by Jean Stone
Annie sat, as unmoving as the girl in the bed. Finally, she said, “I understand you’re doing better. How do you feel?”
No answer came, no acknowledgment that Annie was in the room. Yet Annie saw her blink. She looked smaller than she had at the fair, maybe because she was without the winter jacket she must have worn then, not that Annie could recall it.
With the long, settling breath of a mindful observer, Annie said, “I thought it was time for us to meet properly. I’m Annie. Annie Sutton.”
Beeps and clicks hung in the air. The girl’s eyes flicked to Annie, then shot back to the ceiling.
“You’ll be glad to know Bella’s fine,” Annie continued. “She’s still with me. For now, anyway. She misses you, though. Babies can really miss their mothers. I read an article once that said a baby knows its mother’s voice at the instant of birth, that it can tell its own mother apart from all other women.” She’d forgotten she’d read that. It had been years ago, not long after she’d received the letter from Donna MacNeish. At the time, she’d tried not to give it credence.
More than anything, Annie wanted to reach out now and touch Francine on her shoulder; she wanted to let her know she wasn’t alone, did not have to be alone. But she was afraid it would startle the girl, scare her. So Annie kept her hands in her lap and her voice low. “I know you must have been through a terrible time. But on the Vineyard . . . well, whether by accident or intention, you’ve come to the right place. People take care of one another here.”
No response.
She hadn’t wanted to play her trump card, but Annie could tell nothing else was going to work. She leaned close enough to the bed so she could rest her hands on the sheets. She glanced around to make sure no nurses—or, worse, police—were in sight. If she whispered, maybe the nurse who was watching the monitors wouldn’t hear her. “Francine?”
The girl blinked, but remained silent.
“That’s your name, isn’t it? Well, Francine, I know more than you might think. I know you’re from Wellfleet, and I know about Caleb. But I haven’t told the police. I wanted you to have a chance to give Bella a family . . . with you as the most important person in it. You know from my book that I was adopted. I was lucky—I went to a good home; I had a good upbringing. But I’d be lying if I told you I never thought about my birth mother. Or that I never longed to know the woman who . . . who gave me up.” The last thing Annie had expected was that she—not Francine—would start to cry. And yet there she was, silvery tears sliding down both of her cheeks. Genuine tears. For the mother she’d never known—or worse, hadn’t acknowledged when she’d had the chance.
She took a tissue from her purse, wiped her eyes, tried to regain her composure. It would be helpful if the girl responded to Annie’s confession, but she did not.
“Francine,” Annie said again, “I don’t know how things will work out for you with the Thurmans, but I want you to know I will help however I can. You might think I have a pile of money, but I don’t.” She laughed. “That’s a long story I’d be glad to share one day over a cup of hot tea.” Then she stood up. “But there are other ways that I—and others—can help. If you let us. I’m going to go now, but I’ll be back tomorrow. And the day after. However many times it takes for you to know you don’t have to go through this alone.”
Annie left the room then, tears glistening again, leaking from the dark cloud that had covered her heart. For once in her life, her true feelings had wrangled their way out, and she hadn’t shut them down by pretending to smile.
* * *
She quietly walked down the hall to the stairwell outside the waiting room. She wasn’t ready to see John; she didn’t feel like talking yet. She knew she needed to tell him about the Thurmans now and that the girl’s name was Francine, but Annie was tired. Exhausted, actually. Maybe she could use the baby as an excuse: she could pick her up, pat her bottom, announce that Bella needed a diaper change, then make a quick dash for the ladies’ room, where she could sit for a few minutes and be alone.
With her luck, however, John would have already changed the baby. A smart guy like him would know how to do that.
Instead of going into the waiting room, she slipped around the corner and snuck into the ladies’ room alone. She slumped against the wall and tried to think about what she had done.
Had she offered Francine financial support? A family? A home? It didn’t look as if Caleb Thurman had any intention of accepting the role of a father. Chances were, he’d simply go back to college and move on with his life. The best Francine could hope for might be some financial support. Maybe at some point Bonnie Thurman would step in and assume some type of role in Bella’s life. Maybe not.
As for Bella, well, Annie had been around a long time—she’d taught several students from single-parent homes. Some did okay; some did not. It never seemed to turn out as easy as young women thought it would—even for those who had a good support system and the best of intentions.
And what about Annie? She was fifty years old. In a couple of months, she’d be fifty-one. She was just getting back on her financial feet. Was she ready—or willing—to take on the responsibility of a young mother and a baby? Especially after she’d worked so hard to create a new, unencumbered life?
Glancing into the mirror over the sink, she tucked her hair behind her ears, widened her eyes, and studied them. She didn’t know if she’d started to look her age yet; she didn’t know what her age was supposed to look like. She wondered if having a baby in the house who needed attention and a young mother who clearly had problems would put more stress on Annie than even Trish and her crazy deadlines could do. Would subsequent age lines come faster than necessary?
Did thinking that way mean Annie had grown selfish?
John had survived having two daughters and, though two years younger than Annie, he certainly didn’t look as if stress had taken a toll on him.
Stretching out her arms, she rolled her head from side to side, hoping to relax. When that didn’t happen, Annie gave up. It was time to forget about mundane things like age lines, which probably would show up when they wanted. It was time to stop procrastinating and face the final, major hurdle. It was time to face John. Before she got too far ahead of herself.
* * *
When she reached the waiting room, John wasn’t there. Neither was Bella.
At first she thought she must be in the wrong place. But a quick look around confirmed that it was the waiting room, the only one nearby. Her mood started to plummet; her pulse sped up. She told herself that John must be in the men’s room. Would he have taken Bella in there? Annie had no clue about today’s restroom protocol.
She checked her watch. Six thirty.
Where was he? Where were they?
She scooted back to the nurses’ station. “Excuse me . . .” Her voice was suddenly weak, as if she were the one who needed to be hooked up to something. Or shot with the Adrenalin stuck to the wall over Francine’s bed.
The nurse spun around. “You must be looking for your baby.” She reached under the counter and brought out the basket. “Here she is, sleeping like an angel.”
Annie let out a huge, unladylike sigh. “Thanks . . . thank you. But . . .”
“Oh, and Sergeant Lyons left you a note.” A Post-it was stuck to a monitor: the nurse peeled it off and handed it to Annie.
Sorry, it read. Had to run. Accident duty. Later. John.
Damn. She had hoped they’d go down to the cafeteria and have coffee and a long talk. She had planned to tell him everything—about the bus driver, the Thurmans, and Francine. She’d hoped that he wouldn’t hate her for not having told him sooner. But no matter what, it would have been a relief to purge the rest of her secrets.
But she was there and John was gone. She tried to come up with an alternative plan. When that didn’t work, she dropped the Post-it in her purse, picked up Bella, and walked away, trying to ignore the fact that her pulse hadn’t slowed down.
Chapter 26
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br /> If she had any strength, she’d get out of bed and get out of there. She’d get away from Annie Sutton, get off of Martha’s Vineyard, where, for some weird reason, everyone wanted to help everyone else.
You couldn’t even kill yourself without people jumping in to save you.
At least Bella was okay.
She listened to the beep-beeps coming from somewhere behind her head. She smelled the antiseptic smells. She saw that every wall in the room was made out of glass. She was in a fishbowl. Even if she were stronger, she couldn’t get out undetected.
Tears leaked down her cheeks. They did that so many times these days, she wondered if something had gone wrong with her eyes. She took a corner of the scratchy bedsheet and dabbed at the wetness before anyone saw it and decided to ask questions.
* * *
Annie took the elevator downstairs and walked toward the exit. She had almost reached the entrance when Bella started to cry—not her kitten-like whimpers, but a full-blown wail.
Hunger.
Diaper change.
Attention.
She ran through Murphy’s list of three reasons a baby cries. She settled on hunger, because it had been a long time since Bella had eaten.
Where her oversized purse once held notebooks and pens, and more recently, jars of soap-making ingredients, it now held diapers, pacifiers, and a bottle. And formula. That would need to be warmed up.
Stopping at a large campus map mounted in the lobby, she located the café at the junction of the physicians’ office building and the hospital. She turned and went back down the hall, past the portraits and the landscapes and seascapes again, while Bella kept up with her nonstop insistence for food. Annie prayed they weren’t disturbing others—especially patients, who were probably not happy to be there in the first place, in spite of their view of the water.
The café was easy to find, but the door was locked. A sign read: OPEN MONDAY–FRIDAY. 6:45 A.M.–10:30 A.M.; 11:00 A.M.–3:00 P.M.
Annie stared at it and stifled a scream as loud as one of Bella’s.
Just then a man hustled around the corner, yanking his arm into the sleeve of a heavy parka. Though obviously rushing, he stopped. “They’re closed on weekends,” he said.
“I noticed. Too bad the baby can’t read. Or doesn’t care what it says.”
“Hungry?”
“I have formula, but no way to warm it.”
“Yes, you do,” he said, pulling on gloves, his car keys jangling. “Upstairs. Maternity. I’ll bet they’d be glad to help.” He trotted down the hallway and disappeared out a back door before Annie could thank him.
She toted Bella back to the elevator and pushed the button marked 2.
Once upstairs, she went directly to maternity and begged for assistance.
“Absolutely,” a nurse replied. She had light brown hair, barely touched with gray and pulled back into a ponytail. Most importantly, she didn’t seem ruffled by Bella’s noise. She was holding an iPad and a stethoscope: a blend of the new world and the old. “But you’re not breastfeeding?”
Annie almost laughed. “Thanks for the compliment, but I’m afraid I’ve aged out of having babies. I’m just sitting for a friend.”
“Well, okay then, we’ll get you set.” She took the formula and the bottle, then escorted Annie to a comfortable chair while she left to heat up Bella’s dinner.
While sitting, waiting, Annie realized she was still terribly weary. Done in, from head to toe. She would have loved to close her eyes again, but Bella was not going to allow that. Maybe she was as tired and cranky as Annie felt thanks to the emotional roller coaster of this charade.
When the nurse returned, Annie held Bella, who ate—and ate—with frenetic spasms. “Slow down, little one,” the nurse said with a chuckle. “Or you’ll have gas pains all the way home.”
Then Annie had an idea—perhaps, she thought, the best one she’d had all day. She smiled at the nurse. “I know you must be sick of doing this, but would you feed her for me? I’m new at this, and it’s way over my pay grade. I’d love to see how it should be done.” She noticed the woman’s name tag: HELENE. Helene said she’d be delighted.
Bella settled into Helene’s arms and continued her meal at a more leisurely pace. Annie couldn’t imagine feeling more grateful.
Then she said, “Oh, gosh, I just remembered. My friend Barbara works here. In maternity. Actually, her sister-in-law is my friend. Winnie Lathrop.”
“Barbara’s the best. I’m noon to eight; Barbara’s midnight to eight. Part-timers trade off eight to midnight and eight to noon. Which is more than you need to know. I don’t suppose you’d care to sit here until midnight to say hello?”
Annie laughed. “Five hours? I’d love to see her, but no thanks. It’s been a tiring day, and Bella and I both need to get home.” She said the word home, as if the cottage was Bella’s home, too.
“Bella,” Helene said. “What a beautiful name. I was in school with a girl named Isabella Wright. Sometimes we called her Bella.”
It took a second to process what she had said. Then Annie asked, “Here? On the Vineyard?”
“Oh, yes. I’m an island girl. She was, too. Class of nineteen ninety-five. She left right after graduation, though, when her family moved to Minnesota. I always wondered how a girl from an island could stand being trapped in the Midwest. Anyway, we were all upset; she was the first one in our class to move away.”
Minnesota. Had Francine traveled all the way from Minnesota to Cape Cod, hooked up with Caleb Thurman in Wellfleet, gotten pregnant, had the baby, bought an “inferior” basket to use as a carrier, then landed on the Vineyard in search of support? The prospect seemed convoluted, even to Annie, who made a living by making stuff up.
But Isabella Wright had had friends here. It was over twenty years ago, but could it be the island connection?
After searching for words that would sound like small talk and not interrogation, Annie said, “Losing touch with classmates often happens over time. Did you and Isabella keep track of each other?”
“For a while. Then she went to college, got married, you know, the usual.”
“Did she ever come back?”
“Once, for a reunion. Her husband’s family was in some kind of banking. I got the impression they were pretty well off.”
“Did she have kids?” Annie felt compelled to ask, though if Isabella’s in-laws were in “some kind of banking,” it seemed doubtful that she’d had a daughter who’d wound up as a waitress at the Sunrise Café.
“Probably. I don’t remember. We did lose touch after that. I looked for her on Facebook once, but came up with nothing. Probably because I can’t remember her married name. I asked a couple of friends, but they couldn’t, either.”
“Well. It’s interesting that you called her Bella.”
“Only when we were small. By the time we reached high school she let it be known she preferred Isabella.”
Oh. Darn. “But she never moved back?”
“No. Like you said, it happens.”
Annie knew it also happened that her imagination could accelerate until it went out of control. The fact that she’d learned that a woman named Isabella had once been called Bella and had been raised on the Vineyard didn’t mean anything. Anything at all.
Did it?
Helene finished feeding the baby and said it was time for her to check on the two patients who were waiting to deliver. But first, she insisted on giving Annie a few extra diapers. “I think you’ll find these will fit better than the ones you’ve been using.”
Annie thanked her and finally left, impatient to get home now, eager to talk to John in the morning. She’d tried to learn as much as she could, but her mission was over. And she was worn out from conjuring complications where they most likely did not exist.
* * *
Outside, winter blasted the parking lot with frigid gusts that whooshed up from Vineyard Sound and sprayed ice crystals across Annie’s face. Grateful that Bella wa
s asleep, she quickly snapped her into the car seat, closed the door, then jumped behind the wheel and cranked up the heat. It was after seven thirty: maybe if she took the shortcut down County Road, which was inland, the driving might be easier. Now that it really was winter, she didn’t know how late the On Time did its back-and-forth run, but she hoped she’d make it before they shut down for the night. If they hadn’t already stopped running because of the wind.
She passed a house that was lit up with a blaze of holiday lights, evergreens, and miniature houses—a Christmas village, Annie guessed. Cars lined both sides of the street: a chalkboard stood at the entrance to the driveway and read: COST OF ADMISSION—A CAN OF SOMETHING FOR ISLAND FOOD PANTRY.
Annie smiled. Her love for the island seemed to grow more every day, in spite of its quirks and entanglements.
When she reached the end of County Road, she went left onto Edgartown-Vineyard Haven Road. She didn’t get far before a ribbon of flashing red lights stopped her in her path. A police cruiser and a tow truck blocked the road: an officer stood attentively, as if prepared to detour a vehicle if one came along. It was John.
He motioned for Annie to pull off to the side.
She put down her window. “What happened?”
“It’s over now. SUV flipped. Went off the road. Speed. Alcohol. Ice grazing the pavement. Amazing the guy wasn’t hurt. How’d you make out with our girl?”
As much as she wanted to tell him, she didn’t want to do it then and there, not with so much to explain. “She wouldn’t talk to me, either.”
John sighed, then rubbed his hands together though he was wearing gloves. “Too bad our manpower is down because of winter. We might be able to get to the bottom of this faster.”
Annie watched the white puffs of air that formed when his breath hit the cold. She knew if she held back now, she might be crossing the line into something that might be illegal, and definitely wouldn’t be fair. It was time to tell all. And she knew it. She looked straight ahead. “John, I’ve learned a few more things that might help.”