In spite of Lucy’s protestations that her sister was “impossible” and that she made Lucy want to run away, Annie knew that the bond of being sisters might conflict with clear thinking. She knew she should tread lightly, as the old saying went. “I don’t know Abigail well enough to assume she did it,” Annie said. “In fact, I hardly know her at all. And she doesn’t know me.”
“She knows you’re going to marry my dad. He told her when we were in Plymouth for her graduation.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“I don’t think he wanted to make a big deal out of it. Like he didn’t want you to think he was asking for her permission.”
Once again, Annie wondered if she really knew the man she had agreed to marry. And though it was true that people can’t really know one another completely, it felt to her that as time passed she knew John Lyons less, not more. The good parts and the not-so-good. She wondered if he felt the same way about her now.
“What was Abigail’s reaction? Was she upset?” As badly as she wanted to tell Lucy the news that her sister had imparted to Annie, she was determined to stay calm.
“I only heard his side of the conversation when he told her, ’cuz I was eavesdropping from the top of the stairs.”
“Lucy . . .”
“Hey, no lectures, okay? I listened because it was about my dad. And you. I wanted to make sure my sister wouldn’t stick her nose in it. But I don’t think she took that picture.”
“No?”
“Nope. As much as I’d love to be able to get her in trouble, I could see the Tabernacle in the background of the pic. She wasn’t up there. We stayed down at Ocean Park; Abigail met up with a few more of her old friends from school and they hung out down there. Don’t tell Dad, but they were drinking. I got bored and went up to the Tabernacle, but I didn’t see you. It was late, though; the lanterns were still lit but the band was done playing. Maybe you were gone by then. I got a ride home with Helen Jackson. You know her? She works at the pharmacy and the hardware store. She’s a friend of my grandmother’s. Anyway, she said her arthritis was bothering her, so I helped her back to her car and hopped in.”
Annie didn’t pay rapt attention to the rest of Lucy’s story. Instead she focused on the fact that Lucy didn’t think Abigail had done it. And that Lucy had unknowingly given her sister an alibi, because the band had still been playing when Simon had pulled his stunt.
As for Abigail’s declaration that John would be going back to his ex-wife, Annie would have that conversation with John, not Lucy. If he ever got over being angry.
“Lucy?” Annie asked. “I know it’s a lot to ask, and I don’t want you to feel pressured, but is there any way you can take down the post? Like you did those other ones?”
Lucy shook her head. “If there’s a way, I don’t know it. I only know how to delete something I posted myself.”
The next logical step would be to ask Lucy if she’d sneak onto Abigail’s computer and find out if she’d been the “author.” Just in case.
But, as if Lucy had known what Annie was thinking, she added, “Even if we knew who posted it, I couldn’t take it off their laptop unless I knew their password. And I don’t know anyone else’s password. Not my best friend, Maggie’s. Or my sister’s.”
Annie got the message. She also got another message, as her text alert pinged. Thinking it might be John, either to apologize or to dump her, she glanced at her phone. The message was from her editor.
CALL WHEN YOU GET THIS. WE NEED TO TALK.
It was cryptic, but typical of Trish, who was usually in too much of a hurry to want to bother to type. Unless the sun was rising, she preferred one-on-one conversation.
Annie ignored the text and boxed up what remained of her salad.
When Lucy finished her meal they brought Restless to the far side of the field where he and Lucy played catch until one of them tired, though it was hard to tell which one. Lucy had grown up a great deal over the summer: her legs were longer, her figure curvier; her face no longer looked like a child’s. Annie supposed those changes could be part of the girl’s slumping mood, especially when combined with her sister’s unwelcome presence.
When they got back to John’s, Annie simply smiled and said, “Make some cookies for the Inn, okay? I miss seeing your face.” Though Lucy already had been there earlier in the week, Annie sensed it was a good thing to say. Apparently it was, for when Lucy got out of the Jeep she smiled back and promised that she would.
* * *
Annie drove to the Chappy ferry where the line was August-long, so she decided to call Trish and get it over with.
“There you are!” her editor cried. “I’d begun to think you’d run off with Simon Anderson.”
“Hardly. Simon is a married man. With children.” Then Annie’s brain cells aligned; she stared at the back of the SUV in front of her and wondered how Trish had learned about the incident when she lived and worked in Manhattan and VineyardInsiders was a private site. Islanders only, like a little kids’ clubhouse.
“Trish?” Annie asked. “How did you find out?”
“Stop being coy, my dear. We’ve known each other far too long for that.”
“I’m not being coy. Tell me what you know. And how.”
