Then Meghan smiled. “You look like her, you know. More than Kevin does. But you both have Donna’s eyes.”
On occasion, when Annie was doing research, she’d come upon an anecdote or two about her subject that prompted her to get emotional. But they were always about other, unknown people. Not her. Not her family. Because she’d barely had one. She pulled herself together; she needed to hear more. “How did you find out Donna died?”
“Her doctor. She’d left word on the Vineyard that I was to be notified if—when—it happened. And that no one was to know about me. Not unless I said it was okay. It wasn’t okay then; I wasn’t ready.”
Though Annie could not recall the doctor’s name, she remembered how kind he’d been to them. And to Donna. “But . . .” she added, as hundreds of questions tumbled in her mind, “what about Kevin? He didn’t know that Donna saw you all that time?”
Meghan shook her head. “Absolutely not. I made her promise not to tell him. I wanted to be fully recovered before I stepped back into his life. Donna told me how guilty he’d felt about the accident. It wasn’t his fault; it was all mine. When I finally believed that I was going to get better, I wanted him to see me whole again, so we could cry and laugh together and hold each other and celebrate the miracle.” She closed her eyes a moment, then opened them again, the traces of her earlier weeping now gone, replaced by a clear veneer that coated their lovely color. “I suppose not every miracle is meant to happen.”
They talked for a long time. Annie learned that Donna had told her that Annie was a mystery writer; she’d told her about the Inn. She’d also phoned Meghan a few times from the island and updated her on the goings-on, including telling her to keep an eye out for the episode about the Inn onBest Destinations. One of the last things she’d told Meghan was that Kevin missed her terribly.
Annie didn’t know how to ask if Meghan knew that Kevin had divorced her. So she decided not to. There were some things that should remain between Meghan and him . . . if he ever came back. And if he did not . . . well, Annie supposed she could figure out what to do about it then.
After they’d consumed over half a bottle of the wine, Annie suggested that they comb through the refrigerator to see if they could find something for dinner; they settled on making omelets and toast and ate while sitting at the marble-topped kitchen island. It had grown late by then, the guests no doubt were in their rooms, so privacy was nearly guaranteed. So Annie felt free to ask yet another question for her, well,sister-in-law.
“How on earth did you come up with the story about studying leatherbacks?”
Meghan laughed. “When I was on the internet looking up the ferry schedule, I landed on information for Woods Hole. There was a picture of one of the giant turtles, his head sticking up out of the water in the Sound. Ahead of him, on the horizon, you could see the big, white ferry. The researchers had tagged the turtle and put a tiny camera on its back, so it looked like he was watching the boat. It was beautiful. And fascinating. So I Googled them too . . . do you know that the leatherbacks are the only turtles in the world that don’t have a hard shell? Theirs is more rubbery—which is why they’re called ‘leatherbacks.’” She looked at Annie and smiled. “But I guess that’s off-topic, right?”
“A little. But I love it. Writers are curious creatures.”
“Okay, then. Do you know that leatherbacks only eat jelly fish?”
Annie laughed again and took another bite of her omelet to which she’d added cheese, a few slices of mushrooms, and several sprigs of herbs from the garden Francine had sowed. “Lucky them,” she said with a small frown. “And now I completely understand why you didn’t want Simon to start quizzing you. But from what little I’ve seen of him, I doubt he would. If he asks, though, why not simply say you’re on vacation? And that you think the big turtles are interesting, but you’re not studying them?”
Meghan paused then said, “Do you think that everyone who has something to hide shies away from journalists?”
“I expect so.” Then something else occurred to her. “It was smart of you to pay for your reservation with a cashier’s check.”
She lowered her head. “I wasn’t sure I’d get away with it, but Francine was really nice and said that the Inn was flexible. It was the only way I could think of to surprise Kevin. I didn’t want to tell him over the phone.”
“You are a clever girl.”
“Not usually. For one thing, I didn’t expect I’d actually have to tell anyone my name was Mary Beth. I guess I thought I’d just run into Kevin as soon as I arrived. Like he was in charge of taking luggage or something.”
“Around here, we’re all in charge of everything.” It was easy to understand why Kevin loved her; Meghan was quick and bright and wonderful company. It would be nice to have her as a real sister-in-law, not one who was technically, legally, no longer part of the family.
“But speaking of my brother,” Annie said quietly, once their meal was done and they lingered in the tall chairs, still sipping from their mugs. “Have you thought about what you want to do now? About him?” She knew she’d have many more questions, but she was getting tired. And so, she suspected, was Meghan . . . a name that suited her better than Mary Beth.
“No. And I don’t want to know anything about his lady friend. Not now. Okay?”
Annie reached over and patted Meghan’s hand. “Okay.” With all her heart and mind, however, Annie wanted to call her brother. But she would not. Not yet. Not unless . . . well, not unless who knew what might happen. Instead, she would be patient. And let things happen as they would.
They finished the wine; it was after midnight when they said good night.
Chapter 11
She hadn’t minded spending the night on the floor over the workshop. The sleeping bag held the scent of old campfires, which had been comforting, though Annie had never gone camping. John was probably the last one to use it when he and Kevin had gone up island overnight—ostensibly to fish—right before they’d opened the Inn. Before the season had begun and life shifted into high gear.
Pressing her face into the fabric, Annie inhaled the hint of John and felt a small purr of contentment. She wished she could glide back into sleep. But it was the third Wednesday in August, and Annie knew it would be beyond chaotic. Starting tonight, Illumination Night.
She didn’t know what time it was; she’d forgotten the charger for her phone, not that it mattered, because the electrical work hadn’t yet been completed upstairs. After crawling out of the bag, Annie went to the window. The meadow was resplendent with late summer blossoms of bridal white Queen Anne’s Lace, delicate deep salmon Wood Lilies, and vibrant orange-and-yellow Butterfly Weed. She opened the window to the early sun and the fragrant air. She was looking forward to returning to making soap once the hubbub of the season had died down, and she could harvest the flowers and herbs that grew right on their land for her sumptuous collection. Maybe Meghan would enjoy soapmaking alongside her. If Kevin came back. And if Meghan stayed.
Then she thought about how, before Annie had moved to the Vineyard, she’d been totally alone without a real family. Since then, she’d gained her island family; more important, she’d gained her birth mother for a while, a brother forever (or so she hoped), and now, a sister-in-law for who knew how long. She wondered what John was going to think about this, once Meghan said it was okay to tell him.
John. John! In the craziness of the day before, Annie realized they hadn’t so much as texted, let alone talked.
Flinging a sweatshirt on over her pajamas, she grabbed her purse that held her dead phone, then ran down the stairs and up to the Inn. But when she burst in the back door, she was struck by silence.
