by Jean Stone
* * *
By the time the men returned, it was dark. Still, using Kevin’s truck headlights to guide them, they managed to unload the bed and haul it inside without scratching, nicking, or dropping anything. Annie put sheets and a warm blanket on the mattress for her brother; Restless promptly leaped on top and snuggled down.
“Out!” Annie cried, and everyone laughed, and Earl took his granddaughter by the arm and his granddog by the leash, and they said good night. At the top of the hill, Earl reached inside Kevin’s truck, turned off the headlights, and turned with a final wave.
“I’ll be back in the morning,” Annie then told her brother. “Will you be okay? There’s lots to eat, and soup if Donna wants . . .”
“Out, yourself!” Donna called from the bedroom. “Kevin and I lived under the same roof for over twenty years. We’ll be fine.”
“And John is waiting,” Kevin whispered to Annie. “Earl called him after he talked to Winnie.”
And that’s when Annie knew that love on Martha’s Vineyard was often the result of a conspiracy.
* * *
As much as Annie had grown to love the little black-and-white, furry ball, she was grateful that he hadn’t been in his house during the night, encroaching on her space in John’s bed. Or in the morning, when John had pulled her close and they’d made love again. Each time they were together, it felt more and more right. She hadn’t realized how wrong she and Mark had been together, how she’d never just felt free to be herself. She stared at the Vineyard light that slid through the blinds now and warmed her face. For so many years, she’d been convinced she’d never love again, yet here she was, wondrously in love with a man who loved her back.
John reached over to her again, and Annie laughed. “You are a crazy man!”
“A lovesick man,” he mumbled into his pillow. And she moved onto him, finally believing that this really was happening, and that she could trust it.
“You’re right, I was crazy,” he said a short time later when he finally admitted that he was spent, “so I think it’s time we got married.”
Though she’d heard him perfectly fine, Annie whispered, “What?”
“I want to marry you, Ms. Sutton. If you’ll have me.”
She toyed with the dust flecks that danced on the sunlight. “John, I don’t know. . . .”
“You don’t know if you love me?”
“I do know that. I know that for certain. But so much is happening . . .”
“Don’t you get it? ‘So much’ will always be happening. You’ll have the Inn, or maybe not; we’ll have Lucy to challenge the hell out of both of us; and God knows what else will come our way. I’ve been thinking more and more about this since I met your ex. Call me old-fashioned, but I want to protect you forever from that kind of guy.”
She leaned over, pushed back a small lock of his hair, and kissed his forehead. “And I love you for that weird, old-fashioned thinking. But I married Mark because I’d lost Brian. I didn’t love him; I couldn’t risk loving anyone again. That’s in the past. I know I love you. I know I want to be with you, but . . .”
“But what?”
“Well, first, there’s my mother. Donna.”
“If we tell her it might bring some happiness to her last days. Maybe she’ll get on board with planning a wedding.”
Annie couldn’t argue with that. Then, without thinking, she said, “She did try to shoot him, you know.”
John closed his eyes. “I did not hear that. But if it’s any help, I’d already figured it out.”
“And if we’re cleared to open the Inn, where would you and I live? If I’m going to manage the place, don’t you think I need to live there?”
“I’ve thought about that, too. If it all happens, maybe Kevin could take over the cottage. They still haven’t built his apartment over the workshop, have they?”
“No. But Donna’s still with us, remember?”
“Oh. Right.”
“Well, then, you could move in here.”
“Not while she’s still alive. I need to be with her. And I need to be on site for the Inn.”
“I don’t suppose there will be extra rooms for Lucy and me? And the dog?”
She laughed. “Sorry. We’re booked solid.”
He pouted. “This is ridiculous.”
“The thought of marrying me?”
“No. It was my idea, remember?”
“Well . . .” she said, tracing her fingers across his muscle-taut chest, “what if we get officially engaged? And worry about the marrying part once things have settled down?”
He thought for a moment, then he agreed.
* * *
By the time Annie got back to the Inn, Kevin and Earl were hard at work on the upstairs bedrooms. The downstairs was complete except for the furniture in the great room. But, as with the rest of the beds and bureaus, the deliveries had to wait until they figured out how to pay for them. Annie had already decided that the first half of the advance for Bedlam in the Blue Room would cover much of it, and she really wanted to chip in. In the meantime, as long as Kevin and Earl were determined to stay positive, she might as well get serious about collecting decorative pieces, including the art. With Jonas coming back, maybe he could help gather Vineyard natural pieces that would complement his paintings that Annie chose with Donna’s help.
“Mom wants to see you,” Kevin said.
“Is she okay?”
“About the same I think. But she said she was really tired this morning.”
“Probably from the trip back from the hospital.” Annie was looking forward to Georgia Nelson’s starting the next day; in spite of the guidance Georgia had already provided, Annie feared that she’d do something wrong.
Kevin kept painting and didn’t answer. His moods were still swinging these days—Annie didn’t know if it was only because of Donna, or if part of it was due to Taylor, whom he no longer mentioned, and, as far as Annie could tell, he was no longer seeing. Maybe it was both those things plus the money issues. She would talk to him later. And she certainly wouldn’t flaunt her engagement to John.
Her engagement!
Annie Sutton, on the dark side of fifty, engaged to be married for a third time. Murphy would have been excited; she would have been her maid of honor and made sure the day was perfect. And she, too, would have loved John.
With a small lump in her throat, Annie left the Inn and went down to the cottage. She had once thought she’d grown used to having people she loved leave forever, but now, with Donna’s situation, sorrow had returned. “Every loss reminds you of every loss you’ve ever had,” she’d once read, back when she’d been grieving over Brian, her parents, Murphy.... Stop! she ordered herself, as she’d had to do too often lately. Then she put on her game face and went into the cottage.
Donna was in the living room, sitting in the rocker, wrapped in Ellen Sutton’s quilt. Ironic, Annie thought, then she heard Murphy whisper: Or is it?
Clearing her throat, Annie asked, “How are you this morning?”
Donna smiled back, tilting her head in an “Oh, you know” kind of way. “Did you have a nice night?”
Annie sat on the sofa. “Can you keep a secret? An absolute secret for a few days anyway?”
“I been known to keep secrets for years.”
Annie knew that. “How about one that I think might make everyone happy?”
“Is it about the skull?” Donna’s eyes grew hopeful.
“I wish. But it’s something even better. At least it is to me.”
“And it is . . . ?”
“John and I are engaged.”
Donna sucked in a short breath. “To be married?”
“Well, yes.”
“My goodness. That is a surprise.”
“We’re so right together, Donna. He’s smart and kind, and he gives me space. . . .”
“But where will you live?”
Annie hadn’t expected that question so quickly. She hoped Donna wouldn’t
think they’d ask her to leave the cottage. “We won’t get married until we know what’s going on with the Inn.”
“And with me? Like if I’ll be out of the way?”
The comment was a jolt to Annie’s gut. “Please don’t say that. We want you in our lives. In fact, we’re counting on you to help plan the wedding.”
“In that case, you’d better hurry.” So much for Donna’s pledge to stay positive.
“Please . . . don’t . . .”
Donna shook her head. “I’m sorry I said that. I want only happiness for you, my dear girl. I would love to know that at least one of my children is stable and happy.”
So she, too, was worried about Kevin. “I think Kevin is going through a bumpy time right now.”
“He needs to do some serious thinking. Especially about that awful woman.”
“Taylor? She’s not awful. Not really. She’s . . . different. She’s had a difficult life. . . .”
“Giving her baby away and then trying to reclaim him? At least I gave you the dignity of having your own life. And happiness to the people who adopted you.”
And that’s when Annie knew it was the perfect chance to ask about her birth father. Short of having her DNA done and praying that he—or one of his other children if he’d had any—had had his done as well, Annie knew the only way she’d find out would be to ask.
“You did give me that dignity, and for that I thank you. I’m sure Bob and Ellen Sutton would, too, if they were here.”
Donna didn’t reply. Perhaps she was feeling the loss. Or guilt. Or envy. Then she said, “Kevin also is upset because he wants me to tell you something.”
The lump reappeared in Annie’s throat. Had Kevin warned Donna that Annie was going to ask about her father? “Tell me what?”
Donna rubbed a corner of the quilt where a square of red tartan plaid was stitched, a remnant leftover from the skirt Ellen had made for Annie’s first day of second grade. The skirt that she’d been wearing in the picture in the old blue photo album in the bookcase. “I gave them the money,” Donna said.
Annie was confused. Money? What money? Did Donna give money to Annie’s birth father? She’d told Annie she hadn’t had any money back then. So why would she have given him any? Had it been some kind of payoff? Annie had used blackmail as a theme in two of her books, but only when it had involved murder.
“I gave Kevin the money,” Donna added. “And Earl.”
Kevin and Earl? What did they have to do with Annie’s birth father?
“I don’t understand,” Annie said. “Why did you give them money?”
Donna sighed. “For the Inn. I gave them the money to buy the Littlefield property. The place where we’re sitting right now.”
Now Annie really was confused. “What?”
“Did you not hear me?”
“I assumed Kevin sold a couple of his condos. I thought Earl . . . Well, I don’t know what I thought about where his share came from.”
“As far as Kevin goes, his condos are tied up because they’re in his business’s name. His wife’s still listed as an officer. Vice president, I think.”
“But Meghan is . . . incapacitated.”
“Well . . .” Donna sighed. “In any event, these things take time to unravel. And he has to be willing to do so.”
“Wait. I thought he sold his business to pay for her long-term care?”
“He did. But he only sold his customer list. Not the corporation. Or the personal assets. It’s complicated. Which I think is why he hasn’t wanted to address it. And partly why he still isn’t divorced. It’s too damn painful for him.”
Annie knew the kinds of things that emotional pain could do to an otherwise reasonably intelligent person.
“I put up Earl’s share of the money, too,” Donna continued. “That wonderful man has a house, some land, and a big heart, but he doesn’t have squat in the bank.”
“What?”
Donna shrugged, then huddled further down into the quilt. “You didn’t have a place to live, Annie. Kevin wasn’t faring much better. Oh, sure, he had condos. And an income from the rents. But he was depressed. Very depressed. So when he and Earl came to talk to me one day . . .”
“Wait. Earl and Kevin went to Boston?”
“Late last summer. Just for a day. I believe you were busy helping Claire. Anyway, their proposition made sense to me. So the money for the Inn wasn’t Earl and Kevin’s. It was mine.”
Annie thought she must be dreaming. She must still be in bed, lying next to John, and dreaming. Had he asked her to marry him?
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Donna. This is all too much. . . .”
“There’s nothing to worry about. I had the money from my business. I still have my apartment and the furnishings, but the trust that I mentioned to you earlier doesn’t exist. The funds all went into this place. And I recently sold my car. Which was the real reason I took the bus down to the ferry. I never made a fortune, and I tended to spend more than I should have, but selling the shop gave me a tidy sum. The only part that makes me sad is that it was your inheritance. And Kevin’s. Other than my apartment, I’m afraid nothing is left. But, like I said, Kevin still has his condos, so if he ever gets a move on with his divorce, and if everything else goes down with the ship—or should I say, the Inn—I’m sure he’ll find a way to help you out.”
Annie couldn’t speak for a long moment. Then she said, “Thank you,” because it seemed like the only thing to say. She could have told Donna that financially she was starting to do much better, now that she’d paid Mark’s debts and her books were selling well. But it seemed important to Donna to think that her son would take care of her daughter, that her little family would be together.
Then Donna announced that she supposed this had all come as a shock to Annie, which was an understatement, so she should take time to digest it. As for Donna, she needed a nap.
And as for Annie, she grabbed her laptop and went outside to the porch, glad to be in the fresh air, her head and her heart abuzz, her stomach spinning like a waterspout in tornado season. After a while, she got to work, outlining the rest of her novel, distraction being her best method of coping.
Chapter 30
Late that afternoon, Jonas came back to the Vineyard. Annie found out when both she and Kevin had quit working for the day, and she’d coerced him into taking her seat on the porch in case Donna woke up. Then, without sharing that she knew about Donna’s investment in the Inn, Annie had taken a quick trip off Chappy, over to Edgartown not to see John, not to go shopping, not to drive up to Aquinnah to visit Winnie, but to sit at a picnic table on Memorial Wharf again and gaze at the current churning in the harbor, and finally mull over her talk with Donna.
It hadn’t been the right time for Annie to ask about her birth father. But would there be enough time left when other things were more pressing? Or was she destined to never know?
She viewed the On Time come and go; she listened to the gulls, watched an old man fishing dockside, and studied the boats bobbing at their moorings, water gently lapping at their hulls. Nearly an hour had passed when she supposed she should get back to Chappy. But as she stood up, she glanced toward the ferry queue on Daggett Street and saw Jonas’s SUV waiting to drive on. Even from that distance, she knew the vehicle was his by the large canvases and the artist’s easel stacked in the back.
She jogged over as he moved up the small ramp. Then she skipped on board the ferry and waited until he’d turned off the engine before going over to his open window.
“Jonas! I’m so glad to see you.” For all the weighty things that she was trying to deal with, Jonas had a whole lot more—had always had a whole lot more.
“Hey, Annie. Hi. I went to New York. I got some of my paintings out of storage. For the Inn. If you want. They’re mostly Chappy scenes. A few of them are on my website.”
“Wonderful! I can’t wait to see the real deal.” The fact that he really had come back to the island might be an omen
that life would be good again. For all of them. She hoped.
“You need a ride back to the Inn?”
“No thanks. My Jeep’s in the lot. But can you come by tomorrow and bring the canvases? Maybe right after lunch?” Thanks to the added hours, she knew that Georgia would be with Donna then.
“Okay. And thanks, Annie. For giving me another chance.”
She smiled and tapped the well of the window. “That’s what friends are for.”
They docked on the Chappy side, and Jonas drove off. Annie walked slowly to her Jeep, wondering how it happened that her spirits were always lifted not necessarily by someone energetic, but often by someone like Jonas who, despite having a heap of issues, was doing the best he could.
Like the hummingbird, she thought.
* * *
Once home, Annie sent Kevin away, still not ready to talk to him about the Inn. She defrosted some soup that she’d made late in the winter and thought it might entice Donna to enjoy a homemade Sunday night supper. When Donna finally roused and joined Annie in the kitchen, she extolled the aroma and flavors, though she merely sipped the broth and barely made a dent in the vegetables or the chicken. It seemed that since she’d been forced to face the seriousness of her illness—and have others know it, too—she’d taken a downhill slide. She looked more wan than she had before and only seemed interested in sleeping.
But Annie had come up with an idea that might help perk up the evening—and open the door to asking about her birth father.
“I was wondering if you’d like to see some pictures of when I was growing up,” she said. “Unless they might upset you.”
Donna smiled. “I’d love to see them. Photographs are wonderful gifts. They lend a permanence to life.”
It was the perfect answer.
After Annie cleaned up the kitchen and Donna had gone back to the rocker and the quilt, Annie retrieved the album, sat on the end of the sofa that was closest to her, and gingerly opened the cover.
First were Annie’s baby pictures, which evoked bittersweet smiles. A tear. Or two.