A Vineyard Morning

by Jean Stone

“She has her moments,” Claire responded, winking at Annie. “She’s a good girl, but I worry that she’s like her father. Spunky sometimes to her detriment.”

  “And she has a sister?”

  “Abigail, yes. We hardly see her anymore; like her mother, she never enjoyed living on the island. The girls are polar opposites.” Then Claire offered a sly smile and added, “Lucy is the smart one. She knows how to get her way.”

  Donna laughed. “Then she’s bound to succeed at whatever she does in life.”

  If she can learn to control her enthusiasm, Annie thought, absently shaking her head.

  “Annie?” Claire asked. “You disagree that Lucy will be successful?”

  “Oh, no. Not at all. I was just marveling at her energy. I don’t think I came close to having that much at her age.”

  “None of us did, dear,” Claire replied, a look of bewilderment crossing her face. “I’ve often wondered how John turned out as well as he did. If I only could get back the days—and years—that I spent worrying . . .”

  “We always worry about our children, don’t we?” Donna said. “Even before I met Annie, I worried about her.” Then she turned to her. “You didn’t know that, did you?”

  “Well, no.” Annie had no idea how else to answer.

  Donna looked back at Claire. “When I learned she was on the Vineyard, I was so pleased. I loved it here when I was young.”

  At first Annie thought she must have misheard.

  Then Claire asked, “Oh? Family vacations?”

  Donna shook her head. “No. I worked here one summer after I graduated from high school. I was a waitress at a restaurant—the Blue Lagoon in Vineyard Haven. Do you remember it? It was a small place; it’s probably long gone.”

  Annie was too shocked to speak.

  “I remember the name,” Claire said. “But years ago, except for once or twice a year when we went off island to buy clothes and supplies that we couldn’t get here, we only went to Vineyard Haven to get the boat, not to eat out. There weren’t many restaurants then.”

  “They mostly made fried clams. Not strips, mind you. Whole bellies. Only whole bellies.”

  Annie froze. That was how Murphy had liked her clams. Whole bellies, never just strips.

  Claire laughed. “So you were here only that one summer?”

  “And for spring break just before it,” Donna replied. “When I came down to apply for the job.”

  And then a disturbing thought crept into Annie’s mind: One summer after Donna graduated from high school. Could that have been when she’d gotten pregnant? With her? Annie froze. Had she been conceived right there on Martha’s Vineyard?

  But before she had a chance to think it through, Restless bounced into the room, vaulted onto Donna’s lap, and shifted the conversation to what a wonderful comfort dogs could be.

  Chapter 21

  “Well, that was fun,” Kevin said.

  After Annie and Donna had left Earl and Claire’s and were tucked into their separate spaces, Annie had known that sleep would elude her. So she’d texted her brother and asked him to come to the Inn. They sat in her “temporary” room now, each in one of the wing chairs that faced the bow window that still had no blinds.

  “They were nice to Donna,” Annie replied. “All of them.” She hated that John had had to bring Lucy back to Edgartown then get ready for his midnight shift. She had wanted him to come home with her. She knew that was how it needed to be and yet . . . and yet she was glad that at least she had Kevin to talk to. “You didn’t say much, though.”

  “Did you hear Mom ask Lucy to visit anytime and to bring the damn dog? She never let me have a dog when I was a kid, and now she can’t get enough of that one. What’s its name again?”

  “Restless. So you were a boy without a dog?”

  She was about to feel sorry for him until he replied, “Yeah. Well, I’m allergic.”

  “And that’s why you were sneezing.” She threw a toss pillow at him. “You are such a pain.”

  He picked it up and tossed it back. “I am, aren’t I?”

  “Well, I hope Lucy follows through. Lots of nursing homes now have programs where they bring pets in to visit. Apparently the patients love them.”

  “Is that why you wanted me to come over? Do you think we should get Mom a dog?” He almost looked as if he were serious.

  Annie remained often amazed at his seeming innocence. “No. I wanted to ask you if... Mom . . . well, if she ever told you she’d been to the Vineyard before.”

  He thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No. Not that I remember.” He frowned a little. “Well, she came here when she first met you. Is that what you mean?”

  “No. Earlier. Like when she was young.”

  “No. Oh, wait. Before she came to meet you she asked me if I knew if the boats still came into Oak Bluffs or Vineyard Haven. I think I said something stupid like, ‘How would I know? I’ve never been there.’ Anyway, for a second I thought it was kind of weird that she knew the names of the towns where the ferry docked. A couple of times she’d gone to Nantucket on business, but I don’t think she ever mentioned the Vineyard. Not to me, anyway.” He crossed his legs. “Why?”

  “She told Claire that after she graduated from high school she was a waitress one summer at a clam place in Vineyard Haven. It was news to me.”

  Kevin shrugged. “I suppose it was no big deal or she would have mentioned it sooner, don’t you think?”

  “Unless it was a big deal, Kevin.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  Annie fell silent.

  Then Kevin said, “Holy crap. Are you thinking . . . ?”

  “That she met my birth father here and got pregnant with me? Yes, that’s what I’m thinking.”

  “Wow. And she’s never given you a clue about who he was?”

  “No. Other than to say he was ‘just a boy.’ ”

  Kevin let out a whistle.

  “Did you ever see any pictures of her when she was young?”

  He pondered. “Nope. Real young, maybe. Like when she was a little kid. But no others I can think of. If she had any, maybe she threw them out.”

  “Well, she was on the island that one summer. That’s all I know. And it might not be connected. But now I’m wondering if Lucy has a point. That I have a right to know who my birth father is.”

  * * *

  The next morning, Annie woke up feeling better than she’d felt in a while. Less stressed. Clearheaded. Almost happy. Which made no sense with her future looking more tenuous, with more questions than answers. Not to mention that her relationship had begun to feel like a long-distance one, as if Chappy and Edgartown were a few time zones away. She wondered if it was nature’s way of slowing down the fire so she’d be better able to handle big changes ahead.

  Yes, she thought, it was ridiculous that she was in such a good mood.

  Maybe her spirits had improved because she’d come out of emotional hiding: she’d talked to Larry Hendricks; she’d told him what she needed. Surprisingly, it hadn’t brought on a panic attack. And she’d decided to talk to Donna about her birth father. Which wouldn’t kill her. As she jumped into the beautiful, new, marble walk-in shower, she supposed that facing her demons was a good reason to be clearheaded.

  By the time she finished dressing, it was after nine o’clock. She went downstairs and waved at Kevin, who was on his hands and knees again, this time laying down the porcelain tiles in the kitchen now that the great room was complete. Four weeks and two days, she thought, then made a mental note to meet with Kevin and Earl to see what was left to finish, if there was any point in finishing. Or if there were any funds left to buy the rest of the materials. Then she remembered that the three soon-to-be year-round tenants had already ponied up their first, last, and security deposits—almost ten thousand dollars that might have to be refunded.

  She gulped. And opened the back door before anxiety had a chance to sink in.

  Outside, the morning sky was a sh
ade of misty pewter, and it was drizzling. Pulling up the hood of her pale green zip-up sweatshirt from Menemsha Blues (which, in tandem with her Black Dog one, were the warmest, longest-lasting clothes she’d yet to find), Annie headed to the cottage, hoping that Donna would feel up to meeting a few more artists. Once the artwork task was checked off Annie’s to-do list, she’d only need to figure out the situation with the tchotchkes, though she was no longer enthusiastic about beachcombing for small treasures.

  As she reached the cottage, she noticed that overnight the daffodils had begun to bloom; their little yellow heads were open and drinking in the mist. Claire had showed her how to plant the bulbs last fall—Annie, the city girl, knew she could have watched a YouTube video, but that was not in the spirit of the community, not the island way. Maybe by Memorial Day, the hydrangea that they’d put in all around the terrace would begin to show their vibrant lavenders and blues. And maybe the buttercups would have blossomed in the meadow.

  Hoping Donna was awake, Annie tapped on the front door.

  “Come in!” she heard her birth mother’s voice call out. It sounded pleasant and strong. Perhaps this was due to the Vineyard air, drizzly or not.

  Once inside, Annie saw Donna in the rocker. And surprisingly, a woman Annie didn’t recognize was sitting on the sofa. She was older than Annie, but not as old as Donna. Her hair was short and silver-gray; her blue eyes were bright and friendly. Her parchment-like skin and tiny threads of age lines reminded Annie of someone she couldn’t quite place.

  “Good morning,” Annie said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had company. I can come back. . . .” She half-turned toward the door.

  “No, no,” Donna said. “I was going to call you in a few minutes. This is Ms. Nelson. Georgia Nelson.”

  Ms. Nelson stood and neatened her pink-flowered shirt into the elastic waistband of her denim skirt. She might be an old friend of Donna’s, but she dressed more like an islander than someone from the mainland.

  “Call me Georgia, please,” the woman said, extending her hand to Annie.

  “And this is my daughter,” Donna added. “Annie Sutton.”

  “The mystery writer,” Georgia stated. “Your mother has been telling me about you. She didn’t have to, though. I’ve read all your books.”

  “Oh,” Annie replied. “Well, thank you.” She was never sure how to respond to that.

  “And I love them!” Georgia added. “When’s the next one coming out?”

  “Late September.” Annie wished someone would explain why Georgia was with Annie’s mother, in Annie’s house. “So,” she asked as she put on her best smile, “are you a friend of my . . . mother’s?”

  Donna laughed. “We hope to become friends, don’t we, Georgia? No, dear, Georgia is a home companion. I used my phone to search for someone local, and here she is! Forgive me for not telling you sooner, but I wanted to outline some specifics first. She’s going to help with my day-to-day personal things so you and Kevin won’t have to bother. As long as I’m going to stay, I thought it would be best.”

  Annie felt the edges of her good mood begin to fray, the way the shoreline did after a storm. “What kinds of things?” she asked. Hadn’t she already said she’d do whatever Donna needed? Did her mother think she wasn’t capable? She stood for a moment, until Donna told them both to sit. Then Annie removed her sweatshirt. She took a notebook from the kitchen out of habit, brought a chair over from the table, and formed a conversation triangle. Then, because she had no idea what was going on, she began to make notes as if she were researching a book. It was, apparently, the only thing that Annie could do well.

  Georgia explained that she would stop by every morning. Later, they could figure out if she’d be needed in the evening, too. Luckily, she lived right there on Chappy with her sister, Lottie, who managed the community center. “I bet you know her!” Georgia added, as if the cottage were a hair salon and they were chatting about the neighbors.

  Annie smiled patiently, or at least with what she hoped would be perceived as patience. At least she now knew why the woman looked familiar—she resembled Lottie, though Annie didn’t recall if she’d ever heard Lottie’s last name. Annie had met the woman on a number of occasions when she’d gone to the center. Not the day before, of course, because, as Taylor had noted, Lottie was “off” for the week, an abbreviated way of saying someone was off island.

  Several minutes passed before Donna got to the point. “Georgia will keep the cottage tidy. She’ll also do my laundry, and she’ll go with me into town when I feel I need a break from lovely Chappaquiddick. Once or twice a week perhaps. Whenever I need to see more people than the ones I’ve already met.”

  Georgia smiled empathetically. “You must know that feeling, Annie. Your mother tells me you came here from the city. I expect that up there, seeing strangers all day, every day, is part of life. But here there aren’t many unfamiliar faces, except, of course, in the summer. I suppose that can be tedious at first.” As she spoke, Annie noticed that Georgia’s front teeth protruded slightly as if her parents hadn’t been able to afford orthodontic work when she had been young.

  No, Annie thought, she didn’t feel that seeing familiar faces on the island had grown tedious. Nor did she know what had triggered Donna’s sudden need for a “home companion.” Just because she planned to stay? Didn’t she think Kevin and Annie were capable of “tidying” and doing laundry and taking her off “lovely Chappaquiddick” when she needed a break? Annie wanted to ask, but not with Georgia in the room. So instead, she made a few more haphazard notes. She was glad that Kevin wasn’t there; he would have had trouble sitting still.

  Then Georgia took what looked like a checkbook from her bag; its plastic cover was splayed with happy daisies. Annie could see that there was a title on the front—perhaps a slogan, like “Have a Sunny Day” or “A Smile is the Greatest Gift that You Can Give.” Georgia opened it; it was not a checkbook but a calendar. She announced that she could start Donna’s “program” effective Monday. “If you need anything beforehand, please give me a call.” She handed a laminated business card to Donna and another one to Annie. Annie glanced at it; within a border of pink roses, Georgia’s name was set in a flourishing script with her phone number beneath it. Annie shoved it in her pocket.

  Finally, they were finished. Donna thanked her, and Annie led her to the door. They said good-bye, and as Annie watched her leave, her only thought was “Good riddance.”

  * * *

  Donna said she’d like to rest, so Annie went back to what was going to be her room for the foreseeable future. It was one of three bedrooms reserved for summer guests; she wondered how much income would be lost if Donna was still there once the season started. If they opened the Inn. Maybe Annie would need to stay at Earl and Claire’s after all. Or with John . . . and Lucy?

  She sat down in a wing chair and put her face into her hands, trying to slow her brain. Again. She hated that her thoughts often ran on—much like the sentence that dearest Kevin had pointed out.

  What she needed was to work.

  But she didn’t want to go back to the community center.

  Raising her head, she looked out the window. “With our good wishes and the best of luck for your new venture,” the previous owners of the house had written on a card that had been attached to a beautiful hand-carved wooden bowl that was made right there on Chappy from Edgartown sycamore maple. Annie thought back to how it had all come to pass, how she’d lived next door in the place that had belonged to Jonas’s grandparents until . . . Well, she didn’t like thinking about all that. It had been the first rental she’d lived in since right after college, the first place she’d lived outside of the city, and the very first location where she’d been able to totally relax and work. She’d written Renaissance Heist: A Museum Girls Mystery there; her editor expected that it would soar to the top of the best-seller list when it was released. To put it mildly, the muses in that little rental had been wonderful to her. Could she bring h
er laptop over there now, sneak in, and recapture some of the magic?

  Did she dare?

  She glanced in that direction. Squinting through the trees, she saw no vehicles and no activity. The property had been purchased by seasonal residents; over the winter, there hadn’t been a single sign of residents in either the main house or in the tiny place where she’d been. Annie doubted that the rental would be locked; there probably was little left inside to steal or trash.

  Of course, she would be trespassing. John would hate that. But how would he know?

  Then again, there would be no lights. Or heat. And it was a fairly chilly day.

  But her laptop had a nicely lit screen, and she could bring a thermos of hot tea. She could put on her thick socks and old fleece shirt and the matching pants that she’d been sleeping in because the Inn did not have heat, either. Not yet, anyway. Besides, who would care what she was wearing? It was not as if she’d see anyone.

  No one would have to know.

  And she’d be nearby and would have her phone with her in case of emergency.

  She did not allow herself another second to think about it. In less than ten minutes, she pulled together what she needed, tossed on the tattered clothes, told Kevin she’d be back later, then hurried out the door and across the side lawn where the landscapers had yet to plant thickets of beach roses and wild berries that would create a bounty of natural, old Vineyard flora. Last week, Earl had put the landscapers on hold. Even if they had the funds to pay them, they might not be needed. If The Vineyard Inn was on sacred Native American ground, the Wampanoags might prefer to leave it as it should be, as it was.

  The path was overgrown, yet recognizable, a jumble of scrub oaks dividing one property from the other. Annie ducked and made her way through, trying not to think about the many times she’d done that when there had been more than one scary situation that she’d felt she should resolve.

  Reaching her cozy refuge, she drew in a long breath. In addition to having been a wonderful creative space, the tiny, gray-shingled place with its creaks and cracks and quirks had been where her dream of moving to the island had come true, where she’d learned that life could start again. It held fond memories of finding baby Bella, of meeting Earl, and, of course, of spending many nights with John, learning to love again. Maybe one day her new cottage would hold fond memories, too. Unless Donna chose to stay there forever.