by Jean Stone
Then the outside of the house where she’d been raised, followed by shots of Annie’s first, second, third birthdays; others of her riding her little tricycle; trying to rake leaves; showing off the matching dresses her mother had made for her and her first American Girl doll. Annie had forgotten how much she’d loved those dolls; every year her dad had given her a new one on her birthday, and her mother had made extra clothes. When Annie and Donna reached the first-day-of-school photos, Annie pointed out the red tartan plaid skirt. Donna commented that her mother had been talented.
Moving ahead, they laughed at the images of the school Thanksgiving play when Annie had played a Wampanoag (Annie said that Lucy would have loved it!), and of her junior high graduation when her hair was cut to look like Princess Diana’s, even though it was black and not blonde. And then there were photos of their vacations on the Vineyard: beach scenes, lighthouses, the historic, up island sheep farm that had been in the same family since 1762. But missing from the collection were pictures of Bob and Ellen Sutton, which hadn’t felt strange to Annie until then. But her father had always snapped the photos, and her mother had said she was “camera shy.”
Donna seemed to enjoy looking through the album; several times she placed her fingers on Annie’s image and made small sounds as if she were laughing. But when they reached the pictures of Annie and Brian’s wedding, Annie realized that Donna had not been laughing; she’d been crying.
“Oh!” Annie said, quickly closing the album. “I’m so sorry. I thought you said . . .”
Donna waved her away, and said she needed to go back to bed, that she was just tired again. But she said she’d like to see more on another day.
Annie helped Donna into the bedroom, waited in the hallway while Donna used the bathroom, then walked beside her, assessing her balance, until she got into bed. As Annie reached to turn off the light, Donna grasped Annie’s arm, pulled her toward her, and kissed her cheek. Then she closed her eyes and smiled. It was seven o’clock.
Back in the living room, Annie sat in the rocker, and wrapped herself in Ellen Sutton’s quilt the way that Donna had. Annie thumbed through the pages of her past again, thought about the people she had lost and who, in a sense, had made way for the new ones she now had. Including John. The man she was going to marry.
After a while she climbed into the twin bed in the corner of the room, covered herself once again with the quilt, and wondered how it happened that life’s joys and sorrows often came at the same time.
* * *
Monday morning, Annie woke up to the sound of rain and the knowledge that a rainy spring would make for lovely early summer greening, lush plants, and vibrant flowers. Exactly the kind of look that would enhance the beauty of their property.
With a small sigh, she turned her head toward the window; she could barely see the Inn through the fog. It was the kind of day that she relished for writing, its grayness offering permission to tune out the world and escape to her inner calm. To “make stuff up,” as Kevin liked to joke. Sometimes Annie liked to walk on the beach in the rain, the break of the waves frothy and energetic, the thwacks and claps onto the shoreline muffled by the mist. But that morning she’d be drenched, even if she donned her yellow slicker.
She made tea and checked the time: six-forty-five. Georgia Nelson had said she’d arrive “mid-morning.” Until then, Annie could work. So she set her laptop on the table.
But she couldn’t write. She thought about John, about marriage, about where they would live. His townhouse didn’t have a separate space she could use as a writing room. Could she live at John’s, let Kevin take the cottage, then come over to work at the Inn every day—maybe use the space over the workshop to write when business at the Inn was slow?
“It would look good on paper,” she said to herself, and was surprised that Murphy made no comment. Maybe she was sleeping late, as Donna no doubt would be.
But Annie knew she also needed freedom to sit down whenever the muses spoke, even if they arrived in the middle of the night. Would John be okay with that once they were living together?
After a while she gave up overthinking. And pretending to work. She moved through the bedroom, into the shower, and dressed, all while being quiet so she wouldn’t disturb Donna. Then she returned to the kitchen, sat down, and texted Kevin. But he didn’t reply. Perhaps he was already up and hammering again. Or painting, because the hammering was finally done, wasn’t it?
She wondered if she should wake Donna up before Georgia arrived. Then she decided to leave her be. Maybe added sleep would help her regain some strength, at least enough so she’d feel like eating. And maybe later, after Jonas had come and gone and Georgia had left, Annie and Donna could have the conversation about Annie’s birth father.
As Annie’s mind drifted again, she wondered if Donna had once hoped her birth father would marry her, cherish their family, and grow old with her. Then Annie wondered what it was going to be like to grow old with John. It will be nice, she thought, to have each other to lean on when their skin started to wrinkle and the rest of them began to fall apart. It would be nice not to have to go through the tricks of Father Time alone.
But knowing that her wandering mind would not accomplish a damn thing, she turned back to her laptop, emitted a soft groan, and finally got to work.
Three cups of tea and a bowl of Special K later, there was a knock on the door. Annie stirred from her made-up world, turned off her computer, and went to welcome Georgia, who was bulked up in a slicker, the top of its hood pulled down to her eyebrows.
“Hallo!” she called.
“Come in, come in,” Annie said. “It looks awful out there.”
Georgia unsnapped her jacket, shook the bulk of the water off over the sink, then hung it on the doorknob. “We know that rain is good in the spring, but sometimes it’s a darned inconvenience.” She set her purse and a large notebook that was wrapped in plastic on the floor.
“Donna’s not awake yet. Would you care for tea?”
“Oh, yes, that would be delightful. I did get a bit chilled.” Georgia sat at the table and looked at the laptop. “Have you been writing this morning?”
Annie smiled while she poured the tea. “A little. I’m starting a new book that should be taking shape faster than it is. Sometimes that happens. Like the rain, it’s annoying.”
Georgia laughed. She seemed like a nice woman, open and friendly. She asked Annie lots of questions about her writing; in turn, Annie asked how she’d become a hospice nurse. They talked for some time until Georgia looked at her watch. “Oh, my. It’s nearly eleven. I should get your mother out of bed so she can start her day.”
Not knowing whether or not she should offer to help, Annie settled on saying, “Let me know if you need me.”
“Oh, we’ll be fine, thanks. I’m an old pro at this.” Georgia went into the bedroom, her soft-soled shoes padding across the floor.
Annie wondered if Georgia had ever married someone she’d once dreamed she’d grow old with. Which gave Annie an idea for her book—the couple browsing through the museum who find the skull could be gray-haired and retired; the man could be horrified, while the woman could be thrilled that a real-life murder mystery had brought excitement to their day.
Perfect, she thought. Turning on her computer again, she quickly started to type. Until she was suddenly aware that Georgia was standing, unmoving, in the bedroom doorway.
“She’s gone,” Georgia said.
Annie blinked. “What? Where? I’ve been right here. . . .”
Georgia crossed to where Annie sat and took her hand. “No, dear. I mean she’s gone. Donna has passed. My best guess is that it occurred sometime during the night.”
* * *
Annie sat as still as Georgia had been standing. A dull sensation squeezed her head tightly, as if her brain were doing something, though she didn’t know what. Was it shifting from reality to . . . disbelief? Or was it the other way around? Winnie had once said that fog was Moshup’s
blanket, covering the earth and sea to give his people comfort. Was that why it was such a foggy day? And why hadn’t Annie been paying attention? She’d tiptoed through the bedroom and back again? While her mother lay there—dead?
She sucked in a loud breath. Her exhale was a cry. For help. For Georgia to say that she’d made a mistake, that Donna was still alive, still breathing in Annie’s bed.
“Would you like to see her?” Georgia asked.
Annie flinched.
“Usually, people are glad they did. Later.”
Annie supposed it was the right thing to do. So she stood, startled that the muscles in her legs were as numb as her mind had become. She shook her legs, willing the feeling to return. Then she moved into the bedroom.
Donna—her mother, yet a stranger—looked as though she were sleeping. In fact, she looked exactly as she had after she’d kissed Annie’s cheek the night before, then closed her eyes and smiled.
Annie sat beside her, took her hand; it was cool. She wanted to cry. But she could not. So she just sat there, staring at Donna, as if waiting for her to wake up.
Then Kevin was in the room. He sat on the other side of the bed and held Donna’s other hand.
Annie and Kevin did not speak. They did not have to. The silence was their communication.
The ambulance arrived, though Annie didn’t know how much time had elapsed. The faces were familiar; Taylor’s wasn’t among them. After all, it was far too late for the skills of an EMT.
Whoever the responders were, they strapped Donna to a gurney and took her away.
Later—that night or the next day—Annie remembered that John had been there, that he’d driven Annie and Kevin to his parents’ house because Earl and Claire were their family now. At one point, Annie went outside, sat on the deck alone, and stared at the pansies Lucy had planted. She could not bear to be in the same room with Kevin’s grief; she’d been too unsure if she was feeling her pain or his.
Then John was there again. Sitting next to her.
“I love you,” he said.
And Annie cried, that time knowing that the ache and the tears were hers.
He put his arm around her, and she wept into his chest over so many losses that she remembered too well.
Chapter 31
Annie spent the next days wandering the beaches, collecting wampum, shells, and sea glass for the Inn, and helping Jonas hang several of his lovely paintings in the great room. She did everything quietly, by rote, in a kind of slow motion that got her through to the nights. Kevin had returned to hammering; by then he was attacking moldings in the bedrooms. He seemed to take more solace in doing aggressive work. Annie finally told him that Donna had told her that the money for the Inn had come from her; Kevin had nodded, but there was no need for discussion. Sometime in the future, Annie knew they’d share how much that meant to each of them.
Donna had left instructions that she wished to be cremated; at the end of the week, they held a memorial service at the tiny St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church in Edgartown. She’d once commented on how wonderful it was that the sanctuary doors were wide open every day, welcoming all. Annie wondered if Donna might have hoped that she and Kevin could find some comfort there.
“She didn’t want to stick around too long,” Earl said after the service, when people had gathered in small groups in the compact parish hall and were eating bite-sized sandwiches and tea cakes and sipping coffee from paper cups. “She worried about being a burden on you and your brother.”
“I know about the money,” Annie said quietly. “She told me she put up the money for the Inn.”
Earl sighed. “That she did. Every last bit until she had no more. I didn’t contribute one thin dime. Not that I didn’t want to. But Lord knows I don’t have that kind of cash.”
Annie didn’t ask how many dimes or dollars it had taken. “You became friends with Donna, didn’t you?”
“We did. Claire and I talked to her every week or two. We were her spies; we kept her in the loop on how—and what—you and Kevin were doing. I think we all got a kick out of it.”
Annie planted her hands on her hips. “Are you serious?”
Earl chuckled his trademark chuckle. “Yup. It was especially tough keeping that little secret the night you and Donna came for dinner. She never told us about the cancer, though.”
So when Annie had walked into Donna’s hospital room and seen Earl holding her hand, he must have blushed out of fear that their friendship had been revealed. Not because he’d been flirting with her.
“Nice lady, your mother,” he continued now. “She invested her life savings so you and Kevin could have a stable future. Now it’s up to us to make it work.”
“But we have no control over it. Not now.”
“Maybe,” Earl said, “maybe not. But we’re staying positive, remember?”
Several Edgartown police officers attended the service, along with many of Earl and Claire’s friends, kind faces of men and women who Annie recognized—artisans, farmers, tradespeople. Even Marilyn Sunderland, the newspaper reporter who had been John’s sixth grade teacher and had been scorned by Earl when he’d fallen in love with Claire. It turned out that she—not John—had been the one to chase the media off Chappy when they had descended, and that by the time John had arrived they were all gone. “No one messes with our island family,” Marilyn told Annie as she helped herself to another diminutive sandwich.
Taylor and Jonas were there, too, and they seemed at peace. And Winnie and her whole clan had driven from up island, except for her sister-in-law who was on duty at the hospital and her husband who made his living as a fisherman and sent his blessing: Wunniook, be well.
Annie was touched by the outpouring of support for Kevin and her, wash-ashores that many people there hardly knew, and by the respect they showed for a woman most of them had never met.
After a while the crowd began to disperse, back to reality, back to their lives; as Annie stood by the door with Kevin and Earl, saying good-bye, she knew she wanted to embrace the cushion of community forever.
Then Winnie joined them. Her face emitted its calming, copper glow; her deep brown, sassafras-root eyes brimmed with kindness.
“I bring news,” she said.
They waited, mute.
Finally, Earl spoke. “Well, get on with it, woman.”
“You may have your Inn.”
The surrealness of the hour, the day, the week intensified.
“What?” Annie asked, because one of them needed to.
“The bone is Native American. It is very old—probably nineteenth century—but not Wampanoag. Most important, it was not buried on your land; the archeologist determined it had come in from the water, possibly from a drowning, and had become tightly wrapped in the seaweed, which, when combined with the salt in the ocean, helped preserve the bone once it lodged in the rocks.”
Annie didn’t mention that Lucy had suggested that in the beginning. Such a smart girl, with such a bright future.
“Of course, no one can tell for certain how long ago that happened,” Winnie was continuing. “But our tribal council will arrange a proper burial. Most likely in the sacred ground overlooking Cape Poge Bay.”
Annie let the news sink in for a few seconds, then she signaled to John. He joined them, as did Lucy.
With Annie’s hands pressing her cheeks, she said, “It’s over. The Inn is ours.”
Winnie repeated the details.
“But he’s one of ours, right?” Lucy asked.
It took a moment to recall that Lucy’s DNA had showed that she was a sliver of Native American.
“He’s not Wampanoag, but, yes, indigenous,” Winnie said. “The tribe will treat him gently and with reverence. And the council won’t stop the Inn from opening. They felt no need to pursue it after I explained your promise to help the island, by doing your small part.”
“Well, okay then,” Lucy said, and added, “I’m not surprised the thing is old on account of the water and t
he seaweed, but I had kind of hoped it was that lady from the City of Columbus.”
Kevin and Earl exchanged eye rolls; Annie simply grinned, focusing instead on how pleased Donna would be that it looked as if her children now had a chance for a stable future.
* * *
The days that followed accelerated, as Earl and Kevin hurried to finish the rooms for the year-round tenants first.
“Once they’re settled,” Earl said, “we’ll do our best to get the tourists comfortable. If we miss the first part of the season, so be it. The islanders are more important, right?”
Kevin and Annie agreed.
Jonas joined their efforts; Taylor did not. Maybe after things had quieted down, Annie would ask Kevin if he knew why.
They’d also managed to come up with much-needed money. Though Donna’s cash coffers were depleted, Kevin secured a quick loan from the bank against the sale of her apartment. And Annie was able to get one against the advance for her new book, thanks to Mark and his outrageous debts. Who knew she’d ever say those words? But it turned out that having cleared up his debts had earned her a terrific credit score. Together, Annie and Kevin raised enough to settle up with the suppliers, to pay for the remaining materials, and to arrange to ship the rest of the furniture.
Before Annie knew it, it was the morning of another Friday—with only one week left until their tenants and first guests would arrive. They would be greeted by Harlin Pierce’s energetic marimba band and more food, drink, and merriment than Chappaquiddick had seen since, well, perhaps since the Flanagan wedding last summer. Undoubtedly with a better outcome than that night had seen.
She stood in the great room now, gazing at the furnishings—graceful wing chairs upholstered in a soft color of sea glass; exquisitely handcrafted (right there on Chappy) wooden end tables and side tables; simple, yet perfect Vineyard-natural tchotchkes, as Earl called them. Most of all, Jonas’s lovely paintings filled the room with the beauty of island life.
“Do you think people will like them?” Jonas asked.
Annie hadn’t heard him come into the room. And when she turned to face him, she was surprised to see Taylor with him.
