A Vineyard Christmas

by Jean Stone

  “Like what?”

  “Let’s not get into it here.Will you be around tomorrow?”

  “I have a better idea. I’m off duty at eight. Meet me at Linda Jean’s? I’ll buy coffee.”

  The driver of the tow truck shouted something at John. He gave her a quick wave and went back to his duties.

  * * *

  Linda Jean’s was a restaurant on Circuit Avenue in Oak Bluffs that was favored by locals for its casual atmosphere and good, basic food. Annie set Bella’s basket on the bench in a booth and sat beside it. Thankfully, Bella was asleep and had barely stirred when she’d been moved.

  Realizing she was hungry, Annie was gazing at the menu when John came in and sat down across from her.

  “You were at the hospital a long time,” he said. “Especially if you did all the talking.”

  “She was in radiology. They took her down for more tests.”

  “Did they bring her back?”

  She closed the menu. “Yes. Her eyes were open. But she played possum.”

  He didn’t bother with the menu. “You hungry? They close at eight, but I texted ahead. It’s amazing how being a cop helps out sometimes.”

  Judging from what little time she’d spent with him, Annie doubted if he bent the rules too often. “The truth is, I could use a sandwich. I haven’t eaten since this morning.”

  “Done.” He called the waitress over. Annie ordered a fish sandwich; John, the meatloaf dinner.

  “What about your daughters? Shouldn’t you be home with them?”

  He waved his hand as if brushing the thought away. “Change of plans. Teenage girls. What can I say.” He had obviously mastered the art of concealing emotions. Annie recognized the behavior.

  “Your mother must be upset.”

  “She’ll forget about it once they’re here next weekend. A week late, but she won’t care.” He leaned forward. “But enough about me. You need to tell me what you know.”

  Yes. She did. “John,” she began, “I told you I was adopted, and that I’ve figured out that’s one reason why Bella’s mother picked me. I guess it’s also why I’ve been on this quest to keep her out of foster care. If there’s a chance to reunite her with her mother, I’ve wanted to do that before you had to place her with . . . strangers.” She didn’t remember how much of that she’d already told him, but decided it wouldn’t hurt to repeat it. Then she told him about the bus driver at the ferry terminal, about looking in the high school yearbook for the Thurman boys, and about the picture of Caleb and the dimple in his chin. She saved the part about going to the Thurmans’ house for last. And Caleb’s denial that he was Bella’s father, for last. Just as she finished, their supper arrived.

  “I wish you’d told me before you went to the Thurmans’,” John said as he started in on the meatloaf. “You shouldn’t have gone alone. Who knows what might have happened. Stephen and Bonnie are good people, but in these situations—”

  “Your father was with me.”

  John chewed. Swallowed. “Oh,” he said. “Well. Guess I’ll have to deal with him later.”

  She hoped he knew not to “deal” with Earl in front of Claire.

  Her sandwich was terrific: the fish, fresh and flaky; the tartar sauce, the perfect amount. She delighted in it a minute before she said, “At the hospital just now, I found out something else. It’s probably not connected, but apparently there was an islander named Isabella. The kids called her Bella in grammar school. In the note Francine left me, she said Bella had been named after her grandmother.”

  John set down his fork. “Who?”

  “Bella’s grandmother. If her real name was Isabella—”

  “Not her,” he answered flatly. “Francine. Who the hell is that?”

  Annie blinked. “Oh. I forgot to tell you that part.” She filled him in on the details of Caleb’s story: that he’d met a girl who was a waitress at the Sunrise Café in Wellfleet, and that they’d gone for a walk one day, but that they barely were friends. “He did, however, remember that her name was Francine.”

  “And when did you learn this?”

  “Um. Well, this afternoon.”

  “So you agreed to go to the hospital and told me you’d try and find out her name even though you already knew it?”

  It was quiet in the restaurant. They were the only diners, and most of the help had no doubt gone home for the night. It was even quieter because John had stopped talking. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out a couple of twenties, dropped them onto the table, and stood up. “We’re done here,” he said. At first she thought he must be talking to the waitress, but the waitress wasn’t in sight, and he was looking straight at Annie.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I said we’re done. You had no business getting involved any more than you already were. I was willing to risk a lot so you could keep the baby with you, mostly because my father wanted me to. But this time, you’ve gone too far. I don’t know what you’re up to, or why you’re up to it, but this is not a story in one of your novels; it’s a police investigation. You’ve abused our friendship. Go home, Annie. Someone will pick up the baby tomorrow.”

  He walked out of the restaurant without saying goodbye.

  Chapter 27

  The fire was out. If Bella hadn’t been with her, Annie would have let it go, would have frozen to death during the night and not cared. No matter what her dad had taught her, sometimes a simple smile did not make the bad things go away. Especially when they were your fault.

  After tucking the baby into her makeshift bed—knowing it was the last time she’d be allowed to do that—Annie took a shower, then wrapped up in a long flannel nightgown and a warm quilted robe. Because she hadn’t arrived at the wharf until after nine, she’d had to wait nearly an hour for the next On Time to Chappy. At least now she knew that after six o’clock in the evening in winter, the ferry only ran on the hour until eleven; later than that, only for emergencies, until regular crossings resumed at six forty-five each morning. It had not been a good way to learn the schedule.

  While waiting, she’d left the car running with the heat turned up; she’d brought Bella to the front seat where it was warmer. John would never know: he wouldn’t have followed them there. He no doubt never wanted to see her again.

  Despite the heater, Annie hadn’t been able to shake the chill that had permeated her whole body. She’d sat in the darkness, holding Bella in her arms, gently rocking back and forth, her heart aching all the while. By the time the ferry appeared and she made her way home, she was numb inside and out.

  She slipped into her big, fuzzy slippers now, went into the kitchen, and brewed a pot of tea—chamomile, which might or might not help her sleep.

  Finally, she moved the rocker away from the Christmas tree, faced the woodstove, and slowly rocked, staring into the flames, wishing she could talk to Murphy. But even Murphy had deserted her now. Who could blame her?

  Annie couldn’t believe she’d been so . . . what was it? Reckless? Arrogant? When had she decided she was both entitled and equipped to control an important police investigation, or that John Lyons would appreciate her butting in? Had she become too impressed with Anne Sutton, best-selling novelist, who’d come to Martha’s Vineyard, made quaint soaps for fun, and lived in a cozy cottage—a perfect press release for fans? Had she changed that much? And would her behavior now jeopardize her happiness on the island?

  She’d changed when Brian was killed. Her soft edges had hardened, which was why she’d married Mark. It had been easier to dance and laugh than feel too much emotion, the kind that came with real love. When Mark had left, he’d taken what little had remained of her ability to be loving, trusting, vulnerable.

  Until now. Until this.

  Murphy had promised that one day Annie would find herself again, that she would feel again. Until now, she’d been able to do that only on paper, only in her books. Despite Earl’s flattery about what she’d done for Bella, Annie had feared she’d been trying to
become the heroine of her own story, the one who saved a baby from losing its mother. But she now knew that, in truth, she’d been trying to right the wrong that had been done to her.

  And she had screwed up. Big time.

  Staring up at the beamed ceiling, she sighed. “Well, Murphy, it looks as if I opened up my life and I got hit—smack, right in the face. Right in the kissah, as my dad would have said. I’m afraid I’m not very good at this thing called living. Not on my own. Not all alone.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. Then her cell phone rang.

  She almost didn’t pick it up; no name showed on the screen. But she’d learned that a call at such a late hour often meant something bad had happened. So she clicked on.

  “Annie? Did I wake you?”

  Her stomach knotted; she recognized the voice. “Winnie?”

  “Yes. I only have a minute. I’m using Barbara’s phone because she gets better reception.”

  It took a second for Annie to remember who Barbara was. Winnie’s sister-in-law: the nurse who worked at the hospital. In maternity. “Are you okay?” Annie asked. “Is everybody okay?”

  “Yes. And I can’t give you any details, because Barbara couldn’t tell me. All that privacy stuff, you know?”

  Annie took a sip of tea, hoping it would clear her head. “What is it, Winnie? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. Not really. But it’s about that girl in the hospital. Bella’s mother.”

  Setting her mug on the floor, Annie sat up straight. “Francine,” she said. “Her name is Francine.”

  “Well, Barbara thought you should know something important. She said to tell you that everything is not as it seems.”

  Annie shook her head. “What’s does that mean? Has Francine talked?”

  “I don’t know anything else. But it must really be important, or Barbara wouldn’t have told me that much.”

  “That isn’t much.”

  “I know. I hesitated calling, but she thought you should know.”

  “Because everything is not as it seems?”

  “Her exact words.”

  Annie thought for a moment. “I saw Caleb Thurman today. He denied that he’s Bella’s father. Do you think that’s what she meant?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.” Then she said she had to go, that Barbara was leaving for work and needed her phone.

  Annie thanked her and hung up. Then she sat staring at the Christmas tree again, at the flickers of gold and red and sparkling silver, wondering what the cryptic message had meant and how she could possibly stay out of it now. And if she did not, what would be the worst thing that could happen?

  * * *

  In the morning, she dressed Bella again in the sweater Claire had made. After all, John—or someone else, like a bespectacled, concerned social worker—would no doubt show up any minute to take her away: making sure the baby looked her best was the least Annie could do.

  As for herself, Annie threw on an old, gnarly sweater and worn-out sweat pants—her go-to outfit for the messy art of soap-making. She brushed her teeth and hair and washed her face, but did not bother with makeup. After all, she wasn’t going anywhere. During the long, restless night, she’d decided that, against her inclination, she would not get involved.

  Her decision hadn’t been easy: if she told John about the mysterious message that had come via Winnie from Barbara, she’d risk getting her friends into trouble. If Barbara had learned something, chances were that John—if he was half as competent as he appeared—would find out on his own. As for Annie, she’d already caused enough chaos, especially if Caleb wasn’t Bella’s father. She tried not to think about how upsetting her accusation must have been to the whole Thurman family.

  And now, while Bella was on the quilt, playing with the fleece sheep, Annie filled a bag with diapers, formula, and the rest of the baby things. Then she retrieved the red ribbon from the original, supposedly inferior basket in her car, shaped it back into a bow and fluffed it, then tied it to the handle so it looked as festive and perky as it had the night Bella arrived.

  In addition to not getting further involved, Annie decided she was not going to hand Francine’s note over to John, in case she ever needed proof that Bella had been “given” to her, that she had not been a kidnapper.Who knew what John might do; who knew what anyone might?

  No matter what, Annie was done meddling. The Vineyard was her home now; she was too happy there to want to rock whatever boat was in the harbor. She only hoped that, in time, Earl and Claire, and maybe even John, would forgive her for having been such a fool.

  The sounds of tires crunching down the clamshell driveway broke into her thoughts. Which was fine. She needed to be done with this.

  After taking a few slow breaths, Annie stood up, went to Bella, picked her up. “Come on, sweet girl,” she said. “Time to face your future, whatever it might hold.”

  But when Annie opened the door, she didn’t see an Edgartown police cruiser. Her visitor was Earl, not John. Perhaps he’d stopped to wish Bella goodbye. Or to do John’s bidding for him.

  She welcomed him in.

  He took off his cap as if he were in a restaurant or a church. Maybe even a funeral.

  “Did John send you to do his dirty work?”

  He looked perplexed. “Depends on what you call ‘dirty work.’”

  “Taking Bella. Isn’t that why you’ve come?”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes.”

  Her heart cracked again. She was surprised anything was left inside of her to break. “She’s almost ready.”

  With Bella riding on her hip, Annie went into the bedroom, took the white fleece blanket from the bureau drawer, then turned to head back into the living room. Earl was standing in the middle of the doorway.

  “You’re coming, too,” he said.

  She stopped. “What?”

  “John called this morning. He’s going to bring Caleb to the hospital for a meet and greet with Bella’s mother. He said it might go better if Bella was there. But because nobody knows how her mother will react, he thought it might be easier for the baby if you went, too. If you were holding Bella. You know?”

  “Me?” Annie asked. “He wants me there?” She knew she must sound daft. “But last night . . .”

  Earl offered a dismissive wave. “John told me about the mix-up. That you told him about our visit to the Thurmans. He was put out with you; I think he was mostly jealous that he hadn’t found out about them first. That, plus the fact that this case is extra hard on him on account of it hits home for him. Because his ex took away his girls. I pointed that out to him.”

  Annie had a suspicion that he’d done more than “point that out” to his son. She looked down at her clothes. “I should change.”

  “You’re fine. He wants to get this done. Before Caleb can sneak off island. We were lucky it was windy last night—the big ferry shut down its last few runs. John went to the Thurmans’ before the crack of dawn and took Caleb to the station to question him about Francine’s suicide attempt and to find out what he knows about Bella being abandoned.”

  Endangered, Annie remembered from her teaching days was the word social services would have used.

  “Not that John thinks Caleb did anything illegal,” Earl continued. “But I think he’s trying to scare the kid into telling him what he knows. They’ll meet us at the hospital. So get your coat. Time’s a-wastin’.”

  On the way out, Annie grabbed mascara and a tube of lip–stick and stuffed them into her purse.

  * * *

  They were the first ones there. Annie and Earl sat in the waiting room where Annie had been the night before. A different nurse was behind the counter; she was young and pretty, with neatly braided hair and stunning aquamarine eyes. She nodded when they entered as if they were expected, but turned back to her work without saying a word.

  Earl scratched his chin stubble; Annie knitted her fingers; Bella fussed, wriggled, cried.

  Twenty minutes later, after Annie had tried, fa
iled, succeeded, then failed again to keep Bella quiet, Caleb arrived. John followed closely behind as if ready to pounce if the boy dared to move one way or another. Another officer walked behind John, one hand on his belt, resting next to his gun. Annie wondered if he was preparing to shoot Caleb, Francine, or her. When they reached Annie and Earl, John touched Caleb’s shoulder; the three-man procession halted.

  “All set?” John asked Annie, forgoing a hello. He looked grim and a little gray. Maybe he’d had as little sleep as she’d had.

  Annie stood and picked up Bella’s basket. Earl remained seated.

  But as Annie, John, and Caleb stepped toward the corridor, the nurse behind the desk bolted up. “Stop right there,” she barked in a tone that sliced the silence and caused them—even the uniformed police officers—to halt. “Two at a time,” she added. “No exceptions. And five minutes. That’s all.”

  Caleb looked dazed, but then, he had since he’d walked in.

  John’s jaw tightened; the cords that stretched down both sides of his neck protruded. “Gail,” he said, “this is official business.”

  She shook her head and returned to her chair. “Sorry. No exceptions.”

  With a small twinge, Annie wondered how well John knew the nurse.

  After a heavy sigh, John went around the counter. He leaned down and spoke to Gail in low tones that Annie couldn’t hear. The nurse blinked, then flicked her eyes from John’s, her gaze landing on Caleb, who was staring, blankly, at her.

  Well, Annie wanted to say to Earl with a hint of sarcasm, we’re off to a pleasant start.

  John came back and told Annie she and Bella could not go in. “She’s making too much noise.”

  But Annie didn’t want to be left out of what was about to happen. “Maybe if I hold her?” She scooped up the baby and brought her to her shoulder. As if Bella knew the importance of their visit, her cries turned into soft whimpers.

  John handed the empty basket to Earl, then motioned for Caleb and Annie to follow him to room three. Annie walked swiftly, patting the baby on the back, half-expecting Nurse Gail to bark at them again.