by Jean Stone
She was in the shower when he returned; she hadn’t heard the phone ring; she hadn’t heard him say “Hello” to the person who was calling who turned out not to be Stan or Murphy, as he’d presumed. The caller had been Ellen Sutton.
Annie’s mother had been neither amused nor tolerant. “I knew it!” she’d bellowed. “I knew by the way Annie looked at the floor when she told us that she was going; I knew then she was not telling the truth.” Then she pontificated about how Annie had been raised to know better than to have boys in her room, and that, if she planned to remain living under their roof and continue to have her college education paid for, she would be on the next flight back to Boston.
Thankfully, Delta had one leaving at six thirty, with one seat still available.
No, Annie had never been a convincing liar. The exceptions being the recent, bizarre altercation with Marilyn Sunderland. And, hopefully, the way she’d danced around the questions the new tenants had asked.
But Annie knew that fibbing wasn’t a strong suit for her, which was why, when Donna and Kevin walked into the Newes, she stood up and forced herself not to look at the floor. “I’m over here,” she said with a small wave. She tried to hold a smile as Donna moved toward the table. Her navy pants were full in places where they should have been fitted; her jacket looked like she’d plucked it from a coat rack by mistake, as if it belonged to a much larger woman. Her makeup seemed out of place as well, including the coral lipstick that looked as if it were painted on a dowager lady who’d once been grand but now was not.
They ordered wine and talked about the weather and how nice it was that the sun was finally out.
They perused the menu as if Kevin and Annie had never been there.
They unfolded their napkins and placed them in their respective laps.
Once the wine arrived and they ordered their meals—fish and chips all around—Annie said, “So, Donna, have you told Kevin why you’re here?” She knew that her abruptness might not be appreciated, but as bad a liar as Annie always had been, she was worse at keeping secrets.
Mother and son blinked in unison.
Then Kevin said, “Annie said you need to go over something with us, Mom, about the estate planning? I thought you’d already taken care of that.”
Donna looked at Annie, not with anger, but with sorrow. Annie instantly regretted that she’d been so direct. God, she thought, I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be part of a family. Not when it comes to this.
“I was sick,” Donna said, her voice so low that Annie had a hard time making out the words.
“What?” Kevin asked.
Donna raised her chin, reached out, and took his hand. “I was sick, honey,” she said more clearly. “I had ovarian cancer. I came to the island to be near my children while I recuperate.”
Kevin studied her a moment, their hazel eyes mirroring each other’s. He did not say a word; instead, he turned to Annie.
“I didn’t know, either,” Annie said. “Until today.”
“She told you?”
“She thought you were going to pick her up.” Annie looked at Donna with what she hoped was understanding. “And you needed to tell one of us, didn’t you?” Please, Annie thought, don’t make me feel guilty that you told me before Kevin.
“I did,” Donna replied, and patted Kevin’s hand. “I’m sorry, honey. It’s been bottled up inside me for so long. One of those ugly secrets you need to tell someone but can’t. I needed to wait until the crisis had been averted.”
“You’ve had plenty of practice.”
“Which didn’t always turn out bad.”
“Like when you started your antiques business before you told me you were going to, because even I knew you didn’t know a damn thing about antiques?”
“I knew I had to make a better living for us than I could by greeting people at a radio station. So I denied the odds and I won.”
“And now you’ve waited for the crisis to pass again.” He took a big swig of wine. “When did you get it?”
“Over a year ago. It’s why I sold the business. It’s why I took the cruise, which really wasn’t the ‘worldwide cruise’ I led you to believe. It was a boat trip across the Atlantic, then a long train ride to a hospital in Switzerland where I had an experimental treatment for two months.” Her gaze fell to her lap. “It took forever to get there, but my Boston doctor said I really shouldn’t fly.”
“He wanted you to go?”
“She. Dr. Geraldine Lang. And, yes. She wanted me to go. She recommended it.”
Kevin rubbed his chin as if pondering what Donna had said. Then he asked, “So your boyfriend never left you?”
Donna raised her chin and let out a sharp laugh. “Hell, no. I gave him the heave-ho because he couldn’t handle it when I told him the truth. He was afraid I wouldn’t get better.”
The three of them sat quietly. Annie felt like an intruder, as if the conversation should have been between mother and son.
“Mom?” Kevin asked. “You’re sure you’re okay? That it’s okay for you to be out here on the Vineyard? Away from your doctor?”
“Absolutely. I’ve been chemo-ed and radiated to near-death, and now I want to recuperate around the two of you, as long as you can stand me.” She smiled. “But just in case—and it’s a long shot—anything unforeseen might happen, I’ve made both of you my health care proxies. And, Kevin, I’ve given you power of attorney over my financial affairs.” She looked at Annie. “I didn’t do that because I feel a man is more capable at numbers than a woman. But Kevin already knows everything about my finances. He’s been helping me handle them since he was thirteen.”
Annie smiled and said, “Of course.” She felt a large pull in her abdomen, or maybe it was higher up, in her heart. A reminder that she was not, could never be, Donna’s daughter. They had missed too many things that only come from sharing time together. Time, responsibilities, life—the good parts and the not so good.
Plates of food were set in front of them. “Enjoy your meal,” the perky waitress said.
Annie said, “Thank you,” because the others didn’t seem to want to speak.
Then Kevin took Donna’s hand in both of his. “How can I help? I don’t want you to be sick.”
He was being brave, Annie thought. Braver than she’d thought that he would be.
“I don’t want to be sick again, either,” Donna said. “But here’s one thing you can do. Take me back to the Inn. I want to go to bed, and I want you two to talk about me. The truth is, I don’t know how long this recuperation thing will take. And as badly as I want to be here, I don’t want to disrupt your lives. Well, I suppose part of me does, or I wouldn’t be here now, would I?” She pulled her hand from Kevin’s and patted his again. “Now, let’s get the check and have them wrap this food. It looks delicious, but I don’t have much of an appetite tonight.”
Kevin’s eyes had filled with tears; his lower lip started to quiver.
Without expecting it, Annie, too, began to cry.
Chapter 14
It was no surprise that, over the years, from time to time, she visited her memories that were safe in the Vuitton. The place where she could remember her most important secrets.
More than once, Donna had wondered how it had happened that she had grown to be someone who had carved out a small, but successful, corner of the world, how she had learned to become strong and competent and in control of many things, a woman she often didn’t recognize, especially when she peeked inside the trunk and was reminded of the things she supposed she should forget about but never could. Not even a little.
It had taken a long time for her to find it; she’d started by buying and selling antiques out of what had been her parents’ bedroom in the triple-decker where she and Kevin had moved after her parents had both died. When she finally was able to buy the shop on Newbury Street, she insisted that their records be part of the sale. Which was how she was reunited with the Louis Vuitton. By then it belonge
d to the son of the woman who had plucked it from the shop window many years earlier, but she had since died. The son didn’t want it. He didn’t even know its true value.
So finally Donna had the only material thing that she’d ever longed for. The only place that was worthy of holding her greatest treasures.
* * *
“Jesus Christ,” Kevin muttered as he flicked the top off a can of beer and swept a hand across his face—his cheek, his mouth, his chin, his other cheek. His eyes remained glazed, perched on the edge of tears.
Annie sat across from him on the canvas drop cloths that were spread across half of the great room floor where new hardwood had been partially installed by the workers who’d been told to leave.
“I can’t believe she didn’t tell me,” he said into the air. “All this time, she never told me. What was she waiting for?”
“Maybe until she felt sure she was cured.”
“Huh.” He slugged the beer.
It had been a long day. Annie was exhausted, and wanted only to go to bed. “Look, Kevin. We don’t have to figure out what to do this minute. We can sleep on it. Let it settle in, you know?” If Murphy had been there—the professional Murphy, in her role as a therapist—Annie expected she would have advised Kevin to take time to process the news.
“Mom’s always been a master at keeping secrets. But this one? Jesus. It’s even worse than the fact that she never told me about you until after she’d met you.”
Annie hadn’t known that. She wanted to reach over, grab his beer, and chug it. “She must have been trying to protect you.”
“Or you. Or her.”
“I guess.”
Dusk was quickly turning into night; Annie snapped on the LED lantern that she’d snatched from the kitchen counter. It seemed like the best place to talk since God knew no one was around, and they couldn’t go to Earl and Claire’s where they’d be within earshot of John’s parents. It was too soon for anyone else to know about Donna’s illness—not until Kevin and Annie had decided what to do. Not that there was anything to do. True, they were Donna’s health care proxies. And Kevin had her power of attorney. But those things didn’t really matter now. Not yet. Hopefully not for a long, long time.
The only decision, then, was should she stay or should she go.
“She never talked about my dad, either,” Kevin said. “I have a few vague memories of him. One is when he took me to a Red Sox game. He bought me a hot dog and a soda. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. I think he was a good dad while he was with us, but he was gone before I could remember his face. Or his voice. When I was in junior high school I started going to Red Sox games whenever I could save up enough cash. By then Mom was working, so she didn’t know. I took the T to Fenway and spent all nine innings walking around the crowd, searching for my dad, hoping he’d find me there. Hoping he’d recognize me. If he was there, he never did.” Kevin took another drink. “Of course, he could have been living in California by then, or London, or Timbuktu. I told myself he must live far away, or he would have seen me.”
Annie had never felt abandoned. When she’d been old enough to understand the true meaning of having been adopted, her dad had explained that her birth mother had known that the Suttons would be better able to take care of Annie and protect her and give her a good home. He’d said that her birth mother must have loved Annie an awful lot to have the courage to give her to them.
Kevin set down the empty can. “I know that Lucy’s an enthusiastic kid, but I’ll admit that more than once I’ve wondered if she’s right—I should have my DNA tested. Maybe I do have other half-siblings somewhere in the world. And maybe I could find my dad.”
Wow, Annie thought, trying not to gasp. “If that’s what you want, then go for it. But I don’t think I have to warn you that if you think it will be perfect, you might want to think again.”
He cocked an eyebrow. In the harsh, blue light of the LED he looked a little comical. “Speaking from experience?”
She laughed. “No. Honestly? I was never interested in finding Donna. When she first contacted me, I’d recently lost the people I’d known as Mom and Dad. I thought that if I met Donna I’d be turning my back on them. It was too soon.”
“Is that your polite way of telling me that Mom having had cancer isn’t a good reason for me to rush to find my dad?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Where the heck was Murphy when Annie needed her?
“Anyway, she’ll be okay, so I don’t have to think about that. Right?”
“If only we could control the ways our brains behave.”
He let out a not-so-subtle grumble. “What the hell are we supposed to do? With her? With our stupid Inn? With our lives?”
“Sorry, brother, I have no answers. But let’s start by giving it time. Let her stay in the cottage. I’ll sleep here, upstairs. For a week or two? By then maybe she’ll have her strength back and be feeling better. Then we’ll know what to do—and so will she. As for our stupid Inn, I kick myself a thousand times a day for finding that damn skull. But I have no control over that, any more than I know how long it’s going to take Donna to recuperate. And while I’m at it, I confess I have no idea what to do with our lives. Just live them, I guess.”
Kevin grew quiet. “I’m doing the best I can.”
“I know.” They sat in silence for a few seconds, then Annie said, “Like most of us, you’re probably doing better than you think. But right now, how about dinner? The fish and chips won’t taste nearly as good tomorrow.”
They spread the take-out containers on the canvas carpet and dined by the blue light of the lantern. Then Kevin wrapped the trash, said good night and headed off to Earl’s. Annie took the lantern and went upstairs, weighted by fatigue and swathed in a layer of sadness—for Kevin and for Donna. And though Annie didn’t want to know if ovarian cancer tended to be genetic, she also felt a little sad for herself that even in the best of times, life had a way of leaking in.
* * *
Annie woke up to the sounds of hammering downstairs. It was a moment before she realized that she wasn’t in her own bed in the cottage, but in a guest room at The Vineyard Inn. Or what there was of the Inn. Reaching to the nightstand, she checked her phone and saw that it was only 7:00 a.m. No wonder the soft pink light of dawn had barely crept into the room.
She pulled herself together, dressed, and made her way downstairs, in the direction of the hammering. And there was Kevin, on his hands and knees in the great room, installing hardwood planks as if his sanity depended on it, which, perhaps, it did.
“Hey!” she shouted above the noise. “It’s Sunday morning!”
He set down the hammer and removed a few nails that had been sticking straight out of his mouth. “Sorry. I wanted to get an early start.”
“I didn’t know you could install a floor.”
“Me either. But somebody has to finish it. If we can’t have a professional on the payroll, I figured I might as well teach myself.”
“So,” she said as gently as possible, “I don’t know if there’s a regulation on Chappy that stipulates the hours for excessive noise, but seven in the morning seems a little . . . early.”
He picked up the hammer again. “I no longer give a crap about rules and regulations.” He stuck the nails back in his mouth, except for one that he hammered into the floor.
While Annie had heard about the stages of grief (she never could remember what they all were), she didn’t know if they applied when a loved one was recuperating. If so, Kevin might be in depression, if that was one.
“Did something happen?” she asked. “You seemed okay when you left last night but now . . .”
He ignored her for a few seconds, then said, “I’m tired, that’s all. I didn’t get much sleep. I’m not trying to sound selfish, but I really didn’t need one more thing on my mind.”
“Kevin, she’ll be all right.”
“Sure. And Taylor didn’t push her lover overboard twenty-something years ag
o, and the Inn will open right on time, and all the bills will magically be paid. But I’m sorry if my sleep deprivation woke you up.”
Annie stared at him a moment; she’d never seen him so distraught. But the fact was, he was not the only one doing the best he could. “Well,” she said, not hiding her annoyance, “I’m going for a walk. In case you give a crap about that.” She headed toward the back door, took his hooded sweatshirt off a hook, and slipped into it. It was too early to wake up Donna by going to the cottage to get a jacket. Besides, it didn’t seem as if Kevin would be going anywhere—not until he’d hammered out the last of his frustration.
She didn’t slam the door on her way out.
She walked. Not down to the beach because she didn’t need to be reminded of that clump of seaweed stuck between the rocks. Instead, she headed up the driveway, past the scrub oaks and pines, past the places where clusters of green shrubbery were dewy and expectant, not yet ready to reveal their buds.
Reaching the dirt road, Annie took a right. She didn’t know where she was going, but she stayed on the main road rather than going toward Cape Poge Bay; the only things out there were osprey nests. As much as she loved living on Chappy, parts of it were still too isolated for her comfort.
She walked fifteen or twenty minutes, then fifteen or twenty more. She supposed it was not surprising that, subconsciously, she was headed to Earl and Claire’s. Nor was it surprising when she saw Earl’s pickup heading toward her.
He stopped; he rolled down his window. “Out for a stroll?”
“Very funny. But no. I’m fretting about my brother.”
“Yeah, I noticed he was up and out kind of early. His bed looked hardly slept in. I figured I ought to try to track him down.”
“I’ll save you the trouble. He’s at the Inn. Hammering down hardwood floor.”
“I didn’t know he knew how to do that.”
“He doesn’t. He’s upset. Sleep deprived, he claims. He’s taking out his troubles on a bunch of nails and wooden planks.”
Earl scratched his chin, the way Kevin now did sometimes. Maybe Kevin wished that he’d had Earl as a father.
