A Vineyard Summer Page 3

  “Have you talked to him today?”

  “No.” She took a cookie, and broke off a small piece. “His ex-wife called last night while we were having dinner. He left before he barely touched his food.” She tapped the cookie on the edge of the plate as if it was a sheet of paper and she was Rachel Maddow. “I could tell he was upset.” She resisted adding that she also wasn’t crazy about the idea of living with someone who had to step away from her when his ex called, as if he had secrets he did not want to share. Annie’s ex-husband, Mark—her post-Brian “mistake”—had done that too often; the sting was still fresh.

  “They have a small problem with Lucy.”

  “I gathered that, but he chose not to explain.And he doesn’t have to if he doesn’t want to.” Annie wasn’t, after all, married to John, though she had been to her secretive ex. Semantics, some people might say; to Annie, it was about trust.

  “I think he’s trying to protect you from his troubles. He knows you have your own problems right now, and he doesn’t want you to feel like you have to take his on, too.”

  She smiled again. “Well, I guess true love never runs smoothly, right?”

  Earl guffawed. “No kidding. Claire and I have been married going on fifty years, and I’m still not sure how it works.” He folded a napkin around another cookie and stood. “Speaking of Claire, with all you’ve got going on, do you still think you can help her with the garden club tour? It’s only two weeks away.”

  The tour was the annual crowning joy of Edgartown horticulturists who showed off their floral blossoms and beds in the good name of charity. As always, Claire was the chairperson for the event. Annie wanted to say she couldn’t help after all, that she needed to finish her manuscript and find a place to live. But Earl and Claire had done a lot for her when they could have turned their backs. So she stood up and said, “Of course I’ll help. I’m looking forward to it.”

  “She’ll appreciate it.” He sighed. “As much as she loves Francine and Bella, some days I worry she’s taken on way too much.”

  “Whatever you need, Earl. Please. Just ask.”

  He nodded. “Thanks for the java and the snack. You going to the big shindig at your landlord’s Thursday?”

  Annie laughed. “The wedding? I wasn’t invited. You?”

  “Nope. Wouldn’t go if I had been. From what I hear, the men are all wearing white tuxedoes.” He pocketed the wrapped cookie and moved toward the door.

  “I’ll hide in the scrub oaks and take pictures for you.”

  “Well, then, I guess my life will be complete.”

  Annie followed him onto the porch just as an amplifier blasted some sort of music, followed by a voice that boomed, “Testing, testing,” so loudly it surely had been heard up island at the Gay Head Cliffs.

  Earl shook his head. “Yup. Looks like you’re in for a real treat.”

  She laughed as he trotted toward his truck. Then he stopped and turned around.

  “If you don’t hear from my son, give him a call, okay? Tell him I said that you two need to talk.” Then he waved and climbed into his pickup, covering his ears as if to shield them from the music that shrieked from the amplifiers again . . . not unlike how John was apparently trying to shield her from his problems.

  Annie wondered if that was true and if—or when—she’d feel safe enough to truly believe in a man again.

  Chapter 3

  John finally called later that evening. He told her that things were already revved for the long holiday weekend. “God help us, they started the Jaws marathon tonight. At the town hall, some kids have covered ‘Edgartown’ with a sign that reads ‘Amity’—that happens every summer. And they added it to the banner that advertises the parade and hangs across Main Street. Maybe we should leave it that way year-round.”

  “It would give people something to talk about. And it would probably go viral.”

  He groaned. “It already has. Yesterday, three kids asked me if I was Chief Brody.”

  Annie laughed. “I don’t envy you your job.”

  “Me, neither.” He fell silent for a moment, creating a somber pause. “How’s the book coming?”

  “Okay. Fine.”

  “And the house hunt?”

  “Lousy. How’s Lucy?”

  The silence fell again. “The same. Listen, I’ll do my best to see you over the next few days, but no promises, okay?”

  She wished she could shake the uneasy feeling she’d had since Earl told her that she and John needed to talk. Was John angry that she’d turned down his offer to move in? Or was he one of those men who had a hard time communicating? “John,” she asked, “is everything all right? With us, I mean.”

  He hesitated again. “It’s fine, Annie. But I have extra duty right now. Tourism is already at an all-time high, which is great, but with more people come more problems. Okay?” End of story. End of discussion.

  Resigned, Annie simply said, “I understand. Call when you can. Or come over. In the meantime, stay safe.” She tried to sound lighthearted. After all, his hesitation really could be about work, or might be due to whatever was going on with his daughter. Maybe it had nothing to do with Annie. Or with their relationship. Whatever the problem, she decided she had neither the mental energy nor the time to dwell on it.

  They said goodbye, and Annie went back to work until loud voices and laughter erupted from the grounds of the main house and made it impossible for her to think. She wondered if the wedding celebration was going to go on all week.

  * * *

  In the morning, coffee in hand, Annie decided to take advantage of the quiet. She sat down at her small corner desk and prepared to dive into her manuscript when a soft knock came on the screen door. She glanced out the window and saw Francine—the one person Annie would never ask to go away. Or maybe Earl. Or John. Or Claire. Or Winnie, her up-island friend.

  Annie laughed. She loved that so many wonderful people had come into her life. “Francine! Come in!”

  Francine pressed her face to the screen. “Are you sure? You look hard at work.”

  Annie stood up. “I’m never too busy to see you. The door’s open. You want coffee?”

  “No thanks, I can’t stay long,” Francine said as she stepped from the porch and into the cottage. “Looks like they’re ramping up for a party at the main house.”

  Sometimes Annie forgot that Francine had spent a few unfortunate days in the neighborhood.

  “Wedding tomorrow,” Annie replied. “Their daughter.”

  “Oh, cool! They’ll get to see the fireworks over the lighthouse.” She seemed sincere, not envious of the bride-to-be, who, unlike how Francine once had been, would no doubt never need to wonder where she would live or who would pay the bills. Annie hoped Francine was content on the island now, to be with a real family, to have made real friends, to get up each morning and dress in the sleek black skirt, crisp white shirt, and black bow tie that she now wore, the uniform for her job as a concierge at one of Edgartown’s popular inns. She looked healthy and well fed, no longer waiflike and malnourished, as she had when Annie first met her. At twenty, Francine was a pretty girl, with big dark eyes, long black hair, and a shy smile. A girl who seemed happy, at last. “I just wondered if you can go to the parade with Bella and me tomorrow. It will be her first Fourth of July parade—and mine, too. I have the morning off, but I have to be at work by noon. I thought if you could . . .”

  “Absolutely. And, before you ask, yes. I can bring Bella home when the parade is over so you can go straight to work.”

  Averting her eyes, Francine added, “If it’s too much trouble, don’t worry. Earl and Claire are going. But I thought if you went, too, they’d get a break from babysitting.”

  “I’d love to help.And I’d love to go to the parade. It will be my first one here in Amity, too.”

  The girl’s expression turned puzzled. “Amity?”

  “From Jaws.” Then it occurred to Annie that Francine hadn’t been born when the film had caused su
ch a sensation in the mid-1970s. “Did you ever see the movie?”

  “Sure. It’s a classic.”

  “Well, the town they called ‘Amity’ in the movie was really Edgartown.”

  “Holy cow,” she said, “I never knew that. I didn’t know much about the island until . . .”

  Annie smiled. “Until last Christmas. One of my happiest holidays. Now, please, have some coffee? I have a fresh pot.”

  But she shook her head. “Can’t. Thanks. I’m on my way to the little ferry. I have to work today.”

  It was cute that Francine called the On Time the “little ferry” to differentiate it from the big boat she’d arrived on last December, when she’d brought only a few clothes, a basket, and a whole lot of problems. Then Annie realized what Francine had just said. “You walked all the way from Earl’s?”

  “I hitched a ride. But I can walk from here. The little ferry’s not far.”

  “I’ll drive you.”

  She shook her head again. “I’m fine. I like to walk. And you need to get to work, too. But there is something else I wanted to ask.”

  “Ask away.”

  “Well . . . I guess I really only wanted to be sure you’re okay.”

  Annie frowned. “Right. I guess you’ve heard that I have to move.” By now she supposed that everyone on Chappy, if not the whole island, knew of her dilemma. “Thanks, but I’m fine. I’ll find a place.” Francine didn’t need to worry about Annie. She had enough of her own responsibilities now and seemed to be handling them well, thanks in great part to Earl and Claire, and in no part to the other side of baby Bella’s family.

  “I know you’ll find a place. But I was wondering if you’re okay about John.”

  “John? What about him?” The question popped out quickly. Maybe too quickly.

  “Well, I know you two are close.” The girl fidgeted with her bow tie. “So I thought, you know, that you might be upset that he’ll be gone for a while.”

  Annie stared at her. Then blinked. “Gone? Gone where?”

  Francine’s hand covered her mouth. Her large eyes grew larger, wider. “Oh. You didn’t know. I assumed . . .”

  Gathering her wits, Annie saw that the girl was confused. And embarrassed. She put her arm around Francine’s tiny waist and guided her to the rocking chair. “Sit,” she said. “And please tell me what’s going on.”

  “I can’t. Well, it isn’t my place. . . .” She sat. And rocked. And chewed on a thumbnail.

  “We have no secrets, Francine. You and I. So please. Tell me.” A small pool of acid had risen in Annie’s throat but didn’t deter her from wanting an answer.

  Extracting her thumb, Francine drew in a breath. “I guess one of his girls is having problems.”

  “I know. It’s his daughter Lucy.”

  “So he’s going to Plymouth.”

  Annie sat on the small sofa next to the rocking chair and tried not to let her overactive writer’s imagination leap to hurtful speculation. “Well, that’s good news, don’t you think? That John wants to see her? If he can spend a little time with her, if he talks to her in person, maybe he can help with whatever’s been troubling her.” And Plymouth, Annie reasoned, was only an hour away. Not counting the ferry. The big boat.

  Francine’s eyes flicked to Annie, then away. She focused on the woodstove. “But it’s more than a little time, Annie. He’ll be gone for two weeks. Or three.”

  Okay, Annie quickly thought. Two weeks. Or three. Not forever. Still, it seemed strange that Francine was the one who had told her. Had John really been too busy to call? “When does he leave?”

  “Sometime next week.”

  Of course he would stay through the jam-packed holiday weekend. With his job, it would be essential.

  “I hope it’s okay that I told you.”

  Annie smiled. “It’s fine. His girls have to come first. They’re young. They need him.” She stood up and went into the kitchen, holding back the pressure of tears forming behind her eyes. “I know you have to go. But I’ll give you something to munch on for your long journey across the channel.” Hoping her feelings would settle while she kept her back toward Francine, Annie slipped three cookies into a sandwich bag. “Should I meet you at the dock tomorrow morning at eight? That should give us time to cross and to find a perfect parade-watching spot.”

  “Great. Bella and I will ride with Earl and Claire and meet you there. Thanks, Annie.”

  After drawing in a slow, balancing breath, Annie turned around. Francine was already at the door; Annie put the small bag into her purse, then gave her a hug. “No, thank you. For caring enough to worry about me. I’ll be fine. And so will John.” She kissed Francine’s cheek and opened the screen door. “And since you insist on walking, you’d better scoot. You don’t want to be late.”

  Annie would not, could not, think about John. She had too much to do to get caught in the dark web of “thinkies,” as her dad used to call it when she wasted time worrying about things over which she had no control. Her dad never allowed himself to succumb to thinkies, which she’d always suspected was why he’d smiled so often.

  Knowing it would be pointless to try and find a place to live until after the weekend, she returned to her desk and forced herself to boot up her laptop, open the file for her manuscript, and figure out where she’d left off. Then she got down to business, writing and rewriting, cutting and pasting, double-checking her research on Renaissance art and museum thefts. She didn’t think about John, well, maybe she did once or twice, but she overrode the thinkies and plowed through one word, one scene, one chapter at a time until long after the sun had gone down and she’d worn herself out. Then she went straight to bed. But between the pre-wedding hoopla out on the sloping lawn, growing worries about becoming homeless, and nagging doubts about John darting in and out of her thoughts, Annie did not close her eyes until the first light crept over the sky.

  * * *

  When the alarm sounded two hours later, Annie somehow managed to pull herself together, meet Francine and the others, and make it to Edgartown in time to find a prime spot on Main Street. Despite her exhaustion, Annie volunteered to push Bella’s stroller, hoping that by having a responsible task, she’d stay awake.

  Many of the marching contingents were similar to those from the Christmas parade, although instead of Santa tossing out candy canes, a papier-mâché great white shark flung packs of Goldfish crackers and bumper stickers that read: I SURVIVED JULY 4TH ON AMITY ISLAND into the cheering crowd. Annie promised to take Francine to see Jaws before the summer ended so she could see the Vineyard locations where it had been filmed. Not only would they have fun, but it would also provide Francine with a trove of trivia she could share with hotel guests while impressing her boss.

  Between the gaiety of the marchers and the gleeful crowd highlighted by kids on bikes that were decorated with patriotic crepe paper, Annie was reminded of when she’d been young and the days had seemed simple. Not every day, of course. True, it had been a different, slower era, but life still got complicated, bad things still happened, and people still hurt one another. She tried to remember that now as she struggled to keep the knot in her stomach at bay, and tried not to worry that, once again, it felt as if all that she’d grown to love was quietly sliding away.

  When the parade ended, Francine went to work, and Annie politely declined Earl’s invitation to the cookout at the Chappy Community Center, saying she needed to get back to her manuscript. She was relieved when Claire offered to take Bella with them; despite what Francine had feared, they apparently did not need a break.

  “I don’t expect you’ll get much writing done, though, with the wedding going on,” Claire added.

  Ugh. The Flanagans’ wedding. Annie had conveniently forgotten about it. Still, she needed to go home if only to sulk. Not that her father—or Murphy—would have approved.

  Ugh, she thought again.

  But having learned long ago that the best way for her to battle the blues was through w
riting, as soon as Annie arrived home, she retrieved an old pair of earplugs and got to work. Thanks to the earplugs, the commotion from the main house was dulled to a bearable level. For a short time, there nearly was silence; perhaps that was when the ceremony was taking place.

  Annie worked in relative comfort for a few hours, until, as dusk set in, the band grew louder, seeping through the earplugs and teasing her with distraction. Still, she kept typing. But when familiar strains leaked into the cottage, she realized the band was playing the song she and Brian had danced to at their wedding—“When a Man Loves a Woman,” the Michael Bolton remake of the old Percy Sledge tune. Brian’s sister had snarled that it was juvenile for them to select a Top 40 tune; Brian snarled back that it was obvious she’d never been in love.

  They would have celebrated their thirtieth anniversary this year.

  “Okay!” Annie shouted and flicked off her computer. “You win! I will stop working but you are NOT going to make me cry!” She might have been talking to Brian—after all, since Murphy had died, Annie had taken to conversing with dead people.

  In an effort to regain her senses and drown out the sounds, she yanked out the earplugs and decided to take a shower. Standing under the pelting hot water for a long time helped. A little. Then she put on a white cotton robe, wrapped a towel around her hair, and decided to make tea. But as she walked toward the kitchen sink, wondering if it was too early to go to bed, a glint of bright colors flashed outside the window: The fireworks had begun.

  Annie couldn’t remember when she’d last watched fireworks. If she stepped out on the lawn she might be able to see the lighthouse, the harbor, and the night sky illuminated . . . Maybe she should take a few photos.

  “Great idea,” she said, finally feeling more cheerful.

  Slipping her phone into her pocket, she tightened the belt on her robe, went out to the porch, then stepped down onto the lawn in her bare feet. Cool grass licked her toes; she almost giggled. The band had stopped playing; the air was now filled with cracking, popping, and startling booms as rockets shot upward and exploded into sparkling clusters. From where Annie stood, she could hear the wedding guests hoot and holler with delight.