A Vineyard Crossing

by Jean Stone

  “You turn up at the most inappropriate times, Mr. Anderson,” she said, not trying to mask her irritation.

  He sidled up next to her.

  “Tomorrow is Saturday. I have to pick up my rental car, or did you forget? As long as you’ll be going to the airport . . .”

  So much for using someone else as her backup plan. “Yes, of course. You’re welcome to come with us. Though it will be a tight fit, what with the luggage.” She did her best not to grimace.

  Then fireworks burst against the now-darkened sky, and Annie led the way back to the party, the once-pleasant evening now curdled, her mood once again spoiled.

  * * *

  The next morning, the breakfast table was full. Simon was there, too, perhaps having foregone his boiled eggs because he no longer was concerned about unwanted gawkers. The buzz was louder, more amiable than it had been before, thanks to the previous night’s socializing. There was nothing like a little beer, wine, good food, and fireworks to put people in friendly spirits.

  After homemade granola with deep purple elderberries and succulent peaches, cheesy chive-scrambled eggs, and warm oat nut toast drizzled with MV local honey had been polished off, Francine presented the honeymooners with a loaf of her seven-grain bread. Early on, she’d decided to start a tradition of giving bread to guests on their checkout day as a thank-you-for-staying-with-us gift. Tied with aqua raffia ribbon and a matching, bountiful bow, the gift not only looked lovely but also smelled scrumptious.

  “Nice touch,” the groom said. “Homey.”

  “Like the Inn,” the bride added.

  Then the couple went upstairs to pack, and the others dispersed to whatever activities they’d planned for their Saturday.

  Annie cleared the table then began to scrape remnants from the dishes and into the compost bin. “There’s been a change of plans for one of our guests,” she told Francine. “Mary Beth will be leaving tomorrow.”

  “Oh, too bad. Did she finish her research?”

  Annie hesitated before saying what would be on the shadowy side of a white lie. “I’m not sure. Apparently something’s come up and she needs to get back to Boston.” She was proud of herself that she hadn’t said the thing that had come up was that Meghan had learned about Kevin’s new life. Whatever it was.

  Francine stopped loading the dishwasher and gazed out the window toward the harbor. “We have lots of names on the waiting list. I’m sure we can have the room rebooked by the time she leaves. Then we can reimburse her for the rest of her reservation. She paid in full up front, remember?”

  But Annie shook her head. “Reimburse her. But let’s not take another reservation, okay? I’m really tired. And you must be, too. Maybe I’ll move into Mary Beth’s room while Simon and his sidekick are still here.”

  “Or you could take the honeymoon suite. Our next couple won’t be here until Thursday, the same day Simon leaves. Then you can go back to the cottage.”

  A flood of loss washed over Annie again. She would have hoped that by now she’d know how to handle her feelings when someone she’d grown to care about—in this case, Meghan, definitely not Simon—was slipping out of her life. It was bad enough to lose Meghan before Annie had really gotten to know her. But could Annie stay in the honeymoon suite? Without John? Right now, it would seem ironic. In a very dark, miserable way.

  She scraped a cereal bowl that she’d already scraped. “Right now I need the rest more than we need the cash.”

  “Okay,” Francine replied. “I get it. And yes, I’m tired, too.”

  Francine, of course, would be leaving soon. And Bella. The thought of more loneliness pressed a small bruise onto Annie’s heart. “In a couple of weeks you’ll be back in Minnesota. Back at your aunt’s house. Back in school.”

  “Three weeks,” Francine added, as she, too, grew pensive. “It’s going to be hard to leave again.”

  “Because of Jonas?”

  She nodded. “And the Inn. Bella will miss everyone, too. She’s gotten spoiled this summer from the endless attention.”

  “It’s been no more than she’s deserved. Life is short, Francine. We need to love the people we love every minute.”

  “Like John?”

  No, Annie thought. She was not going to go there. Not then. Not with Francine. “Actually, I was thinking about you and Bella. And how grateful I am that you came into my life. And I was thinking about Meghan. And how sad I am . . .” She stopped abruptly, hoping her small slip would pass by unnoticed.

  “Who?” Francine asked because she was a smart girl and didn’t miss much.

  Without warning, tears spilled from Annie’s eyes. Francine stopped fussing with the dishes, dried her hands, and took Annie by the arm. She led her into the tiny chef’s room and closed the door after them.

  “Annie? What’s going on?”

  Shaking her head, Annie said, “I can’t.”

  “You can’t what? You can’t tell me something? Is it serious? Is someone sick? And who is Meghan?”

  Annie could have made up another story—making up stories was her real job, wasn’t it? But aside from the fact that she’d never been good at outright lying, Annie knew it would leave her feeling off-kilter. And ashamed. No, lying to Francine was not an option. Besides, Francine was a strong, capable young woman who knew how to overcome obstacles. And how to keep secrets. Despite their thirty-year age difference, Annie knew that Francine could help put the situation in perspective. And maybe help Annie weather her emotions.

  Wiping her tears, she raised her head, set her gaze on the countertop, and said, “Meghan is Mary Beth Mullen. She isn’t a scientist, and she doesn’t work at MBL. I’m not sure if she even wants to. You were right when you questioned that. She thinks the leatherbacks are interesting, but don’t most of us?” She realized she was stalling. “Her real name is Meghan MacNeish. She is Kevin’s wife. Or at least she was until his divorce papers came through. But Meghan doesn’t know about that. And I’m sure not going to be the one to tell her.” Then her eyes met Francine’s.

  Francine was gaping at her. “What?”

  Annie gave a short laugh. “Please don’t make me repeat all that.”

  “But I thought . . .”

  “I know. You thought Kevin’s wife suffered a traumatic brain injury from a construction accident. She did. Years ago. She was in a coma a long time, followed by a bout with amnesia. The last time she saw Kevin she didn’t know who he was. The doctors didn’t expect that to change. It was painful for Kevin. And it took him a long time, but he finally was able to move on. That’s when he came to the Vineyard. In the meantime, a kind of miracle happened; Meghan’s brain function started to return. As you can see, today she’s fine. She still gets headaches, but otherwise she does really well. And please don’t make me repeat that, either.”

  Francine leaned against the cabinet where her griddles and skillets and bakeware were kept. Her large, dark eyes looked bigger and darker than usual. “This is amazing. But Kevin is . . .”

  “In Hawaii,” Annie said. “With Taylor. And he doesn’t know about Meghan. She begged me not to tell him. She thinks that because of Taylor, it’s not the right time for him to know. She says he’s been through a lot, too, and that if he’s happy, she doesn’t want to upset that.”

  “But . . .”

  “But nothing. End of story. I shouldn’t have told you. Now it’s your secret to keep, too. And that includes not telling Jonas. Okay?”

  “I promise I won’t breathe a word. But poor Mary Beth. Meghan. And poor Kevin! He’ll be so upset when he finds out . . .”

  “If he finds out. But it will have to come from Meghan, not us. Right?”

  “Right. But, Annie, it’s so sad. She must be so scared that Kevin will pick Taylor over her. Is that why she doesn’t want him to know? Because she’s afraid of how much it will hurt if he rejects her? Whether it’s physical hurt or emotional hurt, hurting still hurts, doesn’t it?”

  Annie hadn’t thought of it that way. But,
of all people, Francine knew about hurt. Her early years had been loaded with it.

  Chapter 21

  Annie spent the rest of the morning performing as if she suffered with obsessive compulsive disorder, as her mother had once been diagnosed. She futzed (her dad used to call it) on the main floor of the Inn, straightening furniture that didn’t need straightening, dusting windowsills that didn’t need dusting, rearranging books in the reading room. She then moved to the front desk, where she aimlessly scanned the spreadsheets of the Inn’s income and out-go; she reviewed the list of housekeeping supplies to determine what needed ordering; she counted their many stars on the online travel sites. The truth, however, was that she did not have OCD; she simply had no interest in working, no interest in doing anything except trying to invent a way to get Meghan to change her mind and stay. But everything Annie thought of was too close to meddling. As if she hadn’t already done that.

  By noon, she considered biting her fingernails the way Francine sometimes did. Which was when Earl showed up.

  “You want to join us for dinner? Francine and Bella and Jonas are coming; Claire’s going to repurpose leftovers from last night.”

  Annie suspected he’d at last learned about John’s decision to “take a break.” And maybe he felt sorry for her.

  “Can I have a rain check?” she asked. “I’m taking the honeymooners to the airport to drop off their car, then down to the boat. From there Mary Beth and I are going to the fair.” She prayed that Francine wouldn’t slip and reveal Mary Beth’s identity during dinner at Claire and Earl’s, or that she’d mention that Kevin really, really needed to get home.

  She looked back at the spreadsheet. “We’ve had a good season,” she said.

  Earl chuckled. “ ‘To succeed in life, you need two things: ignorance and confidence.’ My old friend Mark Twain said that.”

  “I’m not sure we had confidence, but we sure had ignorance,” Annie said with a laugh. Earl was obviously attempting to lift her spirits—a sure sign he did, indeed, know about John.

  “My wife thinks it might be time for us to start figuring out what we’ll do if Kevin doesn’t come home,” he said.

  So this was not about John, but Kevin. Annie didn’t want to talk about either one of them.

  “Maybe Jonas can pitch in?” she tossed out. “He was a big help in the spring, wasn’t he?”

  Earl fiddled with the brim of his cap from last year’s fishing derby. He’d barely worn his Red Sox cap since Ortiz retired. “True. He was. But I wonder if the boy has other plans.”

  Annie scowled. “Such as?”

  “Such as you’d better ask him. Or better yet, ask Francine.”

  The longer Annie lived, the more complicated life became. She turned off the computer, closed the lid, and returned it to its hiding place in the front desk. “Or I could ask you again. And maybe this time you’ll give me an answer that will save me a whole bunch of time.”

  Earl chuckled. “I think we’ve been matchmaking without knowing it.”

  Cocking her head, she said, “They haven’t exactly been hiding the fact that they’re fond of each other.”

  “Fond of each other? Ha! You sound like a hovering mama.”

  “Do I?”

  He rubbed his chin. “Well, I suppose you’re entitled. I’m afraid, however, that this thing with them is beyond fondness. When she goes back to school, I think he wants to go with her.”

  Sometimes surprises were good. This one certainly was. But Annie was weary of trying to speculate about what was going on with the people she loved. Or wait until who-knew-when for clarification. So she excused herself and went into the kitchen to talk to Francine. But apparently the girl—correction, the young woman—had left for the day. Annie went back to the reading room and promised Earl she’d get to the bottom of things. It didn’t matter if it would be inconvenient for Jonas to leave, too . . . Annie’s heart swelled to think that he and Francine would be together. With Bella. A nice little family.

  But before she could fully resuscitate a good mood, Simon ambled around the corner.

  “Ready when you are!” he announced in his polished, news anchor voice. He was, of course, oblivious to the boulder that had just landed in Annie’s stomach.

  “Actually,” she said as she flicked her gaze to Earl so quickly it surprised her, “I was about to ask Earl if he’d mind following our guests to the airport in his pickup. And bringing you to get your rental. I’ve been barraged by requests from my editor, so I have a ton of paperwork to do.” Please save me, Earl, she thought.

  Earl stepped up, not missing a beat. “Call me Earl Uber,” he said. “Ever since I turned sixteen, I’ve chauffeured so many folks back and forth to the boat and the airport I ought to be on the payroll for the chamber of commerce.” He grinned at Simon, his eyes steady on his, as if daring him to say, “No, thanks. I’ll make other arrangements.”

  “Well, I’ll be grateful,” the celebrity guest replied. “It will be fun. When I was a kid, my dad delivered the Globe to the newsstands; my older brother and I sat in the bed of his pickup and heaved bundles onto the sidewalks. So our trip to the airport will bring back fond memories.”

  “Not to disappoint you, but you’ll need to ride in the cab. We save the bed for the livestock.” It was perfectly timed sarcasm, for which Annie wanted to hug him. Then Earl turned to her. “You want to let the honeymooners know that their Uber awaits, while I go clean my junk out of the back? We’ll stash their suitcases there. Unless Simon prefers the hay.” He chuckled again and meandered away without admitting that he did not own as much as a chicken, let alone livestock.

  Then Simon said to Annie, “Too bad, though. I was hoping you and I would have a chance to talk.”

  “Sorry,” Annie said, copying Earl’s grin. “Duty calls.” She swished from the room, then dashed up the stairs and ran into the honeymooners halfway up while they were heading down. She said good-bye and told them Earl was waiting for them outside. She took the rest of the stairs two at a time, feigning to clean their room, when instead she was hoping to avoid seeing Simon again.

  * * *

  Francine had brought Bella to Jonas’s in time for a nap, so Annie arranged for Claire to babysit the Inn for a few hours, which would leave plenty of time for Annie and Meghan to spend the whole afternoon together at the fair. Over the past months, it was apparent that the Inn could run smoothly on its own for a short time, so she told Claire to leave by five o’clock if they weren’t yet back.

  Soon Annie and Meghan were strolling through sawdust, watching sheep shearing, horse draws, and pig races, and surveying the 4-H entries of roosters and chickens, rabbits, goats, and more. After a couple of hours, when they’d seen all the animals, they had veggie tempura on a stick from a food truck, sat at a picnic table and people-watched a while, and splurged on a big dose of ice cream. Meghan exclaimed that the fair was “wicked awesome,” a testament to her Boston roots.

  But Annie had saved the best for last: the Ag Hall. The building itself was a treasure—a century-old, post-and-beam barn that had been reconstructed on the new, more spacious fairgrounds nearly three decades earlier. They went into the barn to admire the abundant showcases of flowers and vegetables and the artful displays of watercolors, acrylics, and mixed media. Annie was determined to stay clear of the booth where she’d seen Abigail.

  When they turned toward the pottery displays, Annie spotted Winnie ahead. “Follow me,” she said. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

  Though she hadn’t wanted to, Annie introduced her as Mary Beth.

  They hit it off right away. As Annie watched Meghan examine Winnie’s work while asking questions about the clay, the process, and the beautiful striations of the glazes, she wished that Winnie knew who Meghan really was. She’d be bound to agree that Meghan and Kevin were a good match.

  Meghan selected a lovely bowl that highlighted the colors of the Gay Head Cliffs—red, orange, and gold.

  “Not unli
ke the clay in the caves of your ancestors,” Winnie said. “If I’m correct in thinking your heritage is Middle Eastern?”

  Annie was again reminded of Winnie’s far-reaching insight.

  “I’m half Egyptian,” Meghan said with a giggle. “I can’t believe you guessed. People often ask if I’m Native American—like you.”

  Winnie scowled. “But your cheeks perfectly sculpted. They are like an Egyptian goddess, not like the fuller face of the Wampanoag.”

  Meghan grinned, perhaps embarrassed. So Annie said, “You never know whom you’ll meet at the Ag Fair. Which is why anyone on the Vineyard in August must go at least once. I think it’s a law.”

  “Speaking of the law . . .” Winnie said, “How’s John?”

  By then more people had converged around Winnie’s wares, and Annie knew she couldn’t say what she’d like to. So she merely raised her eyebrows, and Winnie nodded as if she understood. Then they hugged good-bye.

  Once outside, Meghan stopped, seeming to revel in the clear, fresh air. “This has been so much fun, Annie, but you’ve worn me out. In my wildest dreams, I never thought I’d be here now. Sometimes it’s still hard to believe that I’ve returned to the world.”

  “I can’t imagine. But how you’ve managed to put it all behind you is remarkable.”

  With a small laugh, Meghan said, “It helps that I don’t remember anything from breakfast the morning of my accident until more than two years later. I know that I’d made French toast; I wanted to celebrate that we were going to make the deadline for our project.” She paused, as if searching for another splinter of her memory. “I also remember I’d decided to wait until after work that night to tell him I was pregnant.”

  The sights and sounds around them faded away. It was a moment before Annie could speak.

  “Meghan . . .” she said, “I am so sorry . . .”

  But Meghan shushed her. “Kevin wanted kids, but I’d kept stalling. I never wanted to be a mother. I loved our business; I kept pushing him to make it bigger. Anyway, I was almost three months along when I fell. I lost the baby.” Surprisingly, tears didn’t come to her eyes—over time, she must have shed them all. Annie knew from experience that that could happen. “Anyway,” Meghan continued, “I never had the courage to ask the doctors if they told Kevin.”