by Jean Stone
“It must have been hard for Mom to see these,” he said.
Annie turned another page in the album. “I haven’t showed her. I wasn’t sure if it would upset her—or upset me. Anyway, I figured it was too soon. Maybe someday.”
He put his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t sell her short, kid.”
She laughed. “Don’t call me ‘kid’! For one thing, I’m nearly a decade older than you are.”
“I’m taller.”
“I’m smarter.”
“Not really.”
“I’m prettier.”
Pause.
“Okay, you got me there.”
It was ten o’clock before he stepped off the front porch to head back to Edgartown. “One more night at the Kelley House, then I’ll move into John’s place. Jesus,” he added, looking up at the sky, “it sure gets dark out here.”
“Black as the night,” she replied with a laugh. “And no streetlights. Not one.”
They hugged goodbye. After Kevin left, she went back inside and cleaned up the dishes before she collapsed on her bed, totally done for the day. Done in, her dad would have called it. She fell asleep without changing into her nightgown.
* * *
At some point during the night, Annie stirred from what might have been a dream. But as the blurred edges of awakening became clearer, she could have sworn she’d heard a too-familiar sound: the distinct, low rumble of the engine of a Porsche.
Colin Littlefield, she thought. It had to be him.
Unless . . .
Despite the summer heat, her body turned to ice. She pulled the sheet up closely to her chin.
It’s only Colin, she tried to convince herself. There was no way it could be Mark. Her ex-husband would have no way of finding her, would he?
The sound had ceased, as quickly as it had woken her up.
But with her eyes open now, her heart racing to the beat of her imagination, Annie knew what she needed to do. She had to get out of bed. She had to put on her robe and slippers. She had to get her flashlight, cut through the path that led over to the Littlefields’, and reassure herself that it had been Colin . . . who had returned to the scene of the alleged poisoning. It was, however, unnerving to realize that coming face-to-face with an attempted murderer would be less frightening than to find her ex standing outside her door.
She stayed still a moment longer, but heard no further sounds. Then she got up, pulled her things together, and ventured out into the darkness.
There was no Porsche in her driveway. Still, she knew she would not sleep again until she was certain the sound had come from Colin’s car and not Mark’s.
Her mission would have been easier if any lights still burned inside the Flanagans’ house, if any leftover wedding revelers had lingered on the premises. But though several cars were scattered around the property, the house was dark, as if people with any sense were in bed at the late-night hour. Everyone except Annie, whose every step felt more treacherous than the one before.
She found the path and tramped through the overgrowth and scrub oaks, tiny branches scratching, clawing at her calves. There would be blood, she knew. But Annie was determined. A little crazed, perhaps, but determined.
Just as she came out the other side, a small critter flashed across her way. A skunk? A raccoon? A water . . . rat? She shivered, grateful that whatever it had been had moved too quickly for identification.
Clutching her robe as if it were a life preserver, she knew by the squeak of clamshells beneath her feet that she’d reached the Littlefields’ driveway. She held up her light: nothing. No Porsche. No cars. No vehicles of any kind. Just a long strip of shells that reached out to North Neck Road.
She flipped her light over the grounds and down toward the water. But if a Porsche had been there, it had only been in her dreams.
Standing still, no longer cold, Annie was stunned to think that because Colin Littlefield merely drove the same model of car that Mark had, her subconscious had split wide open, exposing her pain—again. The Mark pain, Murphy had called it. The wound must have been deeper than Annie had known.
No longer caring about critters in the night or scratches on her legs, Annie plodded back to the cottage feeling like a fool.
Chapter 15
Having Kevin on board was a huge help to everyone. When Francine went to work, he tackled Earl’s morning jobs while Earl stayed home with Bella. At one o’clock Earl dropped Bella off at Annie’s and joined Kevin, so they accomplished twice the work in an afternoon. Annie was able to work on her book most of the day because afternoons were Bella’s naptime. By the time the baby woke up, they went for a walk. Or rather, Annie went for a walk with Bella tucked into the stroller.
By Friday, she still hadn’t heard from John, and she’d resisted calling him. Somehow able to keep her angst at bay, she was making progress on her last draft of Renaissance Heist, the final-final. It was the part that Annie loved best: closely reviewing word choices, reading the text out loud, checking to be sure she had captured the perfect rhythm for the story. She saw the process as the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel, a sign that she was almost done, that the book would soon be birthed. The End.
To clear her head of her world of fiction, she took Bella to the toddler playgroup at the community center.
At first, the children sat in a circle on the floor, their moms or their summer au pairs sitting behind them. The children tossed a beach ball back and forth across the circle, accompanied by lots of shrieks and giggles and the unhappy cries of one young boy who clearly did not want to be there. The sounds reverberated off the beams of the cathedral ceiling and the big stone fireplace. Then the children were given cardboard boxes filled with sensory toys for them to transfer into smaller boxes while the leaders sang nursery rhymes.
After half an hour, Annie had a headache, which must have been apparent.
One of the leaders, who looked to be Francine’s age, squatted next to Annie and whispered: “We’re going to do the musical segment next. If you’d like to step outside and stretch your legs, I’d be happy to help Bella.” Annie hesitated until she spotted another young woman pull several small drums, four miniature cymbals, and a bag of metal triangles from a toy chest. She said, “Thank you,” then stood up and stepped out onto the deck.
Which was where she ran into Taylor, who was brushing a new coat of stain across the wood.
“It never ceases to amaze me how people keep volunteering to lead the playgroup,” Taylor said. “All that racket would drive me nuts.” Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and fastened with a length of twine; her hands, surprisingly small for all the rugged work that she did, were encased in what looked like the thin type of gloves worn to dye hair. Maybe that was how her hair kept its vibrant auburn color.
“I used to be an elementary school teacher,” Annie said, “but apparently I’ve forgotten how much noise kids can make.” The last part wasn’t the truth, but Annie really did try and be on good terms with Taylor. She did not need to be her best friend, but being cheerful might make life more pleasant.
“I heard your brother is working for Earl now.”
How Taylor learned so much island gossip in record time remained a mystery. “He’s helping out until Claire is back on her feet.”
“She goes to rehab Monday, doesn’t she?”
That was news to Annie, though she did not want to admit it. “I guess that’s the plan. She’s doing well. Thanks again for tracking me down so I could get to the hospital and rescue Bella.” Rescue was probably one of those word choices she would change to something less dramatic if this were a final-final and not a conversation. But something about being around Taylor made Annie nervous.
“Speaking of rescue,” Taylor said, “have you heard any more about the Littlefield girl?”
“No.” Not wanting to encourage conversation about Fiona, Annie turned back toward the door. “I’d better get inside.”
“Wait,” Taylor said, setting down h
er brush. “You find a place to live yet?”
Annie had no idea whether Taylor had heard about a potential rental on Chappy or if she was simply being nosy. Maybe that was how she knew so much; maybe she was a pro at pestering people with personal questions. Annie shook her head. “I’ve been too busy to realize how desperate I’m about to become.”
“You can always rent my place.”
Annie froze, her hand on the door. Her place? What the heck did that mean?
“I have a garage apartment,” Taylor continued. “Finished it as one of those in-law things. Mother wanted me to have the house to myself, though God knows why. But she’s too old now to do the stairs, so I convinced her to move back in with me. I can keep an eye on her better. Make sure she eats and showers, you know what I mean.”
Nodding seemed like a cheerful thing to do.
“The apartment is sitting there gathering mice. It’s small, but, hell, it’s a roof. Be glad to show it to you if you think you might want it.”
If Taylor saw Annie blink, she didn’t react. “Really?” She knew the pause that followed was too long and might be too revealing, but Annie could not pull any words together. “Wow,” was what finally came out. She tucked her hair behind her ears and willed her brain to engage. “How much are you asking?”
“I haven’t thought about it yet. But you could take a look. I’m sure we could work something out.”
This was real. Her chance to stay on the island. And it had dropped into her lap from a most unlikely source. “May I come by tomorrow?” The question rolled out before she’d thought it through.
“Four o’clock? I mow lawns on Saturday, but I’m usually home by then.” Taylor told Annie how to get there. “Look for the wide-mouth-bass mailbox. My dad was a fisherman.”
Annie nodded slowly. “Okay. Well. Okay, then. And thanks, Taylor. Thanks.” She ducked back inside, where the music had ended and the children were quietly sitting, tossing the beach ball back and forth. Bella seemed to be well-watched by the young leader, so Annie meandered over by the kitchen, sank into a comfortable chair, and wondered what on earth she’d just agreed to. After all, desperate or not, having Taylor for a landlord might be the most ridiculous thing Annie had ever considered. But if the place was adequate and the price was right, was she in any position to say no?
* * *
“You want me to go with you?” Kevin asked after Annie had arrived at Earl and Claire’s to drop off Bella. He was at the kitchen table with Earl; they were drinking iced tea while Bella crawled around on the kitchen floor. By the look of the sweat-stained T-shirts and ragged hair on the men, Annie presumed they’d had a long bout of work in the sun. However, it appeared that they’d grown companionable, for which she was grateful.
“Don’t you have to work tomorrow?”
“We’ll be done before four,” Earl replied. “Shouldn’t be a problem for Kevin. Besides, bringing a bodyguard to Taylor’s might not be a bad idea.”
“Oh, no,” Annie cried. “What am I getting myself into?”
“I’m kidding.” He winked at Kevin. “But bear in mind that the two of you are very different ladies.”
“I’m doing my best. And I am pretty desperate. But do you think it’s a bad idea?”
“Not if there’s a decent roof over your head and the rent’s right.”
“Have you seen the place?”
“Not the apartment. But before her father died, I was in the house once or twice. Nice enough, for a fisherman. I suppose it’s got more of a female look now that Taylor’s there, though. You want some iced tea?”
As curious as she now was about Taylor, Annie needed to get home, grab something for dinner, and get to work on designing the program for the garden tour. Having taken the afternoon off, she felt slightly guilty. But the house was so comfortable and Earl so welcoming, she said, “Thanks. Iced tea would be great. But don’t move, I’ll get it.”
“Who’s Taylor?” Kevin asked while Annie half filled a small glass. “I’ve heard the name; I first thought she was a man.”
“She’s nicer than most people think,” Earl said. “Especially when they first meet her. She was a curious kid. Smart, too. Went to Berklee College up in Boston. The music one. She played the cello.”
“Taylor?” Annie asked, not hiding her shock.
“Yup. You wouldn’t have guessed that, would you? After college she played with the symphony for years until her dad got sick. Cancer. She came home to help her mother nurse him. By the time he died, her mother needed nursing, so here she is. A shame, really.”
Annie was stunned. “Wow. From a cellist to a caretaker. That’s quite a switch. Did she ever marry?” She took a drink and marveled at how little people often knew about others.
“She’s always been single, as far as anyone around here knows. Or is telling. I don’t think she has many friends, though. She changed after she moved back. Became a gossip, then. Like everyone else’s business was more interesting than her own. But you already know that, Annie. Anyway, I always figured you can’t really blame her. Her life kind of went out the window. She became a real island character.”
Kevin drained his glass. “That settles it. I’ll go with you tomorrow, Annie. If I’m going to be here a couple of weeks, I might as well meet as many ‘island characters’ as possible. Present company excepted, of course.”
Earl chuckled, but Annie was too fixated on what she’d learned about Taylor to join in. “I feel terrible,” she said. “I’m afraid I haven’t given her much of a chance to befriend me.”
“Well,” Earl continued, “you two didn’t exactly get off on the best foot. And just because she has a sad past doesn’t mean her place will be a good fit for you. Her mother’s not well, and is a little bit nuts. And, like I said, Taylor changed. But the way I see it, lots of folks have a sad past and still find a way to adapt to the world.”
Annie fell silent; Kevin did, too. Those with “sad pasts” were, after all, in the majority at the table.
“Well,” she said, finishing her tea and clearing her throat.
“I’ll take that as my cue to leave. If I want a future that’s happier than my past, I need to get back to work. Tonight I’m going to finish the brochure for the garden tour. Speaking of which, Taylor told me Claire goes to rehab on Monday?”
“As long as she behaves.”
“That’s good news, Earl. Really good news.”
“It sure is. My own cooking stinks.” He said it as if Claire were the “little woman,” and Earl the master of the house.
“I won’t tell her you said that,” Annie replied with a smile. “But Francine cooks, too, doesn’t she?”
He cocked the same endearing smile as John’s. “Sure. Well, kind of.” Then his smile faded and he let out a big sigh. “Between us kids, Claire’s stroke scared the crap out of me. I’m not ready to let go of her yet.”
Annie gave him a quick hug. “And you won’t have to. Hopefully, not for a very long time. Don’t forget, when Francine is here and has a free minute, the three of us need to work out a schedule. When Claire gets home, she’ll need one of us with her. At least for a week or two.”
Earl looked over at Bella, who must have decided that the basket of clean laundry in the corner was a perfect place for her nap. “First Bella, now Claire. I guess at some time or another, we all need one another.”
“That we do,” Annie replied. Then she turned back to her brother, still amazed that she’d come to know him so easily. In fact, she still had a hard time grasping that she had a brother at all. “Are things okay for you at John’s?”
He nodded. “Yup. Like a good houseguest, I even put the key back under the mat.” He laughed. “I still don’t believe he does that.”
“He’s just an island boy at heart,” Earl said.
And Annie was learning that she was an island girl. If only the twain should ever meet, she and John might actually live happily ever after. If there was such a thing.
* * *
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After saying goodbye to Kevin and Earl, Annie started her short drive home. Though Bella didn’t require much effort, it was tiring to look after a little one. She knew it would be more convenient for the people she cared about if she rented Taylor’s apartment and stayed right there on Chappy. It would be better for Claire, Earl, Francine, and even Bella. And it would be easier for her than to have to schlepp back and forth from Edgartown. It had been such a long time since she’d been part of a family, she remembered now that along with the closeness came occasional compromise. But as she recalled, the bottom line had always been worth it. And now that she knew more about Taylor’s backstory, maybe Annie could adjust her attitude.
She was pondering how she could go about that when she pulled into her driveway. Immersed in her thoughts, it took a few seconds before she realized a girl was sitting on her front porch steps, her head bent, her long blond hair draping down both sides of her face. But as Annie stopped and turned off the ignition, the girl lifted her head: It was Fiona Littlefield, who looked more like a girl than a woman, her tiny frame contradicting visible crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes. A ballerina’s body, Annie thought, now that she knew her neighbor’s passion.
Annie got out of her car and walked toward her. “You’re out of the hospital. That’s great.” She noticed she was dressed in the short cotton dress and the flip-flops that Annie had packed for her.
“He did it,” she said. “My brother. He really did it.”
Lots of folks have a sad past, Earl had said. In Fiona’s case, she seemed to be having a sad present.
“Has something else happened?” As Annie started to sit down, she saw streaks of tears on Fiona’s pale cheeks. “Would you like to come in? Maybe have a cold drink?” Don’t get involved, her inner voice—or Murphy—warned her. Fiona’s problem is none of your business.
Fiona stood and nodded weakly. And when she wrapped her arms around her slight middle as if she were shivering, Annie knew she could not turn her away. Fiona had no one that Annie could see whom she could count on, and she needed help. So Annie led her into the cottage and gestured to the table. “Tea? Hot? Iced?”