by Jean Stone
“Well,” he said, tending to his invisible mustache, “we would need to have your friend audition.”
“Of course. Do you give public performances?”
“Oui. In fact, we’ll be at Union Chapel this Sunday morning. There’s a special service honoring the men and women of the regatta.”
Annie had forgotten that the annual regatta had been underway for a few days, though she’d noticed an exceptional crowd of sailboats bobbing in the harbor. “Thank you, monsieur. I’ll be sure to tell my friend. Maybe you know her? She lives on Chappy and went to Berklee. Her name is Taylor.”
“Taylor Winsted? We’ve never met, though I’ve heard of her. Her mother was a patron of our little group before she took sick.” He clucked a bit and shook his head. “Poor old girl. She was a musician, too, you know. A flautist for the Metropolitan Opera.”
Dumbstruck was the perfect word to describe Annie’s reaction. “Mother” had been a flautist? A classical performer who’d been accomplished enough to work for the Metropolitan Opera? “I had no idea,” she said.
“I didn’t know her then. Apparently, she met Stan Winsted when she and her family vacationed here one summer. The gossipmongers told me she wound up in ‘the family way.’ She married him, gave up her career, and was relegated to life on Chappaquiddick. It was, of course, back when options for young women were still rather limited. Though, to be fair, that’s not to say she’d have done things differently.”
Annie suddenly felt as if she’d unintentionally peeked into someone’s diary. Knowing Taylor’s history, however, explained a lot: Aside from the obvious musical talent, which might also be the link to Jonas’s artistic bent, Taylor’s mother might have influenced her to give her baby to the Flanagans so both she and the baby would have a chance at a bigger, more exciting life. Annie wondered if anyone really escaped from having their past chart the course of their future. In a way, it was true even for her: If she hadn’t met her first love on South Beach decades ago, would she have gravitated to the island so many years later?
Two elderly couples entered the garden gate then, and Annie stepped out of their way. She thanked Monsieur LeChance again and told him she’d relay the information.
It wasn’t until she strolled toward the next stop that Annie realized that, after all this time, she at last knew Taylor’s last name. Winsted. No doubt from old Yankee blood.
* * *
Final count: three hundred twenty-three visitors.
First Place Winner: Mrs. Atwater, who might have been the favorite due to the magnificent way she’d restored her assaulted blossoms.
Annie hurried down the corridor in the rehab facility, eager to give Claire the news.When she reached the room, she heard Earl’s voice. Great, she thought, he can learn firsthand about the success. But as she whirled through the open door, she screeched to a stop; sitting at the foot of his mother’s bed was John.
“Annie!” he said and jumped to his feet. As he did, Annie noticed a woman in the chair next to him. She had dark hair that was neatly cut and coiffed and wore a crisp linen shirt, stylish cropped pants, and high-heeled wedge sandals. Her bronze eyes turned toward Annie with obvious disinterest. She did not need an introduction.
A chill shot from Annie’s brain down to her toes.
Neither Earl nor Claire spoke.
“Sorry,” Annie said, her hand touching the base of her throat, the little hollow where her pulse liked to race. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. . . .”
“No,” John said, “it’s fine. You didn’t know I’d be here. No one did. Not even my mother. Right, Mom?” He turned to Claire, who responded with a flat-lipped grin.
“He came in on the one fifteen,” Earl announced, as if that explained anything.
“A quick visit,” John said with a nervous chuckle. “I wanted to check in with Mom. To see how she’s doing.”
The fact that no one was addressing the woman in the wedge sandals confirmed who it was, as did the fact that Annie’s stomach—which was astute at recognizing danger—was now doing somersaults.
“Um . . .” John continued, “this is . . . this is Jenn.” At least he didn’t add “my ex-wife” or worse, “my daughters’ mother.” Then he said, “Jenn, this is Annie Sutton. The writer.”
The writer? Really? Annie was embarrassed that he had called her that, as if she were a mere acquaintance, just one more celebrity hiding out on the Vineyard.
“Hello,” Jenn said without standing.
“Hello,” Annie managed to reply.
Earl backed up his chair; the metal scraped the linoleum. “Maybe Jenn and I can wait out in the hall so you can visit Claire, Annie.”
If Jenn wanted to disagree, she didn’t say. Instead she got up, picked up her oversized canvas bag, strutted past Annie, and followed Earl out into the hall.
“So,” John said once they’d disappeared, “surprise.”
“Right. Surprise.” There were a thousand things she could have said, starting with, “Isn’t it nice that you and your ex came down to visit your mother,” followed by, “You make such a lovely couple.” Instead, she merely stood and stared into his pearl-gray eyes.
“If you two are going to argue,” Claire said from her bed, “I’m going to call for a wheelchair to bring me to the dayroom. I don’t need to be in the middle of anything that’s going to raise my blood pressure.”
Annie turned to her, her stomach tumbles abating, her mind starting to clear. “There’s no need for that, Claire. I only came to report that the garden tour was a great success. And that Mrs. Atwater won first place—mostly, I think, for the noble way she resuscitated her hollyhocks. Lots of money was raised, so you can be proud of that.” Then she spun on one heel and said, “That’s all I came to say. I’ll talk with you another time.” She walked from the room, amazed that her legs were still holding her upright and were able to power her forward. At least Earl and John’s ex were nowhere in sight.
* * *
“Annie. Stop.” John caught up to her in the corridor by the front door. “Let me explain.”
She stopped and inhaled a deep breath. “No need to, John. Though I’m awfully glad I hadn’t moved in with you. With three of us—to paraphrase what Princess Diana once said—it would have been a bit crowded.”
He held up his hand. “No. It isn’t like that.”
She clutched the pink file folder that held the breakdown of the tour statistics; she felt foolish for having stepped into John’s family and taken care of things for Claire while he’d been reuniting with his wife. She tried to remember that Claire was her friend. And that Earl had befriended Annie before she’d even known that John existed. But right then, that logic felt as thin as white wisps of clouds on a breezy summer day.
“She only came to talk with Mom and Dad,” he continued. “It wasn’t my idea.”
“Well. She must miss your family, then.”
“That’s highly doubtful. No. She wanted to talk to them about Lucy.”
That was as big a surprise as the fact that they were there at all. “What about her?” Annie no longer cared if John’s daughter wasn’t her business. After all, she had nothing left to lose.
He took her by the shoulders. Tenderly. As if he were going to tell her that he loved her. Or break up with her. “Annie,” he said slowly, “I didn’t know how to tell you. . . .”
She shook her head in quick, jerking motions. “Don’t. Please. Don’t say the words. I’ve been thinking that it’s time for me to leave the island, anyway. I don’t belong here. You have your family and I . . . well, I have Donna now. And Kevin. I’ve had a chance to get to know him pretty well, thanks to you. You don’t owe me anything, John. You never did.” She slipped from his grasp and headed toward the door.
“Wait,” he called in his no-nonsense, police-officer voice.
She stopped again, her back to him.
“Please don’t be angry,” he continued. “If you’re thinking I’m not coming back to you, you’re wrong.
In fact, if I don’t get to sleep with you again—and soon—I’m damn well going to lose my mind.”
A corner of Annie’s mouth twitched once. Twice. Then turned up into a smile. An elderly couple walked past. “For God’s sake, lady,” the woman said, “do as he says. Otherwise, he might arrest you.” Annie laughed. Island life. Small town. Yes, this was her home. She turned around.
John stepped forward and grasped her shoulders again. He rubbed her arms as he spoke. “But Lucy will be with me. That’s why Jenn came today. To make sure my parents will help out with her. Deep down, I guess she’s an okay mother. All of Lucy’s acting-out shit has been because she’s miserable on the mainland. She misses her home. And, damn, I guess she misses her dad, too.”
Annie raised her hands and touched his chest. “So do I.”
“But I won’t have as much time if she’s living with me.”
“We’ll make time, John. I’m busy, too.” A ghost of guilt that resembled her editor emerged before her eyes. She laughed. “We’re adults. We have lives . . . we had lives before we met each other. We can’t drop them now just because we want to be together.”
His gaze traveled her face. “So you’d be okay if I’m a full-time dad again?”
She shook her head. “I’d be disappointed in you if you weren’t.”
He tipped up her chin, then bent and kissed her mouth. And all Annie could think about was how much she’d missed that kiss. “Of course,” she added when they pulled away, “I have nowhere to live.” Then she remembered the place in West Tisbury. She had completely forgotten to call about it the day before. Taking a step back she dug through her purse. “Will you wait right here while I make a phone call?”
With his wonderful, cockeyed smile, John said, “I have a better idea. I’m going to get Jenn back to Plymouth tonight. Lucy and I will be back tomorrow. Will you join us for pizza? I want you to be a presence for her, too. But only if you want.”
Annie searched for the note that had the number in West Tisbury. “Of course, I want,” she said. “But for her sake, let’s take it slowly, okay?” Without waiting for his reply, she said, “Now get out of here while I try to find a rental that with any luck will come with much less drama.” She began to dial, then quickly added, “By the way, tomorrow I’ll tell you about Fiona Littlefield, and how Kevin and I solved your case.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but she waved him off. “Go,” she said, then turned back to the door. “Hello?” she said into the phone. “My name is Annie Sutton, and I’m a friend of Taylor Winsted. Taylor told me you have a garage apartment.. . .”
Chapter 30
Before Annie left the rehab center, Kevin texted: Want to do dinner? The Newes is packed. How about Edgartown Pizza? Ten minutes?
It was nearly six; Annie figured he had finished work for the day and was back in Edgartown. Or maybe he was with Taylor, telling her the truth about his wife.
She texted back: More like 15 with traffic.
“So how was the grand tour?” he asked when she was done slaying the SUVs, mopeds, and people wobbling on bikes in the wrong lane, and slid onto a chair across from him.
“If you mean the garden tour, it was great. Better than expected. I never thought of myself as a joiner; I usually don’t get involved with clubs or organizations. But there’s something to be said for volunteering with people you don’t know but who are your neighbors. . . .” She realized Kevin was looking into his lap as if he were texting. “Hello?” she said. “Are you with me?”
He looked up with what Murphy would have called a “shit-eating grin” and put his phone back into his pocket. “Sorry.”
“Taylor?”
“Huh? Oh. No. But I’m going to see her tomorrow night. Going to tell her about Meghan then.”
“So is this getting serious?”
He laughed. “Not really. I just think I should come clean the way she did.”
A waitress arrived to take their order. They decided on what Annie supposed would become their “usual”: medium pizza, pepperoni, lots of veggies. Then Kevin changed it to a large; he said that way he could have leftovers for a day or two.
“John’s coming home,” Annie said after the waitress left. “He’s bringing his daughter Lucy. She’s moving back to the island to be with him. And with her friends.And Claire and Earl, too, I’m sure.”
Kevin bit his lip. “Well, that’s good for you. Not so good for me. I’ll get booted out of John’s comfortable townhouse.”
“Donna MacNeish’s two adult children will be homeless,” Annie said.
“Did you see that place in West Tisbury?”
She shook her head. “I forgot to call the owner yesterday. It’s already been rented.”
“Must have been a great place.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. People get desperate here.” She let out a sigh of exasperation. “It’s my own fault. I should have known better.”
“You still have time.”
“A few weeks.”
“Or . . .”
“Or I can try to find a cheap room for the rest of the season, then look for something in the fall. A winter rental if I have to.”
“You want to stay here that badly? You want to keep moving around, hauling all your stuff with you?”
“No.”
“Do you want to stay on the island because of John?”
“I suppose that’s part of it now. But even when I didn’t know whether or not he was coming back, I wanted to stay. I love it here. I loved it long before I met him. The truth is, I love everything about it except the summer traffic.”
“So I guess you don’t need me to offer one of my condos in Boston.”
“Your what?”
He laughed. “I own seven condos around the city. Two in Jamaica Plain, two in Back Bay, one in the North End, two in Cambridge. Rental properties.”
“You never told me.”
“We only just met, remember?”
It was Annie’s turn to laugh. “Sorry. I feel like I’ve known you my whole life.”
He took a drink of water. “Shared DNA. At least part of it.”
She shook her head and watched this nice, kind man, her half brother. Her brother, apparently, in heart and soul. “So I won’t have to be homeless.”
“Nah. Not as long as I’m around. Of course, you’d rather be on the Vineyard.”
“I would. But, Kevin . . .” Her eyes grew misty; she did not know what to say. She looked up to the ceiling, wondering if Murphy was listening. Or her dad. Yes. That time, she wished it would be him.
“Well then, if you want to stay here, I guess we’ll have to figure out a way to make it happen,” he said. The waitress brought their drinks, and he took a swig. As he set down the bottle, Earl walked through the door.
“Fancy meeting you two here,” Earl said and sat next to Kevin without waiting for an invitation. He looked at Annie, then Kevin, then back to Annie. “Is this a private party or can an old man join in?”
“Plenty of pizza,” Kevin said. “We ordered a large.”
“Good. I love pizza. Claire says I’m too old to be eating kids’ food, but I do what I want when her back is turned.” He chuckled and Kevin did, too.
Annie had an odd feeling that something was going on. “Well, the two of you seem to be having fun.”
“It was a good day,” Earl said. “You did real well with the garden thing, Annie. That meant a lot to Claire.”
“I was glad to help.”
“As for your brother,” he added, nudging Kevin, “he’s turned into a fine caretaker. I’ve been thinking about keeping him around.”
“Then you’d better help find us both places to live,” Annie said. “With John coming home with Lucy, Kevin will be in the same situation as I am. Only sooner. Like tomorrow.”
“Well, Claire and I already decided he can camp out on the sofa in my man cave. Which, of course, used to be my study. But it’s not as if . . .”
Annie raised a hand. “I kno
w, it’s not as if you study anymore.” It was a phrase he’d coined God only knew how long ago and enjoyed repeating on occasion.
Earl chuckled again. “Right. Well, it will only be temporary. Until the outbuildings are finished.”
The pizza arrived along with three plates, as if this entire get-together had been preordained. Annie put her napkin in her lap and stared at the two men across from her. “What outbuildings?” she asked. “What’s going on?”
Helping himself to a hefty slice, Earl took a bite and chewed, all the while grinning the same kind of shit-eating grin Kevin had worn a few minutes earlier.
“Your brother updated me about the Littlefield situation,” Earl said. “You kids did good.”
Annie noticed he hadn’t answered her questions, but decided not to press the issue. “I need to explain what happened to Fiona to the police tomorrow,” she said. “I don’t know if they’ll arrest Nicole, but I want both Fiona and Colin to go with me.”
“I want to go, too,” Kevin said, diving into a slice. “I’ve already asked my boss for the day off.”
Earl chuckled again and Kevin winked at him.
Annie folded her arms. “Okay, you two. What’s going on? As you can tell by the strands of silver in my hair, I was not born yesterday.”
Kevin nudged Earl. “You tell her. It was your idea.”
With a slight shrug and a conspiratorial smile, Earl said, “We’re going to buy it.”
“Buy what?” she asked.
“The Littlefields’. Your brother and I are going to buy it and renovate it into the kind of property it started out to be—a beautiful waterfront property. The way we figure it, we can wind up with six big rooms with private baths to rent. We aren’t made of money, but it will pay for itself in no time.”
Annie blinked. “What?”
“Of course, we’ll need you to run it, so we’ll add on a separate wing for you—a nice little apartment with a separate space where you can do your writing. One that faces the water. Kevin and I think that might be a more inspiring view than an osprey pole.”
“No kidding,” Kevin chimed in between pizza bites. “Of course, your wing probably won’t be finished by the time you have to vacate the cottage, but we can get you situated in one of the upstairs bedrooms in the main house. There’s also a seventh bedroom upstairs; once we’re done with the whole place, Francine and Bella can share it.”