A Vineyard Morning Page 8

  “That’s us,” she said, hoping Murphy would hear.

  Then Annie drew in a small breath and turned another page to the pictures of her wedding to Brian. Young, sweet love, so tender, so innocent. The boy who’d loved her when she’d been young.

  Which made her think of Jonas, and how life seemed to give everyone some sorrow. In some way. At some time. Still, she wondered if there might be a way that she could help Taylor’s boy.

  But right then, her thoughts were blurred by reminiscing. So Annie closed the album and returned it to the shelf.

  Chapter 9

  Thursday morning, Annie woke up late, not wanting the memories she’d evoked last night to disappear again, to be folded back into the faded pages of the old photo album. It was after ten before she shook off her hangover of memories, pulled herself together, and pretended she might get some work done.

  She was on her third cup of coffee when a quick knock on the door saved her from her self-pitying self.

  “Well,” Kevin said, “you look like hell today.”

  Annie laughed. “Thanks for the confidence boost, brother. I’m glad you’re here. Sit. We have to talk.”

  “Coffee? ”

  “Help yourself. Then sit. Please.”

  He did as he was told. He was a terrific brother. Half-brother, she remembered.

  She sighed. “I did my best, but she’s still coming.”

  “Crap.”

  “Sorry. She wants to talk to us about the trust fund she set up. She said she needs to go over it with us.”

  “Can’t it wait?”

  “Apparently not. Something about her attorney leaving the country for a while.”

  “Did you tell her what’s going on here?”

  “Not about the skull. I thought we should wait until we knew what was going to happen. But I mentioned that a few of your crew have left, so you and Earl are really busy. I told her nerves are frayed. But I’m not sure she listened.”

  He swigged the coffee. “She didn’t want to hear it. Mom never handles it well when someone tries to change her plans.”

  “I didn’t know that. Maybe I shouldn’t have been the one to call her.”

  He cupped the mug in his palms. “It wouldn’t have mattered. She’s set on coming; nothing will change her mind.”

  “I’ll keep her occupied,” Annie said. “You keep doing what you need to do. Will you have a room ready for me?”

  “If you don’t mind sleeping in a place where the floor isn’t finished. Or where only two walls have paint. Or where the blinds aren’t in place. Or . . .”

  “As long as there’s a bed, I’ll make do.”

  “Good. I hope our guests will feel the same when they start arriving.”

  “If the law lets us have an occupancy permit.”

  “Right. There’s that, too.” Everything about Kevin looked tired—his expressionless face, his droopy posture, even his clothes that sagged.

  “How did it go with Jonas yesterday?” Annie asked.

  “Pretty much as I expected. He denied having any ‘special feelings’ for Lucy. Other than that he said she’s a good kid, with the emphasis on ‘kid.’ I guess he has over a thousand online friends, mostly artists or fans of artists. He was happy that Lucy suggested posting his picture so, as he said, ‘people will know I’m still alive.’ ”

  “An odd choice of words, under the circumstances.”

  “No kidding.” Kevin shook his head briskly as if he were a dog shaking out his jowls. “There’s too much going on around here! What happened to the peace and quiet of the Vineyard?”

  Annie laughed. “Life happened. Life happens. Everywhere, anywhere. Whether we like it or not.”

  “Ah, yes. My wiser, older sister.” Then Kevin’s phone pinged. He took it out and stared at the screen. “Crap.”

  “Crap what?”

  “Crap. It’s John.” His eyes quickly skimmed the screen.

  “My John?” As soon as Annie said it, she felt ridiculous for referring to John as hers.

  “Yup.” Kevin’s eyes shot from his phone to her. “The preliminary report is in. The bone is from a human skull. Not an animal. Crap.”

  She waited patiently—well, sort of patiently—while Kevin read the text. Then she couldn’t stand it anymore. “So what now?”

  “We wait,” Kevin replied, his eyes fixed on the phone, still reading. “The archeologist has the fragment.” He looked back at Annie. “They’re calling it a fragment now. At least that sounds . . . kinder? Tidier?” He scanned the screen again. “They’re going to test it for heritage. It will take a while.” He set down the phone. The news, apparently, was done.

  Annie sighed. “I don’t suppose it’s the first time this has happened on Cape Cod or the Islands.”

  “Small consolation.”

  “At least we have local law enforcement on our side. Maybe they can help hurry things along.”

  “Not sure how tight the Vineyard cops—or even the state police here—are with the guys in Boston.”

  “With all the construction you did up there, you never ran into a situation like this?”

  “Bones? Nope. We found a turtle once. A rare little thing. Everything had to stop until they could determine that it wasn’t a nesting ground.”

  “Was it?”

  “Nope. We lucked out. They figured that Mr. Turtle’s GPS had taken him in the wrong direction. But I don’t remember how long it took them to reach that conclusion. It was a while back.” He sighed and took another sip of coffee. “Earl and I just have to keep working. Our crew won’t be able to wait. They’ll have to go to work for someone else so they can get a paycheck, but we can’t risk having violations slapped on us—or the bad press that’s sure to follow—if we blatantly ignore the stop order.”

  Annie stood and went to the only window that didn’t look out to the harbor but up to the main house instead. The new cedar shingles that covered the exterior were tan now, but they would turn an iconic silver-gray in less than a year, whether or not the Inn was ever allowed to open. It was hard to believe that all the planning, all the time—all the money spent—was now in jeopardy, thanks to something that had washed ashore the way so many islanders had. The year-round tenants and the three winter renters would have to return to fruitlessly searching, searching, begging for a place to live, as Annie had tried to do last summer. Not to mention that Kevin and Earl’s investment might never be recouped. The value of the property would be moot if it was labeled ancient Native American ground. On the other hand, maybe the Chappaquiddick Wampanoags would have somewhere to call home again.

  “I feel so torn,” she said. “If it ends up that the land belongs to a Chappy Wampanoag, I’ll be happy for them. I respect their culture—and them—and I’d be glad that it would be theirs again. But I’d be lying if I said I’d be happy for us.”

  “I don’t know much about the history, but I get what you’re saying. Meghan would have said ‘we can’t win for losing.’”

  It took a few seconds for Annie to remember that Meghan was Kevin’s wife. Annie turned back to him; he sat, wide-eyed and motionless, as if he, too, were surprised that he’d mentioned her name.

  “As long as we’re talking about sad situations,” Annie said, “any word on Meghan?”

  He shook his head. Meghan was in a long-term care facility in Stockbridge, where she’d been for several years following a serious fall from scaffolding while she’d been working for Kevin’s construction company in Boston. She’d suffered a traumatic brain injury and was not expected to get better. The last time Kevin had seen her, which as far as Annie knew was nearly two years earlier, Meghan had not known who he was. Kevin had told Annie that after that, the thought alone of making the trip had been too painful; a year ago, he’d contacted an attorney about getting a divorce, about trying to find a way to have a life again.

  “I’m so sorry, Kevin.”

  “My lawyer said it’s going to take time.” He shrugged. “Which is fine. It�
��s not as if I want to run off and get married. Again.”

  “Tell me if I’m prying, but how does Taylor feel about that?”

  He snorted. “We’re not at that stage, Annie.”

  “Okay then, let’s try to be more cheerful. Maybe it’s good that Donna’s coming. If nothing else, she’s bound to keep us occupied.”

  Kevin dropped his chin to his chest. “She will do that.” Then he drained his mug, walked it to the sink, and rinsed it out. “I’d better get back to work so you’ll have a halfway decent room.”

  “And I should think about giving this place a good cleaning before Donna arrives.” Then Annie gave Kevin a big hug. Because she knew that no matter what happened, what, when, or how, she wanted him in her life.

  She watched as he left the cottage, walked up the slope, and disappeared into the house. Then she exhaled and looked around the room.

  “Time to clean!” she commanded herself. Her gaze landed on the braided rug that her adoptive grandmother—Bob Sutton’s mother—had made as a wedding gift for Annie and Brian. She wondered if she should tell Donna its history, rather than have her think Annie was out of step with home-decorating trends. Then she looked to the old blue photo album in the bookcase. Would Donna like to see the pictures of Annie growing up? Or should she avoid that can of emotional worms?

  She had no idea. Rather than dwelling on it, she went to the closet and pulled out the vacuum cleaner.

  * * *

  One interesting part about living on Chappaquiddick was that getting Wi-Fi could be a challenge. Cell phone service, too—two bars, one bar, none. The glitches typically occurred in winter when the island breezes were stirred up like mistrals, those unrelenting winds that whirled and swirled in the South of France where Annie had gone several times with her ex-husband, con man Mark. On Chappy, as in France, one became accustomed to blustery interference. On Chappy, the interruption of services was sometimes a relief. Back to the good old days of peace and quiet and nothing else.

  Which was why, later that sunny day, with her cleaning binge completed, Annie checked all plugs and portals, found them up and running, then turned off the alerts on her laptop and her phone and descended into the blissful silence of no distractions in order to write.

  The trouble with silence, however, was the shock when it was broken. After nearly five hours had elapsed and seven new pages had magically now appeared on the screen of her laptop, a loud banging on her door jarred her back to the real world.

  She hauled her body from the chair in her peaceful writing room and went into the living room. Through the screen door she saw two men and a woman, in their twenties or thirties, standing on the small porch. They were dressed in jeans and lightweight hooded jackets that did not look new. The men looked vaguely familiar.

  “May I help you?” Annie asked through the screen. She wondered if they might be reporters of online media who hadn’t yet heard that there was no viable story there.

  “Greg Collins,” the taller man said. He had black hair and brown eyes and round, cheerful cheeks. “We’re here about the Inn.”

  If one’s heart were really capable of sinking, Annie’s did. She smiled at the group, trying to mask her dismay.

  “Marty Amanti,” the woman then said, and pointed at the other man. “And my husband, Luke.”

  Then the names rang a few bells. Three, to be exact. Greg Collins and Marty and Luke Amanti were soon-to-be tenants who had signed two of the three year-round leases for rooms at The Vineyard Inn.

  “Of course,” Annie said, shifting on one foot. “How are you all today?”

  “We heard about the bones,” Greg said. “We need to know what’s going on.”

  “It was on the internet,” Marty added. “We watched the video on YouTube.”

  The video? As far as Annie knew, Lucy had only taken a photograph. Two, counting the one with Jonas. Had someone turned them into a video?

  Marty’s husband stepped forward. “Has construction shut down? Is there going to be an Inn or do we have to spend the winter camping again?”

  Annie raised both hands. “Please. One at a time. First of all, I’m the one who found the bone.” She couldn’t bring herself to say “the skull.” “And, yes, there are some legal protocols that have to be observed before we can finish up construction. But things are moving along, and we don’t see this as a problem. We still plan to open Memorial Day weekend.”

  “The guy on the video says the thing is human.”

  What guy? What video? Annie shifted again. She tucked her hair behind her ears. “It’s true. And it looks as if it’s ancient, but they’re testing it to be sure. Chances are, it’s from an old shipwreck.” She had no idea where that last idea had come from, but she thought it sounded plausible.

  “Unless it’s the guy’s father,” Marty said. “Like he said it might be.”

  The guy’s father? Was he talking about Jonas’s father—Derek Flanagan? Good Lord, Annie thought. Had Jonas shot a video? Was he as concerned as Kevin was that the skull might have been from that sailboat accident over twenty years ago? Cautiously, Annie said, “I haven’t heard that bit of ugly gossip. But there’s no basis for it. None at all.” She stopped herself from adding that she sometimes hated the internet and its opportunities to mislead while hiding under an umbrella of dispensing information.

  “What if it’s one of my people?” Greg, the dark-haired one asked.

  Wampanoag, Annie thought, and her stomach clenched. “We’ll know its history soon enough. And, please, be assured that every necessary step will be taken. If the archeologist determines that the bone is Native American, it will be turned over to the tribe.”

  “What if there are more?”

  “Believe me, the local and state police have scoured the area. To our knowledge, they haven’t found any more . . . fragments.”

  Marty set her eyes squarely on Annie’s. “How long until you have the results?”

  “Not long. But we’re prepared.”

  “They might determine this is sacred ground,” Greg said. “Are you prepared for that?”

  She wanted to be honest and say no, they were not at all prepared for that. They hadn’t even been prepared for this much to have happened. She supposed she could invite the new tenants in and show them the Excel spreadsheets that held detailed facts and figures about how far the Inn was in debt, so they would know how desperate she, Kevin, and Earl were for the Inn to open, too. She wanted to tell them they weren’t the only ones whose quality of life was at stake. But, of course, Annie couldn’t do any of those things, so she simply smiled and said, “Look. I know this is hard for you. Believe it or not, I know what it’s like to live on the island and find yourself without a home. I don’t know if any of you know Earl Lyons. Or his son, John, who’s an Edgartown cop. The Lyons family has been here for a dozen generations. This Inn was Earl’s idea, and he’ll do everything in his power to make it happen. He takes care of people here. So please, don’t worry. As it stands, before this happened we’d made considerable progress on the interior so, in any event, we’re almost done.” She didn’t know if she should have said that last part because, in truth, they weren’t “almost done.”

  “Can we see the rooms?” Marty asked.

  Annie hadn’t expected that. She smiled again, hoping to kill a few seconds while she dreamed up a believable reply. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t let you in yet. Until we have an occupancy permit, the town doesn’t want people walking through the construction site.” Hopefully, none of them knew more than she did about the inner workings of town regulations. Still, there was no way she wanted them to see the extensive amount of work that was still needed upstairs. “Nothing’s stopping you from peeking in the downstairs windows, though!” she added with forced exuberance. “You can see the kitchen through the wall of glass along the back. It’s really spectacular. And if you walk around front, you can see into the great room—it isn’t quite finished, but the reading room and media room are. Feel free to
explore from the outside. But, please, don’t go in. We could get into trouble, and that might hold things up even longer.” She wondered if in her next life she could become a hawker of miracle potions or swampland in Florida. What had happened to innocent Annie Sutton who’d never been able to tell a lie?

  By some unexplained mystery of nature, the group seemed appeased. Greg thanked her, the others nodded, and they began to walk up toward the house.

  “Stop back any time!” Annie called after them, though she hoped to God that they would not. Not until the mess had been sorted out.

  Too rattled to accomplish any more work, she knew that she needed to regain her emotional balance. So she retrieved her phone and texted John: ANY BIG PLANS FOR TONIGHT? A ROCK CONCERT? A SOX GAME? WANT TO SPEND TIME WITH ME?

  He replied quickly: I WAS GOING TO ASK YOU THE SAME.

  Chapter 10

  By the time Annie walked off the On Time ferry and onto Dock Street, the clouds had turned the sky a dull shade of gray. She wondered if later there would be fog, that pea-soup kind of stuff known to blanket both the land and the sea and deliver a bout of claustrophobia to the heartiest of islanders.

  She went up Main Street and crossed over South Water, eager to see John. She knew she had to tell him about Jonas and the video. She knew she had to tell him and yet . . .

  When he opened the door, he was wearing his at-home scrubs and an enticing grin. As soon as she stepped inside, he wrapped her in his strong, comforting arms. Then he kissed her. Long and sweet. When he was done, she pulled away and laughed.

  “Wow. If I’d known I’d get such a welcome on a school night, I’d come by more often.” Surely her latest news could wait a little while. At least until they’d had time for pleasure.

  He took her hand and kissed her fingertips. “I have good news. I made pasta. Again. And Lucy’s gone to her friend Maggie’s, so it’s just the two of us.”