know? I barely know her, remember?”
“Right. Well, I guess if she moved here that would change.”
Annie sighed. “She’s going to tell Kevin about the cancer at the Newes tonight. It should be a fun dinner, right?”
“I think I’ll pass.”
“All I know is that if Kevin wants her to stay, I can’t very well say no. He’s my brother, and I feel like we’ve gotten pretty close. Not to mention that if he left, your father wouldn’t speak to me again. He says Kevin’s the ‘best goddamned assistant’ he’s ever had.” She tried to sound like Earl, but the words came out sounding gruff, not at all like the man who might have wanted to sound crotchety but always wound up sounding kind of sweet.
“You might want to leave my nutso father out of this.” John sat beside her on the edge of the bed, their legs touching each other’s. Annie felt a surge of love for this man who seemed to really care about her feelings. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s get serious. You need to think about what you’re prepared to do. I won’t sugarcoat this, Annie. But Kevin is a guy. You’re a girl. And you and I both know that, despite all the changes in the world, when it comes right down to it, females are usually the ones who wind up being the caregivers.”
“But she’s not sick anymore.”
“Look. It sounds like she’s been through a lot. Recuperating will probably take time. And patience.”
“And I’ll end up being her nurse.”
“In a sense, sure. And, Annie . . .”
She had a feeling she knew what he was going to say next.
“What if the cancer comes back? Not that it will, and I hope it doesn’t. But it’s good to be prepared.”
She sighed again. “I don’t know.... I’ve never had to be a nurse before.” Now wasn’t the time to think about all the loves she’d lost and how. Her mother had been hospitalized throughout her brief illness and death, and her dad and Brian were both gone so fast she never even had a chance to say good-bye, let alone take care of either of them. All she’d done for Murphy was help her with her hair and nails and bring her cups of tea. Murphy’s physician husband, Stan, had done the rest; he’d taken family leave for that.
“I can’t—and won’t—tell you what I think you should do,” John said. “Besides, it sounds as if she’s o
n the mend. But whatever happens, I’ll be here for you.” He took Annie’s hand. “And Restless will be here, too.”
She leaned against his shoulder. “You, Mr. Lyons, are the best kind of boyfriend a girl could ever have.”
He did not disagree.
* * *
Annie arrived early and chose a table far from the bar that might get noisy on a Saturday night, despite that the season was a long way off. Four weeks and six days, she reminded herself. Perhaps not so long, after all.
She wrung her hands and looked nervously around the pub, grateful that only a few people were there at the early hour. She’d texted Kevin from John’s, said she was in Edgartown and would meet them at the Newes. She suggested he bring his truck across because, though the restaurant was close to the On Time, Donna had been tired and might not want to walk that far. Hopefully, her brother didn’t think there was anything odd about that—though Annie had always been terrible at lying.
Spring break, Murphy elected right then to whisper. She didn’t need to say more.
Annie bit her lip, suppressing a wide grin, which she knew was absolutely not appropriate given the reason for the dinner. But spring break their sophomore year of college had been hilarious, one of many times with Murphy when all hadn’t gone according to their plan.
“We’re going to Daytona Beach,” Annie had told her parents. “Murphy and I.”
That part had been true. She and Murphy were going to Daytona Beach. The lie was the omission that they’d booked two rooms: one for Murphy and Stan, the medical student she was engaged to (who wound up the father of their twins and taking care of Murphy at the end); the other for Annie and Brian (the same Brian who, a few years later, became her husband).
After three days spent inside their rooms instead of on the beach, Brian had suggested that, rather than ordering burgers from room service again, he’d go out and bring back pizza. Though Annie hated to see him go, she knew it would be a good time to take a long, luxurious shower, to wash her hair and shave her legs, and do those things that, at nineteen, still seemed too intimate to do around him, even though by then they’d been having sex for quite a while.
