A Vineyard Crossing

by Jean Stone

  Annie shook her head. “It happened so fast. I think he was unconscious before he landed on the floor.”

  The nurse smiled. “I know his reaction was startling, but . . .”

  “No,” Meghan said, “it wasn’t a surprise. He didn’t expect to see me. He probably thought he was hallucinating . . .”

  The nurse looked bewildered. Annie said, “It’s a long story. We’ll come back later.”

  By then Meghan had opened the door and was trouncing down the steps, her footsteps echoing in the stairwell.

  * * *

  “He’s awake,” Annie announced as soon as Earl opened the back door of his house. “He’s okay.” She’d wanted to tell him in person rather than with a phone call.

  Earl began to speak but clearly got choked up, his words stuck in the muck of his emotions. “Claire! Lucy!” he called out.

  The ladies came running, and Annie repeated what she’d told Earl. Claire covered her face with her hands—she was either crying or thanking God. Lucy said, “Way cool. Does my dad know?”

  “I’ll text him now,” Annie said, embarrassed that she hadn’t thought to let John know first, saying she’d been sidetracked by Meghan, who’d developed “a nor’easter of a headache,” as she’d called it. When they’d arrived back at the Inn and Annie had pulled into the driveway, Meghan had said, “I don’t know what I expected. Of course he was upset when he saw me. I was only thinking of myself; I should have had you break the news to him first. Stupid me.” She’d climbed out of the Jeep and gone inside to rest.

  Annie’s next thought had been to get over to Earl’s.

  John hadn’t crossed her mind.

  She pulled out her phone now; if she texted and didn’t call, he’d see her message when he woke up and wouldn’t know he hadn’t been her first choice.

  Texting, however, would be a cop-out.

  No pun intended, Murphy could have said, but perhaps she’d decided this was not a good time to joke.

  Claire wanted Annie to come in “for coffee and a decent breakfast,” but she declined.

  “I’ll go tell John in person,” she said. “I came to Chappy first so Meghan could go to bed. She’s been through so much in these past few days alone.”

  “As have you,” Earl added.

  Annie waved, got back into the Jeep, and headed to the On Time for the third trip that day, despite that it wasn’t yet nine o’clock.

  Her good intentions, however, were thwarted when she reached John’s house in Edgartown and Abigail answered the door. She was dressed in a striking white, gauzy jumpsuit that was splattered with multi-shades of summer yellows.

  “Dad’s sleeping,” she said and began to shut the door.

  “Wait,” Annie said firmly. If there had ever been a right time to be the grown-up in the room—or rather, on the porch—it was now. “I need to see him about something important. I think he’d want me to go upstairs and wake him.” Kevin was who mattered then, and John deserved to know.

  Abigail might have rolled her eyes—it was hard to tell with her Cleopatra-like makeup—but she stepped aside. “Whatever.”

  “I like your outfit,” Annie said as she pressed past her and headed to the staircase. “The colors are stunning.”

  “I made it. I did the tie-dye, too.” If she was surprised by Annie’s calm demeanor, she didn’t let on.

  Three steps up, Restless bounded down the entire flight to greet her properly. Annie gave him a quick pet, knowing that he hadn’t seen much of her lately. With the dog now on her heels, she made it to the top landing, where she ran into John.

  “Kevin’s awake,” she said.

  “He’s okay?”

  Because she hesitated, she sensed that John would know she was going to say something that was not totally true, but would be as close as she could come, what with Restless entwining himself around her feet and Abigail staring up from the living room. “He needs time to acclimate to everything that’s happened, but the doctor said that physically, everything looks good.”

  John reached down and petted the dog, which Annie recognized as a way to redirect his feelings. The Lyons men had trouble expressing theirs. “That’s good. Kevin’s a good man. And,” he added, as he stood again, emotions now in check, “Mike Hoffman’s a good surgeon.” He looked into her eyes. “You want to come upstairs and tell me more?”

  She was about to say yes, because she wanted to tell him what had really happened, how Kevin had screamed when he’d seen Meghan; she wanted to tell him about Simon scrubbing the floor and that she was now certain he’d been the one who’d interviewed her for the Globe. Mostly, Annie wanted to find out if her love for John was back, intact, if her withdrawal had been merely a knee-jerk reaction because he had hurt her, despite that he’d since said he was sorry. She wanted to ask about his ex. But as badly as Annie wanted to talk—really talk—to John, right then her text alert went off.

  The readout said: MVHOSPITAL.

  MIKE HOFFMAN HERE. KEVIN IS CALM NOW. HE ASKED TO SEE YOU. ALONE. ASAP.

  * * *

  Annie’s flip-flops slap-slapped on the hospital floor as she hurried toward the staircase. She didn’t want to bother waiting for the elevator—climbing would keep her in motion, pushing forward as quickly as she could, getting closer to seeing her brother, to actually talking with him.

  “Kevin,” she said once the nurse had cleared her to go into his room. “God.” She put her fist to her mouth and bit down, trying to deflect her tears.

  Then he opened his eyes, looked at her, and said, “Hey.”

  She decided not to give a “seagull’s crap”—as Earl like to say—about crying, so she removed her fist and released the dam.

  “Jesus,” he said weakly, but still smiling. “I’m the one who should be crying. I got shot. Not you.” Then he frowned. “You didn’t get shot, too, did you?”

  She smiled. “No, I did not get shot.” She dragged a chair to his bedside, sat down and took his hand, the one that no longer had tubing attached to it. “Are you in pain?”

  “Not if I don’t move. I think I’m pretty well drugged.”

  “Good.” Wiping her tears, she took a long breath.

  “Now,” he said. “Will you please tell me what happened? Did I shoot myself with my own gun?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “Kind of, but it’s spotty. I was in your cottage . . .”

  “And Simon Anderson was there.”

  “Right! He was shouting at you! I ran to get my gun so I could scare him off.”

  “You scared him, all right. He thought you were going to shoot him.”

  “Me? Shoot anyone?” He laughed, then coughed.

  She waited until he was calm again. “Simon tried to push you to the floor. You guys struggled. The gun went off.”

  “Sounds like a movie.”

  “Not one based on any of my books. It was too much of a cliché.”

  Kevin coughed twice. “Boys with toys, huh?”

  “Will you please get rid of that ridiculous gun now?”

  “You bet. I meant to before . . .”

  “But you forgot.”

  “We got busy!”

  She sighed. “We sure did.”

  He closed his eyes again. Then he tightened his grip on her hand. “Annie? I need to ask you something.”

  By the knots that sprouted inside her stomach, she was pretty sure she knew what he was going to say. “Anything,” she said.

  “When I . . . when I woke up . . .” He paused.

  She wasn’t sure how she could make this easier for him. She wasn’t sure that even would be possible. “When you woke up, what?”

  He opened his eyes slowly and turned his head to the doorway. “Right over there. I thought I saw Meghan. So these drugs are wicked powerful, right?”

  She could have laughed and said something benign like, “No kidding.” Then she could have told him to get some sleep, that she’d come back later if he wanted. But he was her brother
and she loved him immensely and she couldn’t do that to him. Or to Meghan, who also must be feeling pretty crummy.

  “Kevin,” she started slowly. She lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it. “There’s something you need to know.” She didn’t give him a chance to respond. “You weren’t hallucinating. Meghan was here. She’s out of rehab. She wanted to surprise you.”

  His eyelids drooped. He stayed quiet for what seemed like the longest time. Then he said, “You’re making this up, right? Like, you’re really here in the room with me now, but you’re making up stories, aren’t you? Is it some kind of psych evaluation the doctor asked you to do?”

  She sighed. “No, Kevin. I’m not making this up. It’s not one of my stories.”

  He scrutinized her face, then zeroed in on her eyes.

  “She’s doing well.” Annie kept going, praying her strength—or her guts—wouldn’t fail her. “It took a long time . . . well, you know how long it’s been.”

  “Four years this Christmas,” he replied, his voice having dropped and become quieter. Much quieter.

  “Right. Well, she’s here. And she wants to see you. When you’re ready.”

  That’s when Kevin cried.

  Annie scooted as close to the bed as she could get. “Are those tears of joy? She’s come back to you, Kevin. She’s doing well. There’s so much to tell you . . . I’ve gotten to know her a little—we hit it off right away. She registered at the Inn under a fake name, and then she told me the truth, which is why I called and pretended I was angry, and I begged you to come home and . . . Oh, never mind, there’ll be time for all that. You’re happy, aren’t you?” She was blah-blah-blahing again, but she couldn’t help it.

  He rolled his head from one side to the other. He groaned.

  Annie let go of his hand and stood up. “Are you in pain? Should I call for the nurse?”

  “No,” he squeaked out. “It’s Taylor.”

  Oh, Annie thought. Her. She sat back down, took his hand again. “I’m sure she’ll understand, Kevin. You and Meghan were together a long time.”

  His tears leaked freely now. “It isn’t that.” He groaned again. “It’s because . . . Taylor and I got married.”

  * * *

  Blindsided was a good word. A most appropriate word. For starters, Annie never dreamed Kevin would marry Taylor. Not to mention that he’d only been in Hawaii a week, so how could it have happened so fast?

  After a couple of minutes of protracted silence, Kevin spoke again. He told Annie there was no waiting period to get married there. She listened as he asked her what he should do, for which she could not reply because she had no idea. And because she’d been blindsided.

  That’s when he said that his marriage to Meghan had fallen apart long before the accident. She was ambitious; she worked hard. She liked money, but more than that, she craved success. “Every year, her goal grew higher and higher. She wanted to buy more property, build more buildings, feel like she could own the world. Sometimes it made me a nervous wreck. I even got afraid to fly; I knew that every time we went somewhere it was to bid on a big project I didn’t really want. All I wanted was to do good work for nice people and have a little family. Including kids.”

  Annie tried to coax him into thinking he should rest, that they could talk about this later. But he just shook his head, as if now that he’d started, there was no way that he could stop.

  “She was pregnant when she fell. The baby died.” He let out a somber rush of air. “She was on the pill, so I don’t know how she got pregnant in the first place. I don’t think she fell on purpose, though. I don’t think she would have tried to have a miscarriage.” He fell silent a minute, then added, “I didn’t even know she was pregnant until after the accident. Until Meghan was in a coma, and the doctor told me he was sorry. But I never told anyone. Not even Mom.”

  All Annie wanted then was to crawl into the bed in the next room, pull the sheet over her head, and make this go away. Like with other things, it wasn’t her place to tell him that Donna had known about the baby, that Meghan had told her. Maybe he’d learn all that some other day. Maybe not.

  “I know you’ve never liked Taylor much,” he continued, “but she helped me come to terms with all of it. She showed me that maybe my marriage to Meghan hadn’t worked because our values and our needs weren’t the same. Neither one of us was wrong; we were just too different.”

  And then his pain broke through—no surprise, Annie thought. She called for the nurse and asked if his meds could be increased, and the nurse said he was due for the next dose. So at least that was one miracle.

  It wasn’t long before he drifted back to sleep, thank God, and Annie got out of there fast. As soon as she reached the hospital lot, she called Francine.

  “I need to talk to Taylor,” Annie said, “but I don’t have her number. Do you? Or does Jonas, if you’re with him?”

  “Sorry, I don’t, and I’m not with Jonas. But I know where she is. Jonas brought her to the boat. She’s on the three forty-five out of OB. How’s Kevin?”

  “He’s okay. We talked. Where’s Taylor going?”

  “Back to Hawaii. She got a flight for tonight. Do you want me to call Jonas?”

  Annie didn’t know if Francine knew about the Hawaiian nuptials, but she didn’t want to put what might be a wedge into anyone’s relationship. So she said, “Never mind. But can you hold down the fort a little while longer?” It was already three fifteen. If Annie hurried, she could make it to Oak Bluffs before the three forty-five left port.

  * * *

  Annie jumped into the Jeep and peeled out of the hospital parking lot. Anywhere near the OB pier in August that close to boat time meant the traffic would be backed up and parking would be deplorable. Not to mention it was the Monday after the last big week of summer. Tourists would be leaving, having figured if they waited until the weekend was over the mass exodus would have lessened. Seasonal folks who had closed up their houses would be heading home, too. And everyone would be mingling with the day-trippers on bicycles who’d be grasping the green island maps they’d picked up at the terminal. But Annie knew she had to try. Because it absolutely, positively, was the right thing to do.

  When she reached the area, it was every bit as jammed as she had feared. So she did what she never thought she would: she double-parked, got out, and locked the doors. If she blocked traffic, she didn’t care; if she was ticketed and fined an exorbitant amount, she didn’t care about that, either.

  Tuning out everything and everyone around her, Annie zigged and zagged through the people and the vehicles while she mad-dashed up the sidewalk and down onto the pier where the line of walk-on passengers was backed up what looked like the length of a football field to the street. They stood four abreast, not counting their suitcases, bikes, and dogs, with no room to spare between the barrier on one side and the water on the other.

  “Sorry!” she shouted repeatedly while weaving in and out. “Coming through! Emergency!” Most people accommodated her by stepping aside; she didn’t notice, or care, if anyone was upset—she was too preoccupied scanning the crowd for the telltale auburn mane.

  And then she caught a glimpse of it far ahead: the hair was thick and long and shining in the sun, the color of deep ginger, careening back and forth as Taylor moved up the gangway. Which meant she had already handed off her ticket to the Steamship ticket-taker in the fluorescent yellow vest.

  Cupping her hands to her mouth, Annie shouted, “Taylor! Stop!” The sea of people parted then; she raced ahead, saying “Thank you” in all directions until she reached the ticket-taker who stopped her from going farther. By then, Taylor was only a foot or so from stepping into the boat.

  “Taylor!” she railed in one last effort.

  But Taylor must not have heard, as the auburn mane vanished inside the doorway.

  Annie stopped. If there had been a wall nearby, she would have slumped against it. The line moved politely around her and the passengers held out their tickets.
And all Annie did was start to cry.

  The man in the fluorescent yellow vest scanned another barcode. Then Annie heard him say, “You looking for Taylor Winsted?”

  Lifting her head, she said, “Never mind. She just boarded.” Too distraught to explain why she’d caused such a scene, Annie turned and started to trundle back up the pier.

  “Wait,” the ticket-taker called after her. “I’ll get her.”

  Annie stopped. She quickly moved back to where he was busy on his walkie-talkie. She heard him say Taylor’s name, then add, “Yeah. The redhead.”

  Less than thirty seconds later, Taylor was walking down the gangway. She stopped at the check-in spot. She looked summery and fashionable in a pastel, citrusy Hawaiian way. But her face was twisted in apprehension.

  “Annie? What happened?”

  “Kevin told me you got married.”

  “He’s awake?”

  “He is. He’ll be okay. Please don’t leave. Please stay until this can be sorted out.”

  For a moment, Annie actually believed that Taylor would do as she had asked.

  But the woman turned her gaze out to the water and said, “No. Kevin has been good to me. He helped me break away from this place and have a life again. I love being in Hawaii, with or without him. But getting married so fast was my idea, not his. He was lonely and vulnerable. I knew that long before I knew that she was here.”

  The “she,” of course, was Meghan. Annie couldn’t blame Taylor for not wanting to say the name.

  Then Taylor shook her head. “Tell him not to worry; I’ll have it annulled as soon as I get back. Kevin belongs here. But I don’t. Not anymore. I like being five thousand miles away from my old self.” With that, she turned and walked back to board the three forty-five.

  Five thousand miles, Annie thought. She had to give Taylor credit for getting the details right.

  Watching her walk back up the ramp, Annie wondered if she’d ever given the woman a fair chance. She’d first seen her as a harsh, rough-and-tumble, disgruntled loner; as time had passed, Annie came to understand that, like so many people, Annie included, Taylor had been beaten down in many ways—some were her own doing, others were not. And Kevin, Annie’s sweet brother, had showed Taylor that life could be good again. He was so special, that brother of hers.