A Vineyard Crossing

by Jean Stone

“At the station. Linc took him in for questioning.” “Linc” was John’s friend Detective Lincoln Butterfield.

  She nodded again. Now that her tears had stopped, she wished she could feel something other than . . . numb. “Go ahead. Ask what you need to. Get it over with so I can go back to praying for my brother.”

  He angled his body so he was facing her, his muscular frame bulkier in his uniform with the walkie-talkie on his shoulder, his belt, his badge, his gun, and, she speculated, a bulletproof vest under his short-sleeved shirt. She remembered him once saying that he always, always wore one when he was on duty. He must be hot in that, she thought, then realized it was no longer her place to worry about his comfort, not while he was “taking a break.” From her.

  She tried not to take it personally that he’d left one seat between them. Or that the distance felt as wide as the gap from the Vineyard to Hawaii, where she’d have to call at some point. To tell Taylor.

  Pulling a pad and pen from his pocket, John drilled his eyes onto the paper, not on her, as he began.

  “Why was Simon Anderson in your cottage?”

  Well, that was a loaded question. Especially since chances were, he would have preferred to ask, “Why was Simon Anderson in your bedroom?” Did he expect her to say, “Since you ditched me, I’ve been sleeping with him”?

  “He was renting it from us. All our other rooms were occupied.” As soon as the words sprung from her mouth, Annie wondered if that was against the law, if the zoning board permit only allowed the rooms inside the Inn itself to be rented. If she’d thought of that earlier, she could have stopped Simon from coming, and what happened tonight would not have happened.

  Her hands felt clammy, as if she’d been digging for quahogs with Lucy. Lucy! She suddenly remembered. Lucy was going to be upset. More than once, she’d said Kevin was the absolute best. Annie stared at the floor.

  “Okay,” John continued, “then why, if Simon was a guest at the Inn, were you in the cottage with him?”

  At least he hadn’t mentioned a permit for rentals. It wasn’t like him to forget those kinds of details. Maybe he was anxious being next to her. Or maybe he planned to ask her that later. Like when they weren’t sitting in the hospital waiting room.

  Still, he had asked a perfectly understandable question. Annie supposed if she could think straight, she might be able to come up with an answer that might help her evade the truth. But she could not.

  So, moving her gaze from the floor up to her lap, she said, “I needed to get something of mine. Simon wasn’t there. I went in anyway. Then he surprised me.”

  “You went into a guest’s room when the guest wasn’t there? And you weren’t there to do . . . housekeeping? Or due to an emergency?”

  “That’s correct. If you want to get technical, I had no right to be there. Except that it’s my home.”

  In her peripheral vision, she saw him set his pen down, then turn to her. “That doesn’t sound like you, Annie. Invading someone’s space.”

  “It isn’t his space. It’s mine.” She hoped he didn’t state the obvious that Simon had paid for privacy. She bit her lip so she wouldn’t cry again.

  “But . . .” John started to say, then went back to his pen and pad. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  That time, she was able to swallow. “Yes. In a way, I did.”

  “In a way? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She folded her hands and looked down at her fingers. She did not have an engagement ring; they’d foregone that tradition, having chosen to save the expense for quality, handmade wedding bands that they hadn’t yet ordered. She blinked, then looked back at John.

  “What?”

  “I asked what you meant when you said you found what you’d been looking for ‘in a way.’”

  She went back to studying the floor. “I thought he was familiar. You know how it happens when you see someone in person that you think you’ve met before but you can’t quite place them?” There went her mouth again, running, running, spouting words before she’d thought them through—because, if she waited until she did, she’d only get confused. “In the mid-nineties, Simon Anderson was a reporter for the Globe. He interviewed me about Brian’s accident. Simon was in grad school and was working there as a summer intern. That’s why he looked familiar to me. Anyway, it brought up painful memories; I went into the trunk in my bedroom to see if I’d saved any clippings so I could read them again.” In spite of being in a mental fog, she decided not to tell John about Simon having changed his name. She knew she wasn’t done investigating whatever it was about him that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Yet. And she didn’t want John butting in.

  She closed her eyes. “Are you almost finished? I really want to sit here and be quiet until someone can tell me something about Kevin.”

  He raised his hand as if he wanted to reach out for her arm, her face, her hair. But he hesitated before making physical contact.

  “One more thing for now,” he said. “Do you have any idea why Kevin showed up at the cottage with that damn gun?”

  She shook her head. “Not unless he heard Simon shouting at me. I had startled Simon; he thought I was going through his things instead of mine. So he yelled. Maybe Kevin heard him and thought someone was trying to hurt me.” Yes, she thought, that actually made sense. She hadn’t been able to rationalize that until then.

  “I didn’t know he was back,” John added.

  “Me, either.”

  “He still keeps that damn gun locked up in his truck?”

  She shrugged. “I guess.”

  “And his truck was on the property the whole time he was gone?”

  Annie sighed. She was weary. Exhausted. She wanted to use the ladies room and submerge her face in a sink filled with cool water. “I guess. Please. Are we done now?”

  He started to say something else when a pair of sneakered feet raced into the entrance and sped over to them.

  “Annie!” Lucy cried. “Is it true? Has Kevin been shot?”

  Behind her, Earl and Claire hoofed into the waiting room.

  John put away his pad and pen and stood up to greet his family.

  * * *

  “Francine will be here shortly.” Earl was the first to speak to Annie after John told them what had happened and that Kevin was “fairly stable,” using that ambiguous term again. “She’ll be here after she’s given Mary Beth your message.”

  Annie stood up. “Will you all please excuse me a minute? I need to use the restroom.”

  Claire offered to go with her, but Annie said no thanks, that she really needed a few minutes alone. She hoped she hadn’t hurt Claire’s feelings.

  Annie headed toward the restrooms, but halfway there, she veered off into the massive foyer at the hospital’s main entrance. It was, as always, a quiet place, soothing and restful. No one was there; she sat out of sight, on the opposite side of the sleek grand piano, in a spot where she could look out the vast windows and down the hill into Vineyard Haven Harbor. Much larger than both Edgartown and Oak Bluffs harbors, Vineyard Haven was the year-round port for the comings and goings of residents, in- and off-season visitors, and trucks, lots of trucks, that carried food and drink and medical supplies and building needs and furniture and packages and mail—and everything required to sustain a vibrant, healthy community.

  She watched the Island Home, her cabin lights aglow as she started her slow crawl out of the harbor, blasting her antique whistle. Annie checked her watch, it was the nine thirty boat, the last one out that night. The boats—“the lifeline of the island,” as they were called—were as much a part of daily living as high winds in winter and traffic in summer. She wondered which one Kevin had arrived on and why he hadn’t phoned to say he was coming home.

  The weight of the past week pressed down on her. Kevin leaving. John breaking up with her. The secrets: Simon’s. Meghan’s. Even Brian’s. Especially Brian’s. The unfinished business about Simon—and Annie’s persistent need to
know why he was there. Most mystery writers, like cops, investigators, and district attorneys, often sensed instinctively when there was “more to the story.” And there was more to Simon’s story. She would have bet on it.

  An ache gnawed in her stomach. Or maybe it had been there all along, since the gun went off, since she saw Kevin’s blood ooze over her bedroom floor. As she watched the big boat set off on its latest crossing—every trip, every journey a new story—Annie knew she needed to tell Meghan’s story to the others: John, Earl, Claire. And Lucy. Because Kevin was the one who mattered now. And if he was going to get better, Annie knew he’d need everyone to rally around him, talk to him, show him that they loved him. And as important as Annie knew she was to him, Meghan no doubt would be the real catalyst to help him to get well.

  Unless he was so shocked by her presence that it made him worse.

  You can’t control everything, Murphy whispered, then added, Or anything, really.

  “I know,” Annie said quietly. “If I could, you’d be right beside me now.”

  Then pretend I am. You can do it. You pretend all the time, remember?

  Annie felt her mouth curve just a little, into a half-smile. “Thank you, my forever friend.” Then she rose from the soft cushioned chair and made her way back to the waiting room, finally knowing what she had to do next.

  * * *

  John had left the hospital to return to the station. Annie’s first thought was regret that he wouldn’t be there to hear the truth about Meghan. Her second thought was that she wouldn’t relish having to repeat it to him, to watch his eyes narrow as she told him while he silently questioned why she hadn’t shared it sooner. Like as soon as she’d found out.

  She hoped that he would not take notes.

  Claire and Earl and Lucy listened dutifully to Annie’s introduction, when she said she had news that was going to come as a shock, but that it was good news. She guided them to a cozy corner of the waiting room; she asked them to please sit, then take a deep breath and slowly let it out. The ladies complied; Earl did not.

  “Get on with it, lassie,” he said. “I’m not getting any younger.”

  So Annie said, “I think you all know the story about Kevin’s wife?”

  The small group exchanged quick glances with each another.

  “She was killed, right?” Lucy asked.

  “No,” Claire chimed in. “She had some sort of accident at work. Construction, wasn’t it?”

  Annie nodded. “Scaffolding collapsed underneath her, and she fell several stories. She was diagnosed with traumatic brain injury; she was in a coma a long time. A couple of years.”

  “And when she came out of it, she didn’t know who Kevin was,” Earl added, scratching at his chin.

  Nodding, Annie said, “After the accident, he was devastated. He found a really good rehab place for her in Western Mass.; he sold his business and put the money into a trust fund for her care.”

  “Yup,” Earl said, “he told me.”

  “I didn’t know that part . . .” Claire said.

  Annie smiled. “It was difficult for him. He loved her very much. But several months later, when she still didn’t know him, the doctors advised him that his visits agitated her. They also said that chances were, her condition was permanent. So Kevin stopped going. I can’t imagine how tough that was for him. A long time after that, he knew he needed to get a new life.”

  “Is that why he came here?” Lucy asked.

  “Yes. Well, it was a while before he was able to pull up stakes and leave Boston. But all that time in between, unbeknownst to him, Donna had been going to see Meghan. She became her support system.”

  “Donna, as in your mother?” Earl asked.

  Annie nodded.

  “Cool,” Lucy said.

  “I liked that woman from the day I met her,” Claire said.

  “It must have been difficult for her, though, because Meghan made Donna promise not to tell Kevin; she said no one could predict what her chances were going forward, and she didn’t want him to get his hopes up. She also said that if she ever got to see him again, she wanted to be whole—as whole as she could be. She didn’t want him sitting by her bed, waiting for the minutes to slowly tick by until she was able to walk again and be healthy again. She said she’d rather have him find someone else who would make him happy than to think she was causing him more misery.” Annie did not mention that Meghan had been pregnant. As far as Annie was concerned, that would remain between Meghan and Kevin, where it belonged.

  Silence filled their little corner of the waiting room. Silence, framed by anticipation.

  Annie looked away from the little group. She hoped what she’d say next would be all right, and that Meghan would know she’d done it out of love. Clearing her throat, Annie set her jaw and turned back to them.

  “Meghan has recovered,” she said. “Both her body and her mind.”

  “Oh, my God!” Lucy shouted. “And now Kevin’s with . . .”

  Earl put a finger to his lips and said, “Lucy, darling. Shush.”

  She shushed.

  “There’s more,” Annie went on. She closed her eyes, breathed, then opened them again. “Meghan is here on the Vineyard,” she said. “In fact, she’s staying at the Inn under the name Mary Beth Mullen.” The silence that followed only lasted a few heartbeats.

  “The turtle lady?” Lucy was the first to speak.

  “The one and only.”

  “With the beautiful eyes,” Earl said.

  “Oh, my,” Claire said, as she raised a hand and grasped the silver chain around her neck, the one Earl had given her when she’d been recuperating from a stroke.

  Earl shuffled his feet, no doubt needing to pace. “Well, isn’t this somethin’.”

  “Isn’t it, though?” Annie said.

  “And Kevin has no idea?” Claire asked.

  Annie shook her head. “No. It’s how she wanted it. The only trouble is, she found out he’s in Hawaii with Taylor. She doesn’t want to intrude on his life, so she’s going to leave for her father’s place in Boston.”

  “She’s not gone yet?” Earl asked.

  “No. Maybe tomorrow.”

  Lucy jumped up. “She can’t leave! Not now!”

  A wave of sorrow washed over Annie. “It’s not up to us, Lucy. Especially now, with so much . . . uncertainty.” In spite of her will to remain stoic, small tears began to form.

  Claire got up, went to Annie, and hugged her. “Oh, dear. You’ve had so much to deal with lately.”

  Which told Annie that Claire and Earl—and maybe Lucy, too—knew about John’s decision to take a break from her.

  “Kevin is all that matters now,” Annie replied.

  Then the big glass doors into the Emergency Room squished open, and Annie, Claire, Earl, and Lucy all turned at once, as Francine walked in with Meghan.

  Chapter 25

  “I told them,” Annie said.

  Meghan looked at her a moment, then lowered her eyes. “Thank you.”

  Annie chewed on her lower lip, fresh tears forming.

  Then Earl went to Meghan and gave her a hug. “Welcome to the family,” he said, and the ladies started to cry.

  Claire hoisted herself from the chair and swatted him with the thin scarf she was wearing. “Stop that, you old coot. You’ve got us all blubbering when we need to be thinking about our poor Kevin. And how long it will be before we find out anything.” Then she smiled at Meghan. “It is, however, nice to meet you, dear. We’ve heard so much about you.”

  Which gave Annie a brilliant idea. “Meghan, come with me.”

  Without hesitation, Meghan followed Annie to the registration desk.

  “Hi, Cynthia,” Annie said. She’d recognized the woman at the computer not only from previous trips to the ER but also from the warming shelters at Vineyard churches where they both volunteered in the winter. “You know that Kevin MacNeish is my brother?”

  Cynthia nodded and looked sympathetic. “They jus
t brought him in . . .”

  “I know. I was with him in the ambulance. We’re really anxious to learn what’s going on . . .” Then she turned to Meghan. “This is Meghan. Kevin’s wife. Do you think that the doctors—or someone—can talk to her? So far, all we know is that they’re ‘doing tests.’”

  Cynthia’s eyes widened and her eyebrows shot up. Annie wondered if she was a friend of Taylor’s, not that it mattered, as Taylor now lived on another island in a distant ocean. Sooner or later, everyone at least in the 02539 zip code would know that Kevin’s wife had returned from practically being dead; announcing it now wouldn’t make a difference. It might, however, help them learn more about his condition. And faster.

  Cynthia restored her professional posture. “Well, hello. I didn’t know Kevin was married.”

  “Twelve years next month,” Meghan replied with a smile.

  Annie hadn’t known they’d been together that long, but she supposed the count included the last four.

  Meghan handed over her driver’s license, which looked brand new. Her old one must have expired while she was in rehab. “It doesn’t say I’m married, but you can at least see my last name. And the address was our home in Boston before . . . before Kevin moved down here.”

  Wishing she could have applauded Meghan’s determined spirit, Annie interrupted. “So she’s entitled to talk to a doctor, isn’t she? And maybe to see Kevin?”

  “I have to check,” Cynthia said. “But I’ll do my best. It’s nice to meet you, Meghan. We’ve all grown fond of your husband.”

  The comment surprised Annie, until she remembered that Kevin had woven his way seamlessly into Vineyard life. Of course, people had “grown fond” of him; he was a great guy. Is a great guy, she corrected herself.

  Cynthia finished something she’d been doing on the computer, then stood up, left the registration area, and disappeared through a door marked PERSONNEL ONLY.

  “Come on,” Annie said. “Let’s sit.”

  But Meghan did not move. “Thanks, Annie. For forcing me to go public.”

  “I did it for both of you. And for the rest of us, too. We all love him, Meghan.”

  Then it was Meghan’s turn to cry. So Annie led her back to the corner in the waiting area and they sat across from Francine and Lucy, Earl and Claire. Together, they all waited. Hopefully, not for long.