by Jean Stone
Annie stood, still watching, as the auburn mane dipped into the doorway of the boat; then the last car was loaded, the ferry whistle blew, and just like that, Taylor was gone.
Chapter 31
Annie was so tired she barely made it back to Chappy. She found Francine on the phone at the front desk, telling yet another caller that she was sorry, but the Inn was booked. She waited until Francine hung up before issuing the idea she’d come up with on her trip back to Chappy.
“Call Jonas. Tell him to get his butt to Boston and bring his mother back. I’d drive up there myself, but right now, I couldn’t handle the traffic.” She tossed Francine a smile, then went upstairs to the honeymoon suite and stretched out on the king bed. She closed her eyes and tried to settle her mind. She thought only of Kevin, that he was alive, that he would make it. And when Taylor returned and Meghan found out they were married, that she no longer was . . . Oh, Annie was tired of trying to figure out what would or should happen next.
The next thing she knew, the sun was lower in the sky. She checked her phone: six o’clock.
She sighed, and rested her head back on the pillow. Then she sat up with a start. “Simon!”
Bounding off the bed, she ran into the bathroom, quickly brushed her hair and teeth, and tried to smooth the wrinkles from her crop pants and her top, not that it mattered. Still, she applied a coat of lipstick to help prevent her from looking as exhausted as she felt.
She made it down to the beach in record time.
* * *
Simon was waiting, standing by the shoreline, gazing toward the lighthouse.
Kicking off her flip-flops, she slipped her hands into her pockets and walked down to the water. She stood next to him. “I never get tired of this view.”
He nodded. “What’s it like in winter, though?”
“Different. But still as captivating. Maybe more, because it’s unpredictable. The water, the light, the wind—they can be different every day.”
He nodded again. “How’s your brother? Francine told me he woke up.”
“He did. And he’s doing better.” Despite their challenging moments, Simon seemed nice enough, whatever that meant. Evidently, however, he was one of those people who held their troubles deep.
“I didn’t come to the Vineyard to do a special report on how climate change is affecting top vacation spots,” he said.
Annie drew in a long breath. “I guessed that by now.”
He flinched, but did not look at her. Instead he watched a sailboat glide out of the harbor. “Do you suppose they’re headed home because the season’s over?”
“Yes.”
“I live in Manhattan now,” he said.
She didn’t say she knew that thanks to Wikipedia. “I guess you have to. For your job.”
“My wife’s a New Yorker. My kids are, too. They tease me because I’m still a Sox fan.”
Annie smiled. “I suppose there are more of those around these parts than in Manhattan.” As badly as she wanted to ask him to get on with whatever he wanted to say, she was at least grateful that he hadn’t brought a blanket and a bottle of wine.
“My brother killed your husband,” he said suddenly.
She paused for a second, maybe more. Then her head slowly swiveled toward him. An ice-cold chill slid from her temples down the length of her body. Annie stood, now frozen in the sand, unable to feel the granules sifting between her toes. “What?” she finally asked.
“My brother Christopher was seventeen. He was drunk. He hit your husband, Brian.”
Annie’s lips began to quiver. She wrapped her arms around her waist, then dropped onto the beach, keeping her gaze steady on the view, as if its presence would ground her and stop her from fainting. Or screaming. Or from clawing at her chest where her heart now felt as if it had been ripped out.
Simon sat next to her. He pulled his knees up and rested his hands on them. “It’s haunted me for years, not that you need to hear that.”
“I . . .” Annie began, but had no idea what to say next. So she fell silent. In fact, they fell silent together.
After a few minutes, Simon went on. “It’s true it was dark, and that Brian had on dark clothes. It’s true that Christopher was a minor. I think you knew those things. It’s also true that I went to grad school in New York, but that I was home in Boston and interning at the Globe when it happened. I told you that my uncle Harry was a big-shot attorney. He called in every marker and pulled every string he had so nothing leaked out that could link the accident to my family.”
Annie let out all the air inside her lungs. Her quivering had stopped; her chest pain had eased. Perhaps it was because of how Simon was speaking: gently, with what sounded like genuine sorrow. “No one would tell me his name,” she said.
He nodded. “I know. My uncle said it was the law, but I wasn’t sure about that. He was pretty corrupt. That always bothered me.”
“But you were working at the Globe? When you interviewed me?”
“I was. I begged the city editor to let me talk to you—of course, he didn’t know the connection. What I really wanted was to tell you what had happened. But when I met you that first time, and I saw how broken you were, I told myself I couldn’t betray my brother. The truth was, I didn’t have the guts.” He turned to her but didn’t touch her, for which she was glad. “I am so sorry, Annie.”
She stared down at her feet. “It was an accident.” Like Kevin being shot. Though the outcome that had been far worse.
“It was an accident, yes. But still . . .” His words trailed off.
“Is that why you changed your name?”
“Yes. After Columbia, I was offered the job in Boston. I didn’t want to go back; by then I hated my whole family. But I needed a job, and it was a good place to start my broadcasting career. I told people who knew me that I had to change my name because there was another Andrew Simmons in the broadcasters’ union. It was a crock, but as far as I know, no one ever figured it out. Or they couldn’t imagine that I’d lie about something as stupid as that. But I was ashamed of my brother. I was ashamed of my uncle. And my other brother, my mother, my aunt. And of me. Christopher might have been behind the wheel, but all of them—all of us—covered it up.” He reached down and scooped a handful of sand. “The contact lenses changed my appearance; I did that intentionally. They have nothing to do with me looking better on camera. I only knew I couldn’t take a chance that anything would get in the way of me rising to the top. I felt like the higher up I went, the farther away from them I’d be. And it worked. My brother David never forgave me for that. God knows he couldn’t out me to the media, because he knew I could ruin them all.”
Which explained why Simon’s name—or Andrew’s—hadn’t been included in Christopher’s obituary. “And you never forgave him?” Annie asked.
“I never forgave any of us.”
The feeling slowly came back to her body. “After all this time, why did you track me down now?”
“Christopher was a good kid. But he was an alcoholic, like our dad. Or maybe he became one out of guilt over your husband. When Chris died a few years ago, I realized what a selfish bastard I’d been to you. I am so sorry, Annie. About everything. I looked back on Brian’s obit; I saw that your maiden name was Sutton. So I Googled Annie Sutton. Once I saw that you’re an author, you were easy to find. It took a while for me to convince myself I needed to do this—apparently, not having guts is one of my many flaws—but here I am.” Then he smiled a reluctant smile. “I wasn’t being truthful when I said I hadn’t read your books. I’ve read them all—the latest one at the library the day I got here. Sad to say, but I wanted to find out if you made any kind of reference to my brother.”
“I write fiction.”
“Writers write what they know, don’t they?”
Using her toes, she carved little trenches in the sand. “Did you come here looking for forgiveness?” She wasn’t sure why he would, since his brother, not him, had killed Brian. Then sh
e had a sudden, alarm-bell kind of thought, the kind she might have given one of her characters if this were a novel and not real life woven with human complexities. Before he could answer she asked, “Simon?” She kept her voice calm and considered; she didn’t want to offend him, but she wanted, needed, to know the truth. “Were you in the car? When Brian was killed?”
He looked back at the harbor and the lighthouse. “I was.”
“Oh, God,” Annie wailed. She started rocking back and forth. “And you let your brother drive drunk?”
He lowered his eyes, his chin, his head. “I’d been drinking, too. After that night, I never touched alcohol again.”
She didn’t respond; she wept, as the truth slowly started to sink in.
He waited until she’d quieted. “I called nine-one-one that night. The same way I did with Kevin.” Then he added, “I don’t think Brian felt any pain, Annie. I really don’t.”
She shook her head; she didn’t want to hear this. She’d been told that the driver was alone, that a passerby had called the police. She’d been lied to, lied to, lied to. Thanks to Simon’s pompous uncle. And to everyone who had covered it up. Including the man sitting next to her now.
“He told me something,” Simon continued. His words grew more sullen, his voice cracking. “Before Brian closed his eyes, before he passed away, he asked me to tell you something. He said it was a secret.”
Annie yelped. It was not the howl of a wounded animal that had erupted from Kevin had, but rather a yelp of loss that had festered all these years. The secret. Simon knew the secret that she’d never learned.
Shifting on the sand, Simon pulled his knees closer to his chest. “Your husband said, ‘Tell Annie I got into grad school at USC. Tell her we’re moving to Southern California.’”
* * *
Annie spent the rest of the evening burrowed beneath the comforter on the king-size bed in the honeymoon suite, her thoughts bobbing like buoys in the harbor during a storm. At least she’d had the strength to call Earl and ask him to visit Kevin, to say she was tied up at the Inn, but she’d be back at the hospital in the morning. She wanted to tell Meghan that Taylor was gone, but Annie didn’t have the strength to help her untangle anything. She wouldn’t even be able to help her brother, if he’d asked.
She didn’t recall what else Simon told her. Her mind kept sprinting from wondering if he’d only said what he’d said because he’d been trying to ease his guilt, make amends, or if he genuinely felt that she’d want to know.
Southern California had been Brian’s dream—an ideal reason to get away from his family, the expectations of his parents, the never-ending control levied on him by his know-it-all sister. He wanted to earn a postgrad degree in school administration that would put him on the path to becoming an elementary school principal. “The principal is your pal,” she remembered from a spelling lesson when she’d been young. She’d shared that with Brian when he’d shared his dream. They’d laughed as young lovers laugh, as if everything was bright and happy and going to go their way.
Southern California was about two thousand, six hundred miles away by air, nearly three thousand by car. It had been Brian’s dream to go; it became Annie’s dream, too. She knew she could teach anywhere: she wanted that, she wanted children, and mostly, she wanted Brian.
It had been a long, long time ago. And now, it was an odd coincidence—perhaps those really did happen sometimes?—that Brian had wanted to flee from his roots, yet Simon was the one who’d wound up doing that.
When her tears finally abated, Annie closed her eyes. The next thing she knew it was dark outside and someone was edging under the comforter, someone who carried an aroma of salty sea air mingled with a touch of furry dog.
“John?” she asked.
Then a rough little tongue tickled her face. Restless. Surely, the sweetest dog ever.
Annie laughed. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?” She cuddled Restless, rubbing his fluffy ears and his belly.
“I figured you might want to throw me out, but you’d never say no to the mutt.”
She reached across the wide bed and said, “I would never throw either of you out.”
John climbed under the covers and moved close to her. “I love you,” he said. “And I think I love Bill, too.”
There was only one “Bill” in Annie’s world then. “Simon’s friend?”
“Yeah. I ran into him downstairs. He told me where to find you. My dad called and said you asked him to go to the hospital. Lucy insisted on going, too; my bet is they’ll stay there all night. Anyway, he said you needed some time alone.”
“I’m not alone now.”
“I noticed. You have a dog on your chest.”
“And you’re here, too. I’m glad.” She shifted Restless to the end of the bed and rested her head on John’s shoulder. Then she told him about her conversation with Simon. When she finished, she simply said, “So that’s why he’s been here.”
He stroked her hair and kissed her neck. “Are you okay?”
“I am,” she said and realized that she meant it. “But I’m ready for summer to be over. For life to begin again.”
“It will. Soon.”
She couldn’t yet tell him the details about Kevin, Meghan, Taylor. Not until . . . well, not until she had her own priorities in line. “But the end of the season also means Francine will be going back to Minnesota. Then I have the book tour. Six weeks. From the third week of September straight through October.”
“Maybe you’d like company?”
She raised up on one elbow. “You want to come on the book tour?”
“I’ve racked up a ton of vacation time. I can take at least a couple of weeks off. Where are you going?”
“Chicago, L.A., Bradford, Pennsylvania . . .”
“Count me in. I’ve always hankered a trip to Bradford. Where the hell is it?”
She laughed. “I’m not sure. But I think it’s cold there. And I know I’ll be awfully busy.”
“All night?”
“No.”
“Then let’s consider it a pre-honeymoon. Which goes nicely with where we are right now—in the honeymoon suite.”
She touched his face, his stubbly beard that she loved so much when it grazed across her cheek. “What about Lucy and Abigail?”
“Don’t worry, they won’t be joining us.”
She laughed. She also loved how he could make her laugh at the strangest times.
“Lucy can go to my mom and dad’s, though she’ll tell me she’s old enough to stay by herself.”
“Alone? But won’t Abigail be there?”
John emitted a little snort; he rolled onto his side and propped himself up on one elbow. “My older daughter will be busy commuting to the Cape. I told her she either had to go to college or get a job.”
Annie blinked. “What?”
“She picked college. Cape Cod Community for now, because it’s too late to get into RISDI.”
Annie knew that RISDI was the abbreviation for Rhode Island School of Design.
“She’ll get some core classes out of the way,” John continued, “while she gets her application in. She says she really wants to learn art and fashion design. When my dad hears that, he’ll probably say she must get his fashion sense from him.”
Annie laughed. “Wow. This is a surprise.”
“No kidding. I’m not sure her mother’s happy about it, but who cares what she thinks. Abigail seems happier than she was a week ago.”
A week ago? Had his daughter only been back a week? Oh, Annie thought, what a week it had been.
“Maybe if she’s happier she and Lucy will get along better. And maybe you’ll wind up having a better relationship with Abigail.”
“Who knows? Part of our deal was I’ll pay for college and get her a car to keep over on the Cape as long as she quits smoking. She agreed. So let’s see what happens. I do know I feel better.”
This was hardly the time to tell him about his daughte
r’s announcement that her dad was going to be reunited with her mom. Maybe it would be best for Annie to leave that alone. Forever.
Then John grew more serious. “I do love you, Annie. And I want to be with you. Starting now. I’m off tonight; I’m going to stay here with you. In the morning we’ll go see Kevin together. Sound good?”
“Sounds great,” she replied as she nestled against him. “And you may join me on my tour if you carry my books.”
He laughed a hearty laugh. “Seriously? I thought you were a celebrity. Doesn’t your publisher pay someone to do that?”
She thought about Simon. “From time to time, even celebrities have to deal with reality. It’s part of . . .” She almost told him it was part of the job, but decided it was way more than that. “It’s part of life,” she said. “So we never forget where we came from and who we really are.” Then she thought of Kevin again, and Meghan, and Taylor, until John kissed her again.
“And you’re sure you’re okay about everything Simon told you?” he asked.
“I am,” she said. “I really am. I have all I want right here.”
It wasn’t long before they fell asleep, with Restless cuddled between them.
Chapter 32
Annie slept through the night and woke up to the motion of the dog wriggling and the scent of bacon sizzling. She quickly checked her phone: no one had called, no one had texted. Kevin must have had a good night. The crisis might really be over.
After kissing John awake, she told him she wanted to get to the hospital. She tossed on her robe, ran downstairs, and brought Restless out the front door; when he was finished she picked him up and went back inside. And saw Meghan sitting at the bottom of the stairs. Her suitcase was by her side.
“What’s this?” Annie asked. She knew she needed to warn her about the Taylor situation. But how much should she tell her? She ran a hand through her bed-head hair and remembered Francine’s words: “Whether it’s physical hurt or emotional hurt, hurting still hurts, doesn’t it?”