A Vineyard Christmas

by Jean Stone

  Annie ran her hand through Bella’s hair. “For now. We hope her mom gets back today.”

  Though they were standing eight or ten feet apart, Annie could see Taylor’s eyebrows raise as if she didn’t believe her. “I was headed to Edgartown and decided to stop by for a minute. Something’s been bugging me, so I thought I’d better ask.”

  Shifting Bella to her other hip, Annie pressed her lips together, not daring to say a word. If Taylor had figured out Bella didn’t belong there, did it matter now? Of course it does, she told herself. Annie needed to be the one to tell John. Not Taylor. Or anyone else. She didn’t want to be accused of kidnapping—not now, not when she was so close to turning Bella in.

  “How may I help you?”

  Taylor seemed to study the floorboards. “Your cat,” she said. “Where is it?”

  Of all the things Annie would have thought Taylor might ask, that wasn’t one. She’d nearly forgotten about the lie that Earl had concocted. “Around,” she replied with what she hoped sounded like nonchalance. “Hunting mice, I suppose.”

  “Gonna be tough to find ’em under the snow.”

  “I guess.”

  The woman strode to the end of the porch by the woodpile. She peered into the corners.

  “Is there a problem?” Annie asked.

  Taylor looked back at her. “Maybe. I don’t know what’s going on here, but there’s one thing I do know.”

  Annie stood. And waited. Willing her nerves to stay quiet.

  “As long as the Flanagans have rented this place, one thing they’ve been strict about is not letting their renters have animals. No dogs. No cats.”

  It took a few seconds for the message to sink in. “Really?”

  Taylor walked toward the other side of the porch. “Really. I’m sure it’s in your lease.”

  “Well, actually, I don’t remember.” In spite of her wishes, her stomach started churning.

  “I planned to take the critter off your hands if you wanted. So you won’t get evicted. But I don’t see a cat. Not even a sign of one.”

  Annie forced a laugh. “They’re so independent. Never around when you want them.”

  “Well, keep it in mind when it gets back. Earl says you’re a good tenant. Otherwise, I wouldn’t bother to help.” With that, Taylor meandered back to her pickup. “Have a nice day,” she called as she raised one arm in the air, her back to Annie’s front door.

  * * *

  Not for a second did Annie believe Taylor cared about her being evicted. And not for a second did Annie believe Taylor had showed up because she cared one hoot about her. At least she hadn’t asked to see cat food or kitty litter or a scratching post, something to prove a cat even existed.

  “Miss Taylor is a strange one,” Annie said to Bella as they went back into the house.

  After setting the baby on the quilt—not back in the basket—alongside Lily the lamb, Annie jumped into the shower, keeping the curtain half-open, wondering how in hell Murphy—and mothers everywhere—managed to ever take care of themselves while taking care of their babies, too.

  She decided it was healthier to think about that than to obsess over the possibility that Taylor had somehow learned that Annie had a secret. If so, what the woman intended to do about it was one more mystery added to the heap of secrecy that had marched, uninvited, into Annie’s life.

  After finishing the fastest shower she’d ever taken, Annie dressed in her black cashmere dress and long red cardigan. She didn’t think that Taylor would be at Earl and Claire’s for dinner, so she didn’t have to worry that her attire would be inspected for tiny cat hairs. Bypassing the black, high-heeled Pradas that she wore to book appearances in New York City, Annie slipped on simple ballet flats. “A little more appropriate for Martha’s Vineyard,” she explained to Bella. “And certainly for Chappaquiddick.”

  She tossed a small load of clothes into the stackable washer, then picked up the baby and dragged the quilt back to the living room. Retrieving her laptop, she settled Bella back on the quilt and sat in the rocking chair. With the baby seemingly content, Annie decided that, until Earl arrived, she should review what she’d written the night before. It would definitely be more productive than pondering any number of evil reasons that Taylor had stopped by.

  The living room was bright; Annie’s back was to the window. When she flipped open her laptop, the reflection of sunlight on snow glared off the screen. She blinked, turned her head, closed the lid. For a moment, she thought she’d been blinded. She shut her eyes and saw blurred silhouettes. She had a sudden flashback to when her father had taught her to drive through the Callahan Tunnel toward Logan Airport. It had also been a sunny day.

  “Take off your sunglasses just before we go into the tunnel,” he’d said. “Then blink—very slowly—three times. By the time we get into the darkness, your vision will have already adjusted to the change in light.”

  She blinked now—very slowly—three times. Then she opened her eyes and, sure enough, her vision had been corrected. She turned her chair so she was facing the porch; that way, direct sunlight wouldn’t bounce off the screen. But as she readjusted herself and her laptop, she saw an odd smudge on the windowpane. Her first thought was that it was a handprint; then she realized that no, it was more like a . . . well, she thought, more like a face print.

  “Well,” she said to herself, “chalk that up to one more asinine thought.”

  But as she went back to her work, an ominous question crawled over her skin: Had someone been on the porch . . . trying to look into the cottage?

  Her pulse started to race.

  Stop it! she commanded her imagination. Stop it this minute!

  But Annie was afraid; and when she was afraid, her body reacted. Fight or flight. Which meant that, right then, she wanted to race from the cottage, jump into her car, and drive . . . anywhere. Until the fear calmed down. Which it wasn’t able to do. Not while her breath was shallow, going in and out in short, panicky bursts. She looked down at the floor; Bella was falling asleep.As badly as Annie wanted to run, she knew she couldn’t. Not when there was a baby to protect.

  Calling up all the courage she could manage, she pulled herself from the chair, set down the laptop, and edged toward the door. She hated that, except for a small curtain over the sink, there were no draperies or blinds on the windows.When she’d first moved in there, she’d thought it was a quaint Vineyard custom, a way of letting people know she had no secrets. But now she felt as if she were in a fishbowl.

  She stood, perfectly still, in the same place where she’d stood only a short time ago making small, stupid talk with Taylor. And even though it was broad daylight, even though Annie could clearly see that no one was on the porch, she opened the door a tiny bit at a time. Then she squeezed through the space and slinked onto the porch.

  She was right. No one was there.

  Of course no one is here, she told herself. Still, she knew she must remember to ask Earl to absolutely, positively, fix the latch on the outside door. Maybe he could even add another lock. While it might cause others to snicker behind her back, Annie knew she might never be one of those islanders who felt safe enough to let everyone have easy access to her house. To her. And, for now, to Bella.

  With her heart and her breathing calming to normal, she turned to go back into the cottage. That’s when her gaze fell to the floor, onto a piece of paper.

  It was over by the window where she’d seen the face print—or whatever it was. It was just a scrap, but its light color showed starkly against the dark floorboard. From that direction, it was easy to notice. If she’d gone out onto the porch when Taylor had been there, she might have seen it then. Unless whoever had dropped it had done so when Annie was in the shower. Or the night before. It might have even been last evening, when Annie was at Earl’s. When John had brought her home, she’d rebuffed his offer to bring Bella inside, so the way she’d carried the basket could have blocked her view.

  Fighting off a shiver that zipp
ered up her spine, she took a few side steps toward the paper. But as she bent to pick it up, she saw, in an instant, what it was: an oval-shaped label from one of her soaps. The graphics showed an illustration of the island, along with the name of the natural ingredients—fox grape and sunflower oil. The typeface read: Soaps by Sutton. She turned it over: it was blank. It was not one of the labels that she’d signed at the fair.

  But Annie knew where—and who—it had come from. It had been on one of the soaps that the girl with the sad, soulful eyes had examined. And when Annie had been distracted by the chaos that had ensued, thanks to the other women’s rapid-fire questions about her books, the girl must have slipped the soap into her pocket. Some way, somehow, the label must have fallen off. And wound up on Annie’s porch.

  * * *

  She had to get in touch with Earl. She couldn’t wait until he picked them up for dinner. He had to come right away. If he were there, Annie might stop shaking.

  Back inside, she shoved a kitchen chair against the door. Which, of course, made no sense. Bella’s mother had apparently come and gone without causing any harm. Yet. Still, she unplugged her phone from its charger and quickly called Earl’s cell number.

  His phone rang. And rang.

  “Answer it. Answer it,” she pleaded.

  Then it went into voice mail.

  After the beep, Annie said, “Earl. It’s Annie. Please come over now. She was here. Right on my porch. Please. Help me. And hurry.” She knew she sounded desperate. Because she was.

  With her eyes glued on the windows, Annie paced. Bella was sleeping on the quilt on the floor. Annie knew she could not let her stay in the cottage. Not while her mother was . . . was what? Coming back to get her baby? Wasn’t that what Annie wanted?

  “Oh,” Annie said. “Oh, God, I don’t know what to do.” She might have asked Murphy for advice, but Annie thought this time it wouldn’t work. “Over my pay grade,” Murphy would have said.

  She stared at the phone; Earl was not calling back. Maybe he was on his rounds, checking the houses of his customers. Maybe he was outside and had left his phone in his truck. Or maybe he was home, taking a shower. He and Claire might have a landline at the house, but even if Annie found the number in the Island phone book, what should she say if Claire answered? It would be apparent from the quiver in Annie’s voice that something awful had happened. Then she’d have to tell Claire about Bella before she was ready to.

  If you want to protect the little one from a boatload of rumors, Earl had said, stick to your original plan.

  That’s what Annie would do. She would sit and wait for Earl like a sensible adult would. She would not overreact. She would have a lovely Christmas dinner with the Lyons family. Then, on Wednesday, she would bring Bella to the police. And tell John. She would not call the house now. She would not risk causing Claire hysterics. Or worse, she would not risk the potential melodrama of getting arrested, cops-and-robbers style. After all, Annie did not need negative publicity that would send her black-clad, fast-walking editor, Trish, into emotional convulsions and could bring Annie’s writing career to a scandalous halt. And chances were, she could not make soap in prison.

  She dropped into the rocker and took a few deep mental breaths. If only she knew why Bella’s mother had come back. And when. Annie knew she might not feel as threatened if the young woman had simply knocked on the door and introduced herself. And told Annie why she’d come. Told her why she’d left Bella in the first place. Then Annie might have understood. But by having sneaked onto the porch, then sneaked away, the girl was not being nice. She was stalking.

  One thing was for certain, though: no matter what the reason was for the most recent visit, the girl still was on Chappy. And she no doubt knew that Annie still had Bella.

  Trying to talk herself out of her terror, Annie considered her options. She could quickly wrap Bella up, and—infant car seat or not—she could take her away. Off Chappy. As long as the On Time crossed the channel on Christmas Day. They could go up island to Winnie’s—they’d be safe there.

  Wouldn’t they?

  Or, Annie thought, slowly starting to rock, she could go to the Edgartown police station and get this over with. Once and for all.

  But as she watched Bella sleeping, so silently, so trusting, she knew she couldn’t do it. John had worked the night shift; he’d be off duty by now. It wouldn’t seem right to turn Bella over to just any police officer. Not after he’d been so nice to them last night.

  Besides, she reasoned, her happy-ending-foolishness returning, she couldn’t just hand Bella over to the police if—now that Annie knew the girl was still on the island—there was any possible chance that she’d come back and explain. That she would not abandon her baby after all.

  * * *

  Over an hour later, Earl still hadn’t called back or shown up. By then, Annie was in the car with the motor running, the heat churning, and Bella tucked into her basket on the floor of the passenger side—she’d barely stirred when Annie had transferred her from the floor into the basket. They’d been outside most of that time; Annie had decided she’d feel safer there. At least she’d remembered to put on her gloves this time. And she’d turned the car around, pointing toward the road, in case a quick getaway was called for.

  She sat in silence, not wanting even the softest music to emit from the stereo, not wanting any noise to mask the sound of someone creeping up on her. On them. She prayed there was enough gas in the tank to last until Earl arrived. If he hadn’t dropped dead, which might be why he hadn’t returned her call.

  She flinched. God, she thought, forgive me for even thinking that. Earl was such a good man, such a huge help to her. She would feel terrible if something had happened to him. He must, after all, have plenty of other people to worry about. Thoughtful people tended to worry about others. She had once done that, back when she’d had a real life, or had thought that she had.

  She knew, however, that most people, Murphy included, would probably think she needed her head examined for what she was doing now. But Annie had decided that most people would have done things differently from the get-go. They wouldn’t have kept a stranger’s baby: as soon as the roads had been cleared after the blizzard and the ferry had resumed crossing the channel, most people would have brought Bella directly to the police station and dropped her off.

  Goodbye.

  Sayonara.

  Hasta la vista, baby.

  But most people, Annie figured, had not been adopted. She knew she was trying to give both the young mother and her baby a second, fighting chance, the kind of chance that Donna MacNeish—or Annie—hadn’t been given. If Bella’s mother had known that, she might not have wanted to sneak up on them, to have scared Annie half to death.

  But in the car, with the engine running, Annie did, indeed, feel safe. If the girl reappeared, and if Annie felt threatened, she could quickly slam the shift into gear and peel out of the driveway. Fast.

  In the meantime, she studied the snow that had settled on the lawn; it had warmed and softened, and wasn’t nearly as deep as it had been.Which meant there would be no evidence of footprints from a recent trespasser. As for the driveway, it was impossible to tell if the girl had walked up it, because most of the hardpack had already melted.

  She thought about how it had been true that snow melted quickly on the island; much faster than in Boston, where the snowbanks held fast, sometimes as late as Marathon Monday, the third Monday in April. She supposed the quick thawing here might be why some seasonal people didn’t bother to have their driveways plowed, much to Earl’s irritation. What were the chances there would be an emergency in a house where no one was living? What were the odds, when even two feet of snow that had been dumped by a nor’easter were nearly gone a week later?

  She thought about the neighborhood and wondered if there were any houses on North Neck that they’d left unchecked. Then she thought about the neglected house next door . . . where the driveway hadn’t been plowed. Could Bel
la’s mother have been hiding there? Right next door, all along?

  Annie wondered if she should walk over to the house and check it out. Did she dare go alone? And what about Bella? Should she take her with her? She glanced over again at the sweet, innocent baby. And Annie knew there was only one answer:

  Yes.

  Yes. It might be Annie’s last chance to find the girl while she still had Bella. It might be her last chance to find out why she’d done what she had done; her last chance to try to convince her to change her mind.

  Yes. It was the right thing to do. And, what’s more, Annie refused to be frightened. It was broad daylight, for God’s sake. And Bella’s future was more important that Annie’s overactive imagination.

  But as she turned off the ignition and opened the car door, a vehicle pulled in behind her. It should have been Earl. But it was John. And he was driving an Edgartown police cruiser.

  Chapter 15

  Annie’s first thought was that she’d been right: something had happened to Earl. She bolted from the Lexus and ran to the cruiser before John had turned off the ignition.

  “What’s wrong?” She was out of breath. She stepped back while he killed the engine and opened the door, her pulse and her heart both racing. Again.

  “Merry Christmas to you, too.” His pearl-gray eyes looked almost iridescent in the sunlight. Shining, and unconcerned.

  She gulped. “I thought your father was coming to get me.”

  John laughed. “Mom has him doing things. Peeling potatoes, cutting up squash. You know. Man’s work.”

  In spite of herself, Annie laughed. “Right.” She didn’t ask if he knew why Earl hadn’t answered his phone.

  “You going somewhere?”

  “Oh. No. Bella was fussy. If I take her for a ride it helps calm her down.” She praised her fast recall that driving the twins was what Murphy and Stan had done whenever one of them was “crying up a Gaelic storm,” as Murphy called it. She pointed to the cruiser before John had a chance to mention the car seat, or rather, her lack of one. “Are you here on official business?” She was beginning to realize that, unlike in the city, dropping by unannounced was acceptable on the Vineyard.