“So, you’re a marine biologist?”
She hesitated again. “Not really. Not yet. I’d like to get a job at the biological lab. I hope my research will give me a foot in the door. I’ve always been fascinated by the big turtles. They’re prehistoric, you know.”
“I didn’t know that, but it makes sense. They’re huge. And it’s amazing that they swim all the way up from the south.” She wondered if John realized that. Lucy might, as she was so curious.
“They can weigh anywhere from half a ton to two tons,” Mary Beth continued. “Imagine! A four-thousand-pound turtle. Swimming in Vineyard Sound!”
Their conversation drifted to climate change, and Annie shared what little she knew about the impact it was having on the island. Before long, one of the beautiful sunsets began to tint the sky, and Annie said, “I have an idea. How about if we venture over to Edgartown together and grab a bite to eat? Some place casual like The Wharf?”
Mary Beth vacillated, then politely declined. She stood up and said she’d bothered Annie too long as it was.
But Annie said she was hungry and she’d cleaned out her refrigerator except for a few cinnamon buns that wouldn’t constitute a very nutritious meal. What she didn’t say was that she felt comfortable with her guest, and that that night Annie needed a friend, or at least the makings of one. She didn’t think Murphy would mind.
Mary Beth finally agreed, and Annie went inside to grab her purse and a sweater.
* * *
Sunday nights in August typically posed a challenge to get seated for dinner. Like many islanders, Annie didn’t eat out often in summer, preferring to let festive vacationers enjoy the lobster rolls and crocks of chowder. In addition, John’s crazy work schedule often made it impossible for them to dine together, let alone in a restaurant with a long line. That night, if Annie had been Irish not Scottish, she would have thought she’d been granted a dose of ancestral luck when, after less than five minutes, the host led them through the lively bar into the large dining room that also was crowded. To say that The Wharf was hopping was an understatement.
Best of all, they were seated at a booth, not a table. Annie thought booths were more comfortable for conversation; Kevin would have joked it was a sign that his sister was getting old.
He’d been gone less than two days, but it felt like a million.
They scanned the wine list, then each ordered a glass. Annie already knew what she’d order for dinner: the Seafood Jambalaya was one of her favorites.
While Mary Beth looked at the menu, Annie glanced around the restaurant—sometimes it was fun to be immersed in the happy clatter of summer. All around, people were decked out in August finery: Lily Pulitzer pastel sundresses, Vineyard Vines classic striped polos, Black Dog T-shirts. Everyone seemed merry, except across the aisle, a few tables away, where a man and woman sat, engaged in what looked like somber dialogue. The man’s back was to Annie; she might know the woman, but didn’t know from where. Her hair was neatly cut and coiffed, and she wore oversized silver hoop earrings. But there was something about the couple . . . about the man. And then . . . oh, God. It was John. Annie squinted. She knew those wide shoulders. And the woman . . . yes. The woman was his wife. Ex-wife. Annie had only met her once, but she’d had the same visceral reaction then: a knot twisting in her stomach.
“How’s the grilled salmon?” Mary Beth asked.
Beneath the table, Annie clenched her hands, her fingernails pushing into her palms. She pulled her eyes back to her companion. “Excuse me?”
“The grilled salmon. Do you recommend it?”
Annie wanted to leave. She wanted to run outside, around the corner to Dock Street, all the way to the Chappy Ferry. She wanted to jump on it and go home. Fight or flight.
Stop it, she ordered herself because Murphy hadn’t.You’re not twelve.
“Is there something I might like better?” Mary Beth asked.
Annie tried to hide her agitation. “The salmon’s fine,” she managed to say. Her gaze traveled back to John and Jenn’s table. She did not want to stare, but couldn’t help it. John hadn’t mentioned that his ex would be coming with Abigail. Wasn’t that something a fiancé should have told his bride-to-be?
From her vantage point, it was tough to see whether or not there were other place settings—perhaps Abigail was with them . . . and Lucy? That would be more understandable. But as Annie discreetly craned her neck, she couldn’t see other glasses or plates. Which made it obvious that John and Jenn were alone. Just the two of them.
The waitress reappeared and set their wineglasses down. She asked what they wanted. Annie was barely aware that she’d uttered “Jambalaya”; she was too busy trying to rationalize the situation. Maybe John hadn’t expected to see Jenn, either—she did, after all, have a new boyfriend and was supposedly moving in with him. Which meant that surely she’d be leaving on the late boat.
“Annie?” Mary Beth asked quietly. “Are you okay?”
Annie knew her reaction was ridiculous; she blamed it on the stress of too many changes in the past two days: Kevin, Simon Anderson, now this. But she was currently with Mary Beth, a guest whom Annie wanted to help feel comfortable.
“I’m fine,” she responded with a genuine smile. “Sorry. I’m just a little tired.” She raised her glass in a toast. “Welcome to the Vineyard,” she said. “Where everything is magical and only good things ever happen.”
They clinked the stemware, and Annie carried on what she hoped was a halfway intelligent conversation until their meals arrived. That’s when, from the corner of her eye, she saw John and Jenn stand up. She refused to let her knotted stomach ruin what should be a good time.
Jenn passed the booth first. She was looking toward the bar, oblivious, not that she’d remember Annie from their one brief meeting.
Then John started to pass. Annie sat up straight, prepared to say “Hi, what brings you to these parts?” or something equally light. Breezy. Not accusatory. But John was following his ex-wife’s gaze until, as if by instinct, his line of sight flipped to his left and landed squarely on Annie’s. Their eyes met, then locked, for a flash of a second. Then, without so much as a nod, he turned his attention away from Annie and kept walking, following Jenn’s wedge sandals through the restaurant and out the front door.
Later, she decided that part had been the worst.
