by Jean Stone
Then she thought about how, before Annie had moved to the Vineyard, she’d been totally alone without a real family. Since then, she’d gained her island family; more important, she’d gained her birth mother for a while, a brother forever (or so she hoped), and now, a sister-in-law for who knew how long. She wondered what John was going to think about this, once Meghan said it was okay to tell him.
John. John! In the craziness of the day before, Annie realized they hadn’t so much as texted, let alone talked.
Flinging a sweatshirt on over her pajamas, she grabbed her purse that held her dead phone, then ran down the stairs and up to the Inn. But when she burst in the back door, she was struck by silence.
Then Annie remembered: Francine was at Jonas’s. Was Annie supposed to make breakfast for everyone again that day? Wasn’t Francine going to come back this morning? What time was it, anyway? She ran her hand through her hair and glanced up at the ship’s clock in the kitchen.
“Good job,” Annie, she said aloud. It wasn’t yet six thirty; breakfast didn’t start for two more hours. Still, it didn’t leave much time to pull something, however basic, together.
That’s when she heard a low rattling from the chef’s room. Tiptoeing toward the door, she jumped back as Francine emerged, carrying a large oblong pan and heading toward the oven.
“Good morning,” Francine said. “You’re up early.”
Annie rubbed her eyes and tried to will her heart to stop racing. “I couldn’t remember if I was supposed to make breakfast or not. I slept so soundly that my brain’s still fuzzy.” Francine glided the pan into the oven and set the timer for fifty minutes. “I don’t suppose that could be connected to the empty wine bottle in the recycle bin?”
“Good grief,” Annie said, “did we drink the whole thing last night?”
Francine laughed. “Don’t include me in the ‘we.’ Was John here? Or did you spend the evening with dashing Simon Anderson?”
Then Annie remembered her phone. She dug it from her bag, found a charger in the electronics drawer, and quickly plugged it in. “No. I was not with a man. I was with . . . Mary Beth. Mary Beth Mullen. She’s a little shy, but very interesting.” Well, Annie thought, that sounded lame. So she quickly added, “As long as you’re on breakfast duty, I’d better go get cleaned up for the day.”
“Where? Is there water in the workshop?”
“There’s an unfinished bathroom downstairs with a shower. It isn’t pretty, but everything works.”
Then her phone rallied back to life, pinging, pinging, pinging, like a xylophone let loose in a kindergarten class. She snatched it off the counter; the screen lit up. She had missed eleven texts. All of them from John. They’d started not long after midnight.
“Ugh,” she said. Instead of reading them right then, she simply typed: ALL IS WELL. LOTS HAPPENED YESTERDAY. WILL CALL LATER THIS MORNING. She looked at Francine and gave her half a grin.
“Something is going on with you, Annie Sutton,” Francine said. “I’ve known you long enough to be able to see through that silly smile. You’re up to something, aren’t you?”
“Not at all.”
Francine rolled her eyes. “I don’t believe you for a minute.”
“Excellent. It’s good to give the imagination a healthy workout once in a while. Which is especially fun when there’s no good reason.” She left the phone to charge and skipped out of the room, back toward the meadow and the workshop, where she hoped that her brain would recharge as quickly as her phone.
* * *
Talk around the breakfast table centered on Illumination Night, which would take place that evening in Oak Bluffs, known to islanders simply as OB.
Ginny Taft, the Indiana retired schoolteacher, announced that she’d done her homework and now made it her mission to enlighten the others. “The first illumination celebration was to honor a visit from the governor in 1869. Imagine that! Over one hundred fifty years ago. The Camp Meeting Association was actually started in 1835 when Methodists came here and slept in tents before they built cottages and added pretty filigree that makes them look like gingerbread creations.”
Toni nudged her sister. “Get back to the illumination thing.”
“Oh, right,” Ginny said. “Well, in 1869, in honor of the governor’s visit, people decorated their gingerbread houses with colorful lanterns. Today, the festivities start at the Tabernacle, in the center of the campground, with a concert by the Vineyard Haven Band and a community sing, followed by lighting the ceremonial first lantern. Then all the houses follow suit and light their lanterns that are all different colors; it sounds delightful. Everyone must go. Toni and I brought Victorian hats for the occasion.”
Toni smirked. She didn’t seem as enthusiastic as her sister was.
“You’re right on all counts,” Annie chimed in. “It’s wonderful to watch all the people strolling along in the glow. Something you might not have learned, Ginny, is that whenever someone sells their gingerbread cottage, they leave the lanterns for the next owners. It’s helped keep the tradition alive.”
“I’ll bring my camera!” Meghan chimed in, and Annie smiled. She was glad that Meghan had joined them that morning, but wasn’t surprised that neither Simon nor his assistant was there. Last night, when Annie had been crossing the lawn toward the workshop, she’d noticed that the lights were on inside her cottage; she’d heard low, male conversation. Perhaps Simon and Bill had worked late and now were sleeping in.
After clearing the table, she knew she’d better get in touch with John before he thought she’d run away with their celebrity guest, assuming that, yes, by then he surely would have heard Simon was there. She quickly cleaned the plates, loaded the dishwasher, turned it on, then took her phone outside.
Lucy answered, not John.
“Dad’s asleep,” she said. “He didn’t get home until four this morning. He left me a note—he said there was a wedding reception that, in his words, ‘got out of hand.’ Anyway, he told me to answer his phone if I saw it was you.”
“Well, then, hi to you. How are things going on over there?”
“You mean with my stupid sister?”
“Lucy . . .”
“I know, I know. I shouldn’t call her stupid. Well, she did say I could go to Illumination Night with one of her old friends and her. Maggie’s mother won’t let her out after dark with me, no big shock, so at least I’ll get to go. As long as Abigail doesn’t lose me in the crowd. Which, of course, would be intentional.”
Maggie was Lucy’s best pal, though Maggie’s mother—who had a dicey history with John that went back a few decades—wasn’t keen on the friendship.
“Who’s driving?”
“Jeez, you sound like Dad. Abigail’s friend is picking us up.”
“Well, don’t worry. If your sister loses you, text me. I’ll find you.”
“You’re going?”
“Yes. Some of our guests are, too. Do you want to come with me?”
“I’d rather do that, for sure. But Dad keeps saying he wants me to try to get along with what’s-her-name.”
“Abigail.”
“Right.”
Annie laughed. “It sounds as if you’re not quite there yet. But keep at it. And maybe I’ll run into you tonight.”
They rung off before Annie thought to ask Lucy to please tell her father that she’d called. Then she went back into the kitchen and found Francine.
“Are you and Jonas going tonight?”
Francine shook her head. “Earl thinks Bella might have a cold, so I think I’ll go spend time with her. Not that Claire doesn’t have it under control but . . .”
“But she’s yours.” Annie smiled and waved, then circled into the great room. Just as she reached the staircase to go up to look for Meghan, Annie spotted her in the reading room, staring out the window.
“Hey,” Annie said. “I was looking for you. If you’re serious about going to Illumination Night, would you like company?”
Meghan�
�s eyebrows went up; her eyes widened. “You want to go?”
“Of course,” Annie replied, then whispered, “What kind of sister-in-law would I be if I didn’t make sure you saw the sights?”
“Then it’s a deal. What time does it start?”
“Lots of people go early and bring a picnic supper. I could wrangle up some food for us. There might be chicken in the freezer and . . .” Then Annie’s phone rang. She almost didn’t answer it, but it could be John. “Ah,” she said, “excuse me a second.” She pulled the phone from her pocket and quickly answered. But it wasn’t John. It was Kevin. Calling from Hawaii.
* * *
“That was fast,” Kevin said as soon as Annie said hello. “Were you expecting someone more important?”
A wave of warmth rushed into her cheeks. She stared at Meghan; her mind went blank. “What?” she asked.
“You answered really fast. I figured you thought it was someone important.”
She winced. “Who could be more important than my brother?” She saw Meghan’s face go slack.
“For starters, your fiancé.”
“Well, I suppose that’s true.” She stood perfectly still, afraid if she moved something might break—like her promise to Meghan. She was glad Kevin hadn’t called via FaceTime.
“Or the famous journalist. Who I expect is now an official guest at the Inn?”
She wanted to be out of Meghan’s sight and sound. She wanted to wander into the reception area or the great room or, for that matter, Edgartown. She wanted to escape the despair on Meghan’s face, her jaw now having gone from slack to tight as if she were in pain. Of course, she was in pain. Why wouldn’t she be?
What had Kevin just asked her? Oh, right. Simon. “Yes. Mr. Anderson has arrived.”
“How’s it working out?”
“Okay. Fine.” There was no point in saying that Simon was in her cottage, that he’d been seen at the library reading one of her books, or that his assistant was very different from Simon. She would have shared all that if Kevin had been there, if they were sitting on her porch, him with a beer, her with a glass of wine. If he weren’t detached by so many miles of land and sea, by a Band-Aid now taped over his heart.
Annie turned away but could not shake the feeling that those cornflower eyes were boring a huge hole into the back of her skull. “How are things going over there?” She said it as if Hawaii, not Nantucket, was the next island over. Or Cuttyhunk, if one went west instead of east. Or, she wondered, were the Elizabeth Islands closer to Chappy than Cuttyhunk? She shook her head, annoyed that her mind always felt compelled to get the facts straight.
“All’s okay. It’s beautiful. And you’ll never believe it, but it looks just like its pictures. That was a joke.” He paused, then added, “And you didn’t ask, but Taylor’s okay, too.”
Without intending to, Annie turned around again; her eyes flicked to Meghan. “Oh,” she said. “Well. Good.” She knew she should say, “Tell her I said hello,” but that wasn’t possible, not right then.
She inhaled. Exhaled. “Is something on your mind or are you just checking in?” By then a light film of perspiration had formed on her brow.
“I can’t call my sister when I’m six thousand miles away?”
“I think it’s more like five. Five thousand miles. Six hours earlier.” Details again. Facts.
“You win,” he said. “Sorry I bothered you.”
“No. No, Kevin, you’re not bothering me. But right now things are crazy . . .” She would rather have told him that she was glad he’d called, that she missed him, that she loved him, that she was so sorry if she hadn’t been as supportive as he’d wanted her to be. She’d rather tell him that the love of his life was standing in front of her, healthy and beautiful, waiting for him to come home. To her.
“I know you must be wicked busy. Which is why I called. Because, believe it or not, I feel guilty about having left.”
She sucked in a quick breath. Did that mean he wanted to come back? “We all miss you,” was all she could think to say. Then she added, “A lot.”
“If you say so. But you sound weird.”
Closing her eyes in order to avoid Meghan’s, Annie said, “I’m weird? Well, thanks. I guess nothing’s changed, then.” She laughed. “Call anytime, brother. You should know that by now.”
“Will do,” he said. “In the meantime, I’ll try to have a good time. Not that you mentioned that, either.”
“Sure,” she said. “Have a good one.”
“Thanks,” he replied flatly.
But she knew that he knew she hadn’t meant it.
They hung up, and Annie flopped onto one of the tufted armchairs. “I blew my chance. I should have told him we needed him. And that he needed to come back. I should have made up a story . . .”
“Hush,” Meghan said. “It wasn’t the right time.” Then she added, “Is he okay?”
Annie hesitated, then nodded. “He’s okay.”
* * *
She knew it wasn’t fair.
Annie told Meghan she had to get some work done on the upcoming online promotions, but that she’d be back by six o’clock to pick her up. Then she put her laptop in the Jeep as if she’d been telling the truth. Instead, she parked in the lot at the On Time, crossed over as a walk-on, and stepped onto land again in Edgartown. Dodging tourists on the narrow sidewalk of North Water Street, she finally reached the Harbor View Hotel. Across the road, she sat down on an empty bench that looked out toward the lighthouse and Chappy. From there, Annie could see the Inn as it ascended from the dunes, looking stately, majestic, welcoming. She sighed.
Her phone call with Kevin had been dreadful, as she’d been pretty much frozen from beginning to end. Not frozen like winters sometimes got during a nor’easter, but frozen stiff, like the bust of Agatha Christie in her living room unless Simon—or more likely, Bill—had ripped it off by then.
And though technically Annie hadn’t been lying to Kevin, she felt as if she had. She was caught in the middle, in that thankless chasm between someone you cared about who’d taken you into their confidence, and someone on the other side who you cared about as well, and who needed to know the truth.
Annie had been in that position years earlier when she’d only been fifteen, and had seen her aunt kissing a man who wasn’t Uncle Joe. They were on the “T” at rush hour; Annie was heading home from the dentist. And suddenly there was Aunt Sally, hanging onto a leather strap with one hand, her other arm wrapped around a man Annie didn’t know, had never seen before. Their lips were pressed against each other’s; their bodies were pressed, too.
“Aunt Sally?” Annie cried out before realizing it had been a stupid mistake to make her presence known, before she had the sense to slink off to another railcar. But Annie knew darn well it was Sally; she recognized the blonde-tinted hair, the ivory silk dress, the Etienne Aigner purse that draped from her shoulder on its long, narrow strap.
Sally had snapped her head toward Annie; the man did, too. With his open shirt, gold chain, and dark hair that hung over his collar, it definitely wasn’t Uncle Joe.
At the next stop, Sally urged Annie to get off the train with her. They went to a Brigham’s where Annie had vanilla ice cream with jimmies and Sally stirred an egg cream with a big straw.
“It was nothing,” she said. “Just an old boyfriend from high school. We ran into each, and he kissed me. For old times’ sake. Nothing more.”
“Uh-huh,” Annie replied, not sure why she was the one who was embarrassed.
“Please don’t tell Uncle Joe. And, God knows, don’t tell your mother. Okay?”
Annie nodded because she didn’t know what else to do. But after that, she was uncomfortable being around Aunt Sally, and she hadn’t been sad when Sally and Joe moved to Syracuse, and they only saw them on Thanksgiving and at the funerals when Annie’s grandparents died. Then Annie never laid eyes on them again.
The hardest part had been keeping the secret. And having felt responsible
for Sally severing the family ties.
The situation with Kevin felt much bigger, much more important.
She wondered if Donna found it tough to keep Meghan’s secret. Or to keep Kevin’s secret from Meghan after he’d filed for divorce.
A young couple strolled hand in hand up the narrow path from the lighthouse. They were smiling, happy, laughing as they moved through the sand that was edged on both sides by tangles of beach roses that were starting to fade with the season. She wondered if Kevin and Meghan had ever kept secrets from each other.
Then Annie remembered that right after she’d caught Aunt Sally kissing the stranger on the train, Annie told her dad.
They were outside on their usual post-dinner walk. Her dad put his hands in his pockets and walked quietly, the way he did when he was pondering. Then he said, “I’m sure that was upsetting to see, kiddo. But secrets are always better off when they’re kept. Especially since, you never know, one day you might need to share one of your own. And you sure would want someone to keep it.”
And though Meghan was hardly Aunt Sally, her dad’s advice resonated now.
With a last glance at the young lovers, Annie stood up, walked back down to the Chappy Ferry, and went home.
Chapter 12
Ocean Park looked like a quilt whose squares had been stitched from hundreds of multicolored blankets that had motifs of people, dogs, and picnic baskets. Scampering along the seams, long-legged boys and long-haired girls maneuvered strings attached to kites of different sizes, shapes, and designs—all vibrant against the sunset sky. Meghan laughed when she noticed one shaped like a jellyfish. She asked Annie if she thought a leatherback might mistake it for dinner.
They feasted on cold chicken and salad, while sharing silly stories about their lives. Annie kept an eye out for Lucy and Abigail, but didn’t see them. Their absence, however, gave her a chance to get to know Meghan better.
“May I ask something personal?” Annie asked as she poured cups of spring water for them. “Your beautiful face indicates a curious heritage. Would you care to share?”
