A Vineyard Summer

by Jean Stone

  “Hmm. Yes, well, you might be right. It does seem a wee bit smaller than advertised.”

  A wee bit, indeed.

  They went back to the living room and Annie looked around. On the plus side, it had lovely plantation blinds at all the windows and a cozy propane heater that looked like a fireplace but would mean Annie would not have to haul wood inside.

  “The rent includes cable, Wi-Fi, and all your utilities,” Hannah added. “And did I mention it has central air?”

  Which, Annie thought, given the elfin size, might account for a whopping total of four hundred dollars a month, max.

  “And the furnishings are beautiful, aren’t they? Everything is brand-new. And it has the upscale look that suits someone of your status.”

  There were times when Annie wondered if she’d be treated the same way if she were still a third-grade teacher.

  Still, she knew she could talk herself into renting it if she weren’t careful. Then she realized something critical was missing: a place for her to work. There was no desk or table where she could put her laptop, no room for her bookcases, and certainly nowhere to make soap, which had begun as an enjoyable pastime but now generated a second, though meager, income. But while she supposed she could find another location for that, or, if need be, give up soap-making altogether, Annie could not live without writing. Not financially and, more important, not psychologically. Writing was the fuel that kept her going.

  “Like I said,” Hannah continued, as if noting Annie’s hesitation, “this place won’t last long. As soon as I list it”—she snapped her fingers—“poof.”

  Annie walked around again. She eyed the gleaming hardwood floors, the thickly padded area rugs. “A one-year lease?”

  “Two.”

  That was the decisive moment. While most year-round tenants would jump at the chance to be locked into a lovely island home for two years, Annie knew if she signed the lease she might as well tell John she’d never move in with him. And she’d have to work very hard, and very consistently, to keep up with the exorbitant payments. Oh, she groaned inwardly, why has my life become so complicated?

  Then she thought about John. And Lucy. Annie knew that her housing situation was nothing compared to what they were dealing with. She also knew that no matter where she landed, things would work out, and that settling for something—no matter the reason—often turned into a mistake.

  “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, before she changed her mind. “But it really is too small. There’s no place for me to work. Not even a corner where I could set up my laptop. I need space for books, too. No”—she shook her head—“it’s too small.” And way too expensive, she did not add.

  Hannah gave her eyes an unprofessional half roll. “Okay, then, I’ll keep trying.”

  But Annie suspected she would not.

  Chapter 9

  The afternoon air was still hot but did not feel as humid—“sticky” Annie’s dad liked to call it when the warm moisture in the air made his white shirt stick to the back of his wooden desk chair at work.

  After leaving what might have been her only chance at a decent apartment, Annie strolled along Main Street. As she approached the ice cream shop, she decided to treat herself to a cone. Maybe she’d feel better after a good dose of fudge swirl, which had been her dad’s favorite flavor. But as she put one foot on the doorstep, she was jarred by a loud shout.

  “Annie! Annie Sutton!”

  With one hand on the door handle, she almost did not turn around. Annie hated being recognized by a fan of her books—she’d never thought that being a writer entitled her to celebrity.

  “Annie! For God’s sake!”

  That got her attention—that, and the fact that the voice was familiar.

  Two vehicles honked. One driver shouted an obscenity, either at Annie or at the person who was shouting for her: Taylor.

  Taylor was behind the wheel of her pickup truck and had stopped in the middle of Main Street, holding up summer traffic. She was leaning across the seat, trying to get Annie’s attention through the passenger window.

  Good grief, Annie thought and bolted to the truck. “You’re stopping traffic!”

  Another horn blasted.

  “I don’t care. Get in!”

  “Get in?”

  “Yes! And hurry up.” Taylor’s auburn hair was pulled into a ponytail, setting off her amber eyes that looked ready to pop. “Get in!” she seethed again.

  Annie sighed, opened the door, and climbed onto the seat. “Okay, now drive. Before a war breaks out.”

  Taylor made a guttural sound and stepped on the gas.

  “So,” Annie said. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

  “To the hospital,” the woman replied, making a sharp right onto South Water Street.

  Annie swallowed. Hard. “What?” Her question came out in a quiver.

  “Claire’s had a stroke.”

  Claire? “Claire Lyons, Earl’s wife?” She knew her question was ludicrous. At least she didn’t add, “John’s mother?”

  “Claire Lyons. Yes.” Taylor gritted her teeth.

  “But . . . I just left her. Not long ago. She was on North Water . . .”

  “That’s where she was found. In Mildred Atwater’s garden. With the baby. What’s her name again?”

  “Bella?”

  “Yeah. I can never remember that name.”

  Because you are an ass, Annie thought. “Where’s Bella? Who has her?”

  Taylor shrugged. “She’s at the hospital, too. They decided not to leave her there to poke at the peonies.” She seemed to enjoy employing sarcasm as an art form.

  “But how’s Claire? Is she . . . ?”

  “Is she going to make it? It’s too soon to tell. She’s conscious and everything, and it looks like they got to her fast. It helped that she was in Edgartown and not over on Chappy. The big concern now is that she’ll have another. A bigger one. That sometimes happens with strokes.”

  Annie stared out the window. Poor Claire. Poor Earl! She couldn’t believe this had happened. Claire had seemed so chipper that morning. So bright, so . . .

  Oh, no! Annie thought. What about John? She looked at her watch. It was nearly three o’clock. “Oh, God. John’s on the ferry.”

  “We know,” Taylor said, as if she were part of a major investigative branch of law enforcement and not just a caretaker on Chappy who volunteered as an EMT.

  Then Annie scolded herself for being irked with the woman who’d obviously been searching for her.

  “Earl wants you to get the baby,” Taylor said. “Maybe bring her to your house. If that’s okay with you.”

  “He’s there? At the hospital?”

  “He just arrived when I left.”

  “Oh, God. Is he okay?”

  “Not really.”

  Claire and Earl had definitely become Annie’s island family. She’d grown to feel closer to them than she did to her birth mother, mostly because she’d spent nearly a year with Claire and Earl, and less than two weeks with Donna MacNeish. Drumming her fingers on the dashboard, Annie warned herself not to be thinking about her birth mother when she should be worrying about Claire. And Earl. And . . . John.

  * * *

  Earl looked as pale and shaken as Claire did. He sat in a chair, close to the bed, folding and unfolding the brim of the Red Sox cap that rested on his lap.

  “She had a stroke,” he said when he saw Annie enter the room.

  Annie nodded, then looked at Claire. “Gosh, Claire, that was a surprise, wasn’t it? How do you feel now?”

  Claire gestured that she wasn’t sure.

  “She had a stroke,” Earl repeated, his voice hollow and distant. He went back to folding the hat brim.

  Pulling a chair next to Earl’s, Annie tried not to stare at the tube that snaked from Claire’s hand up to an IV, at another that encircled her head and was clamped in her nose, or at the wires that led to various monitors that blipped and bleeped.

&nbs
p; Claire tried to speak, but her words were sloppy and unintelligible.

  “It’s okay,” Annie said, “you don’t have to talk.”

  “She can’t,” Earl said. “She had a stroke.”

  “Are they still doing tests?” Annie asked, her eyes jumping between the two people. She didn’t want to exclude Claire from the conversation, but understood that the answer would be up to Earl.

  “I suppose.”

  A doctor and a nurse came in. “Excuse us,” the doctor said. “We need to examine Claire.”

  Annie stood up, grateful that the doctor hadn’t addressed Claire as “the patient,” or simply as “her.” Physician education had clearly come a long way since Annie’s father had a heart attack more than two decades ago, when a medical person had plainly announced, “I’m sorry. He’s dead.”

  She offered a hand to Earl. “Come to the waiting room. You can tell me what happened.”

  He stood up in an awkward, sluggish motion, then let Annie guide him down the hall. Once he was resettled, she quietly said, “Start at the beginning.”

  “All I know is I was down by Caleb Pond, working on the Andersons’ shed. A tree snapped in half during last night’s storm and broke through a window.” With eyes that looked dazed, he looked around the small, square room that was painted pale green and, like much of the hospital, was decorated with attractive, original artwork of seascapes and landscapes and people, Vineyard people, Annie suspected. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. “Pete Denton called me from the scene.” Annie knew the name, but not the man; he was one of John’s fellow police officers. Earl looked at Annie. “I’m so glad you made me learn how important it is to carry my phone.”

  She reached over, patted his hand.

  “We don’t know how bad she is,” he continued, “yet.”

  “She seems alert, which seems like a good sign.” Annie had no way of knowing if that was true, but it sounded plausible and hopefully eased Earl’s thoughts.

  “John’s on his way back. He was halfway to Woods Hole. Once they got there, he jumped on the freight boat. The steamship guys are taking care of his truck. He should be here soon.”

  Annie nodded as if she already knew that.

  Then Earl let out a long sigh. “She just . . . collapsed,” he said.

  She rubbed his hand. “It must have been scary.”

  “It could have been worse. She landed in the Atwaters’ hollyhocks. Pete said if she’d landed on the sidewalk, she’d have been banged up on top of the stroke. She’ll be upset about the flowers, though.”

  Annie let him rest in silence for a moment, then she said, “Earl? Where’s Bella?”

  His dazed eyes scowled. He quickly stood up. “Jesus. I don’t know. I think one of the nurses took her. . . .”

  “It’s fine. I’ll find her. Don’t worry.”

  “Okay. You go find the baby and I’ll go back to Claire. God, what a day, huh?”

  * * *

  Bella was safely ensconced in maternity, exactly as Annie had expected. Her friend Winnie’s sister-in-law wasn’t on duty, but Annie remembered the nurse at the desk. Months ago, she had helped Annie settle Bella’s endless crying when Annie had no idea what to do.

  “Too bad about Mrs. Lyons,” the young woman said now. “Will she be okay?”

  “I sure hope so. Among other things, Claire has been a godsend for this baby.” She thanked her for helping, then gave Bella a big hug before wheeling her off in the stroller.

  Because Taylor had dropped Annie off at the hospital, then had to get back to work, Annie decided to take the bus back to Edgartown. Then, on the way to the main door, as she was passing the reception desk, she had a thought. She knew it probably was none of her business, but . . .

  She went to the desk. “Excuse me,” she said. “Can you tell me what room Fiona Littlefield is in—if she’s still here? I’m Annie Sutton, the one who found her.”

  After Annie got off the elevator, Fiona’s room was not hard to find.

  Angling the stroller inside the door, she tried to enter quietly. Once inside, she saw that Fiona was sitting up, staring out the window toward Vineyard Haven Harbor. Unlike in many of the Boston hospitals, the inpatient rooms on the island were all private.

  Annie introduced herself, then added with a smile, “I found you on my lawn.”

  “You’re the lady who lives in the cottage?” Fiona’s long highlighted hair was tangled and seemed in need of a good washing. Her skin was wan; her body looked shriveled, which might have been due, in part, to the thin cotton hospital gown she wore. And though she was hooked up to a couple of monitors and an IV, she didn’t seem to be in pain.

  “Yes.” Annie saw no point in adding, “But not for long.”

  “Thanks, then. For saving my life. The doctor said if I’d been there much longer . . .” She turned her gaze back to the window.

  “It was lucky on my part. I happened to step outside for a view of the fireworks and there you were. How are you feeling?”

  The girl nodded. “Better, thanks.” Her voice seemed as small as her body. “I wasn’t drunk, you know.”

  Annie didn’t know how to respond.

  “I mean, people probably think because I was at the wedding and it was hot out, I must have had too much to drink and passed out. But I only had one sip from a glass of champagne with the toast. I hate alcohol.”

  “I didn’t care about any of that,” Annie replied. “I only knew you needed help.”

  Fiona gave her a weak smile. “Please. Have a seat. Is that your baby?”

  Annie laughed and wheeled the stroller so Bella faced Fiona. Then she sat down. “No, but she’s part of my Vineyard family. Her name is Bella.”

  “Hello, Bella. You’re a very pretty little girl.”

  For once, Bella did not make a sound; she just gaped at Fiona with her big dark eyes.

  Then Fiona quickly looked back at Annie. “I was poisoned, you know.”

  She said it so matter-of-factly, Annie was startled. “What?”

  “The toxicology report said I had andromedotoxin in my blood. That’s a poison. Someone poisoned me.”

  The news was bizarre. Not to mention unsettling. “But . . . who on earth would poison you? Are you sure? Maybe it was an accident . . . ?”

  “Believe me, it was no accident. The doctor said they sent the report to the police, who are supposed to contact me, but I have not heard a word.”

  Annie felt as if she’d walked into a conversation she’d rather not have heard. “The police are awfully busy right now. . . .”

  “They’d be a lot busier if I had died.” She waved a hand in the air as if swatting a fly.

  “But, Fiona, who . . . ?” She sensed she was now treading water in a pool where she didn’t belong. She wished she had stood up, said she was sorry, but that she really could not get involved. Instead, Annie found herself... curious. Again.

  Fiona made a sound that was like a child spitting out an olive. “It’s not hard to figure out who tried to kill me. My brother and sister both hate me because I don’t want to sell the house on Chappy. Neither one of them has any sentiment. No pride in our family. Nothing. They only want money. Well, Colin wants the money. Sheila wants it to become a bird sanctuary. As if the island doesn’t already have enough places for birds. I mean, they’re everywhere, aren’t they? Why the heck would they need a sanctuary?”

  It seemed like a logical question.

  But what had begun as a simple check on a girl whose life Annie had apparently saved now felt like a soap opera that she’d tuned into halfway through the first season. “Well,” she said, trying to sound agreeable, “the Vineyard does have lots of green space.” Why couldn’t she wish the girl well and escape from the room? Maybe if Bella would start screaming . . . but, no, for once the baby seemed content.

  “It must have been my brother. Sheila never bothered to show up for the wedding.”

  Though Annie was hardly well versed in family d
ynamics, she doubted it was common for siblings to poison one another. Even over a house. “You think your brother poisoned you?”

  “Well, someone did, and he’s the only one who had motive and opportunity. I’ve watched enough crime shows to know those things matter.”

  “If you really believe that, you should call the police. Don’t wait for them to get back to you.”

  “I will. As soon as I get out of here. They told me I’ll be here a few more days. Until they’re sure the poison has left my system. Speaking of which, would you do me a favor?”

  Annie stumbled and stuttered over her words, but after a couple of seconds muttered, “Yes, of course.”

  “I don’t have any clothes, except my bridesmaid dress. You live right next door to my house, right? Would you mind going over? My things are in the upstairs bedroom that faces the water, the first one on the left at the top of the stairs. Would you please bring me a few essentials? I don’t have anyone else. . . .” Her voice cracked a little, leaving Annie feeling unneighborly. And, worse, selfish.

  “Of course,” she replied. “Would you like to make a list of what you want?”

  Fiona shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Whatever you bring will be fine. If no one’s around—and I guess Colin is long gone—go around to the back. The door to the sunroom probably isn’t locked. . . .” She continued giving instructions about how Annie could get inside. Annie, however, only half listened because she already knew how. She’d been in that house on another occasion. A couple of times, as a matter of fact.

  * * *

  Standing at the bus stop outside the hospital, Annie wondered if she should have waited for John. She decided, however, it would be better for everyone if he could be alone with his parents. So she called Francine, gave her a quick rundown, and told her that Bella was with her.

  “Claire will be okay,” Annie said.

  “But it’s our fault, mine and Bella’s. She worries about us. . . .”

  “Stop! It’s no one’s fault, least of all yours. You and Bella have done more for Claire than you can imagine. She’d grown so lonely after John’s girls left the island; you’ve brought the joy of being needed back into her life.” Annie had no idea where her words had come from, but she didn’t doubt they were true. “So please, no more talking like that, okay?”