A Vineyard Morning

by Jean Stone

  “I need help,” she said, not acknowledging his question. “Did Larry tell you why I’d been in touch?”

  “About that skull?”

  “Yes. He said it’s over a century old. I need to know if that’s true or if he’s screwing with me. I also need to know how much longer it will be before we know the rest—whether or not it’s Native American.”

  Mark paused again. “First, I’m sure it’s true, Annie. Larry has no reason to lie to you. Second, I know as many people as he does. You could have called me. It’s in the archeologist’s office, right? I’m always running into issues about historic sites we’re trying to develop.”

  She hadn’t figured out what her next words would be, so she was surprised when they came out sounding coherent. “Even if I had known where to find you, Mark, why on earth would I have called?” Before he could respond, she pictured her support team—Donna, Kevin, Earl, John—and went back to the topic. “But yes, the remains are at the archeologist’s office. It might not seem like a big deal, but there’s a lot at stake.”

  “I don’t think I can reach anyone before Monday. But I’ll let you know. I’ll head up there as soon as I can get a boat.”

  “A boat?” The question jumped out on its own.

  “I’m still on the Vineyard, Annie. Your friend, the cop, threatened me within an inch of my life, but I’d really hoped to see you. I thought if I hung around long enough we’d run into each other. It isn’t crowded here right now, is it?”

  She froze. She looked out toward the harbor, toward Edgartown. Was he staying over there? Was he right across the water at the Harbor View? Was he standing on the veranda, looking across to Chappy, hoping to catch a glimpse of her? She ducked back into the cottage and lowered her voice. “I don’t want to see you, Mark. I only want the information.”

  She counted: three, four, five, until he answered.

  “Okay,” he said. “I owe you that much.”

  Annie held off saying that he owed her so much more.

  * * *

  When she got off the phone, Annie realized that her heart was pounding, had probably been pounding from the time she had decided to call Mark. She shuddered now and pulled her sweater close around her. She had no way of knowing if she’d made a big mistake. For starters, John might never speak to her again. And there was no reason on the planet why Mark would have told her the truth. Even if he knew as many people in the archeology department as Larry did.

  She knew she should tell John before he found out another way. Especially since Mark was still on the island. Maybe if John learned it from her, he’d be more inclined toward forgiveness. Wasn’t that what people in a relationship did?

  But as soon as she lifted her phone to call him, a familiar voice called out, “Hello?” followed by the sound of a barking dog. Apparently, Lucy and Restless had come to visit. Again. Shielding her eyes, Annie watched them trundle down the slope. They were followed by a large woman, silhouetted in the afternoon shadows. It took only seconds for Annie to realize it was Winnie.

  * * *

  They walked on the beach in the opposite direction of the spot where Annie had found the skull. Lucy and Restless raced ahead, Lucy tossing twigs of driftwood, Restless catching them, then dropping them onto the sand.

  “I was on my way to see you when I spotted Lucy walking along Main Street, looking lonely and forlorn. I suggested that she and the dog hop into the van and come on over. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. I love it.” Annie knew Winnie must be right, that Lucy was feeling lonely and forlorn, what with Jonas gone and Maggie’s mother having forbid her daughter to see Lucy. “But what prompted you to drive way down here on a Saturday afternoon?”

  “Claire called me this morning. She said you’ve been having a devil of a time. I needed to know why didn’t you call or come up island to see me.”

  “I almost did one day. But I got sidetracked with another situation.” Annie filled Winnie in on the saga about Jonas and Taylor and the role Lucy had played.

  “And on top of this, I was told your birth mother is very sick.”

  Annie nodded. “And there’s the skull.”

  “Yes,” Winnie said. “After I talked to Claire I went to see our tribal council. The people in Boston had already alerted them.... The tribe is always notified when cases like this come up. The council chair knows the archeologist, so we’re usually brought into the loop fairly quickly, which helps get the testing on the fast track. You’ve probably been told that if it’s one of ours, we get to choose what to do with the remains; the state police take any necessary measures about the property. Which is why I came today. I figured that the Inn might be in jeopardy.”

  Annie nodded. “It is. Very much, I’m afraid. I should have thought to call you. I’m surprised Earl didn’t. He never mentioned that the tribe might have a say in speeding up the process.”

  “I’m not sure he knows. It’s especially tenuous if the property is in financial trouble, and the owners are trying to get out from under. We’ve actually had situations where fake artifacts were planted so the owners could pretend that the land belongs to us. It gets them off the hook while they maintain their dignity.” Winnie paused and looked up at the colors that were softening on the horizon. “Our leaders have discovered that you’re in debt.”

  Sinking down onto the beach, Annie sat back on her heels. She picked up a handful of sand and let it trickle through her fingers. “We are. Kevin underestimated the building costs. I’ve seen the books. I don’t think he factored in enough for the added expense of shipping the materials over on the boats. Not to mention that a lot of boats were canceled over the winter. Some cancellations were weather-related; more were mechanical issues. No one could have predicted that. And Kevin hadn’t known that when a boat doesn’t run, we still have to pay for the truck and driver by the hour, even when they’re simply sitting in Woods Hole, waiting to get across.”

  Winnie sat beside her. “It’s happened before. Businesses can get stuck through no fault of their own.”

  “A hazard of island life?”

  “One of them. Yes.”

  Annie let more sand sift through her fingers. “If it means anything, Winnie, I really doubt that either Kevin or Earl are behind this. Planting a skull? No. They wouldn’t do that. Not for any reason.”

  Winnie nodded. “I know that. I told the tribal council. Still, we have to wait. None of this will matter if they determine that the remains are not Native American. But I wanted you to know what you’re up against.”

  Annie watched Lucy playing with Restless. At fourteen, her innocence would probably not last much longer; Annie hoped it would never morph into stupidity the way hers once had done. Then she said, “I called my ex-husband, Winnie. I can’t believe I did that.”

  “Isn’t he missing?”

  After Annie and Winnie had become fast friends, she’d shared the gruesome story of her marriage to Mark and its consequences. “He was missing. For more than ten years. But like a fool, I called his best friend, Larry, who’s an assistant district attorney in Boston. I thought Larry might have contacts in the archeologist’s office. Someone who could make our problem a priority. The next thing I knew, Mark showed up here. Donna tried to shoot him.”

  Winnie laughed. “I think you’d better start at the beginning, Annie. This sounds like one of your books.”

  “If I’d made it up, I would have invented a happy ending.” Annie started with the day she and Lucy had walked the beach in search of tchotchkes, and ended with her conversation with Mark minutes ago. “And now I’ve opened a door I never should have. I should have just let whatever’s going to happen, happen. I’ve been too worried about losing the Inn, when I should have focused on building a relationship with my birth mother who, it appears, is going to die soon.”

  Winnie put her arm around Annie’s shoulder. “You were trying to help the ones you love. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “If it’s determin
ed that this is sacred ground and we can’t open the Inn, Kevin and Earl will lose a lot of money. And Kevin and I will lose our home. Not to mention that we were trying to make this a home for a few islanders who can’t find one they can afford.”

  “My goodness,” Winnie said. “It sounds like you feel responsible for a whole lot of people.”

  “Donna needs to come first. Why can’t I focus on her? I should be happy that she wants to be with me for her last—I don’t even know what they are—days? Weeks? Months? Of course, if I keep making myself busy doing other things, I won’t have to confront her about the one thing I’d like to know: who my birth father is. I don’t know if she’ll tell me, but I do know that she’s going to die, and then I’ll never have the chance.”

  They sat quietly for a few more minutes, thinking private thoughts, watching Lucy and Restless bound up and down the beach.

  Then Winnie said, “One thing at a time. I’m glad you were able to help Jonas come back to the island. His mother is a native. And don’t tell Lucy or she’ll turn green with envy, but Taylor has some Wampanoag in her. Her paternal grandmother. So Jonas has our blood, too. As for the skull, I can put a word in to try to accelerate things even more quickly. When are you scheduled to open?”

  “The Friday of Memorial Day weekend. Less than four weeks now.”

  Winnie nodded. “Okay. I’ll see what we can do. But as for your ex, it sounds like you’re still angry. You have the right to be. But even the best lives can’t be lived to their full potential if anger lies beneath. Maybe this is your chance for closure.”

  “Are you kidding? If Mark comes snooping around again, never mind Donna, I don’t know what John will do. It’s going to be bad enough when I tell John that I called Mark.”

  Winnie nodded. “I guess you’ll have to work through that. So why don’t you sit here a spell and watch Lucy and Restless, which is the strangest name I’ve ever heard for a dog, but it seems to fit. Stay here on the beach, and I’ll go up to the cottage. I only met Donna MacNeish once when she visited you last year, but I’d like to tell her what terrific kids she has.”

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, after having left word with Lucy that she’d be gone for a little while, Annie was sitting at one of the long picnic tables at Memorial Wharf, waiting for Mark. It hadn’t taken long for her to realize that Winnie had been right; Annie needed closure for her life from hell, as she’d come to think of the years that had followed him. The years until she’d moved to the Vineyard and begun her new life.

  Thankfully, he hadn’t yet left the island; he couldn’t get a boat until the eight thirty.

  Annie sat facing the harbor, not wanting to see him approach from Dock Street behind her, not needing to see the swagger in his walk that had first attracted her, that bad-boy kind of walk that had once said, “Come and get it,” and, stupid her, she had. He had swaggered into her life at a time when she’d been sad and scared. She was grateful she was no longer that young woman.

  As she waited, she listened to the gulls and watched a few old fishing boats bobbing in the harbor that would soon be filled with sailboats and small, yet dazzling yachts. She began to realize that, in truth, her life had started to change long before she’d moved to the island; instead, it was when Murphy had encouraged her to take the writing course, when she’d helped Annie find the strength that was—had been—inside her all along. What was it that the good witch had said to Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz? That she’d always had the power, but she’d had to learn it for herself? Annie’s third graders had loved that story; Annie hoped that someday they, too, would learn the truths beneath its words.

  “Annie.” Mark walked to the other side of the table and stood facing her. The years had hardly changed him. He still looked youthful and as handsome as he had the day they’d met. His hair was still golden-boy-blond, his body firm and sexy, his skin lightly touched with tan that looked real, not from a booth. Golfing, Annie thought. In Palm Springs. Or St. Kitts. But despite the way he looked, Annie no longer felt a shred of desire.

  “Sit,” she said, gesturing toward the bench.

  “Do you have a gun?” he asked with a smile that revealed that his teeth were still straight and as white as if he were a model for sparkling toothpaste.

  She smiled back because she knew it wouldn’t hurt her. “No gun.” And so he sat. She could have told him who the woman was who’d wielded the twenty-two. But that would have exposed her life to him again, and he did not deserve to know about the happiness she’d found. Yes, she thought, she did have happiness. Some sorrow, but more happiness.

  “You look well,” he said.

  “Thank you,” she replied. There was no need to return the compliment. Men—or women, she supposed—who had movie-star genes like Mark knew exactly how they looked. “My wardrobe has changed a little.” That was when she realized she was in her comfort clothes—a flannel shirt, jeans, short boots. She’d pulled her hair into its casual, short ponytail, not caring if the silver streaks were more noticeable that way. She’d also foregone wearing makeup; she rarely wore it anymore.

  “It suits you,” he said. She almost thought he’d intended to be nice until he added, “Though I have to say I’m surprised you’re living here. God, what do you do all day, day after day? Other than during July and August, does anything really happen on the Vineyard?”

  “I write books,” she answered. “And I make soap.” She could have told him that she also now canned vegetables because she enjoyed spending time with Claire, or that sometimes she went fishing with John because it was fun, or that she loved being part of the artisan festivals and that she planned to get into gardening, having been inspired by helping with the Garden Tour the previous year. She could have told him that her calendar was packed with films and plays and lectures, and that she had wonderful, trustworthy friends. But Annie doubted that he’d care about any of it. More important, she did not care to tell him.

  “Yeah, I heard you were a writer. You make any money at it?”

  The wrath that had long simmered in Annie might have boiled up then. But time and circumstances finally enveloped her in healing kindness, and she simply said, “I didn’t ask you to meet me to talk about money. I wanted to let you know I don’t need you to get involved with anyone in Boston about the remains. It’s been taken care of. But thank you, anyway.”

  For a second, Mark almost looked dejected. Then he squared his shoulders. “Really?”

  “Really.” She made sure to hold her head high. “And thanks for meeting me. But I have to get back to Chappy now.” She unknotted her legs from beneath the picnic table bench and stood up. He stood, too, and went around the table, blocking her path toward the On Time.

  “Annie,” he said. “I’ve missed you.”

  She shook her head. “No, Mark. You might have missed the woman that you thought I was. But that wasn’t me. The real me is here. The real me is happy. Go back to Boston. We were finished long ago.”

  He touched her arm. “I’m sorry. About all the bills I left.”

  It would have been a lie if later she told herself that she didn’t feel a twinge of anger then, that she hadn’t had to hold back from shouting that she’d paid his bloody bills, every last dollar, every last cent of them. It would have been a lie if she believed she hadn’t wanted to spit straight in his face. Progress, she thought, isn’t always easy.

  But it also wouldn’t have been honest if she had said, “No problem. I took care of it.” So instead Annie told him, “I’ve decided that if we’re lucky, we get to learn from our mistakes.” She smiled again, then slipped from his touch, and headed back to the On Time, feeling lighter than she had in years, not caring if he watched her walk away.

  Chapter 29

  Winnie was stepping out of the cottage as Annie was returning. Annie told her where she’d been and what she’d done; Winnie responded with one of her loving hugs. But she was quiet, unusually subdued.

  “I’ve had a lovely visit wit
h your Donna,” Winnie said as she led Annie from the cottage, up toward the Inn. They sat along one of the newly built stone walls that framed the terrace. “Lucy’s with her now. When I left them, the dog was on the bed. I hope that’s okay with you.”

  “If Donna likes him there, absolutely. Whatever she finds comforting.”

  “I think what she finds most comforting is being here. With Kevin and you.”

  “I hope the outcome of the archeological tests doesn’t boot us off the land before . . .”

  “Before her time has come?” Winnie patted Annie’s hand. “Let’s not worry about that. The tribal council knows the value of family and the importance of living . . . and of dying.”

  Annie nodded. Then she said, “At least I finally had closure with Mark.”

  “And how are you after seeing him?”

  “He’s the same. I’m the one who has changed.”

  “Life changes all of us when the time is right. Speaking of which, I suggest you have a talk with Donna. There are things she wants to tell you.”

  “Such as?”

  Winnie smiled. “They’re not for me to say. Just remember to be patient and listen carefully. And that though most of us do foolish things throughout our lives, we’re all just flesh and blood. There’s no getting around that.” Then Winnie stood. “Now this old flesh and blood of mine needs to get on the road before the light of day totally fades. I called Earl; he’ll pick up Lucy. She’ll spend the night with them. The dog, too.” She placed a finger on her chin. “I suppose that means John will be alone tonight.”

  Annie laughed. “Thanks for the thought, but I’ll stay here with Donna. Especially since you’ve given me so much to think about.”

  “Ah, but that can wait another day. Your John matters, too. And I’ll bet that Kevin would be happy to stay here tonight.”

  “He and Earl went to get another bed . . .”

  “Earl told me. Which was when I came up with the idea for Kevin to sleep in the cottage.” Then Winnie ambled toward her van, her long plait bouncing on her back. The van rumbled to life, and off it went into the gathering sunset.