“Well, it’s nice to meet you,” Annie said. “And, again, welcome to The Vineyard Inn. I’m Annie, but I guess you already know that. And this is Francine, our assistant manager. And our mascot, Bella.” Bella diverted her big, dark eyes from the Inn’s latest guest and burrowed them below Annie’s collarbone. “She’s shy until she knows you. Then she’ll talk your ear off. In the meantime, Francine will get you settled. Do you have a car?”
“Yes. A rental. I couldn’t get a reservation for mine on the boat.”
“Right,” Annie replied. “It’s still August. And the island has a busy week ahead. But we’ll tell you about that later.”
Francine stepped forward. “First, let’s get you checked in. I’ll get your bags. Annie? Would you watch Bella for a few minutes?”
Annie nodded. “We’ll go down to the cottage.” She watched as Francine led the woman away. Annie hadn’t asked what had brought her to Chappy for two weeks, though it was rather curious that she was alone. Most single women preferred to stay in Edgartown, Oak Bluffs, or Vineyard Haven where things like shopping and restaurants were within walking distance. But two weeks would leave plenty of time for chatter, especially over breakfast. Hoisting Bella higher on her hip, Annie whispered, “I’m going to take a nap. How about you?”
Then a text alert pinged.
“Ding-dong,” Bella said, which Earl had taught her to do when anyone’s text sounded.
Annie laughed and dug her phone out of her pocket. She smiled when she saw that the message was from John.
DINNER AT THENEWES AT6? I’M ON8TO8TONIGHT.
“Ugh,” Annie said. So much for a nap. Or a bath. A quick shower would have to do. As she and Bella headed down the slope that led to the cottage where Annie lived and worked and loved her Vineyard life, she was reminded that being in a relationship with a cop meant having to be flexible. Especially in summer, when his shifts were long and he often was worn out. Then she wondered if, over dinner, he’d want to talk about their wedding plans. And if so, was she ready to make them?
* * *
“Abigail is coming back,” John said. They were seated at a quiet table in Edgartown’s renowned Colonial pub—established in 1742—a plate of bangers and mash in front of him; grilled tuna and island-grown veggies in front of Annie.
She flinched. She’d been toying with the sweet peas and mushroom slices, thinking about broaching the topic of the wedding, when he blindsided her. “What?” she managed to ask. Abigail was John’s elder daughter, who recently had turned eighteen. After her parents’ divorce several years ago, her mother had moved to Plymouth, which was nearly two hours from the Vineyard, counting the boat trip. Unlike Lucy, Abigail had preferred to stay there with John’s ex, whose name was—what? Jane? Joan? Annie knew it began with another J—John once said their friends had called them “Johnny and J____” when they’d been a couple, which had made them sound like a seventies’ singing duo. Sonny and Cher. Donnie and Marie. Peaches and Herb.
He swigged his root beer. “Jenn has decided to move in with her boyfriend.”
Right, Annie thought. The ex-wife’s name was Jenn. The singing duo would have been Johnny and Jennie. Yikes.
“Abigail said sheabhorshim,” he went on. “She claims that though she alsoloathesbeing trapped on the island, the idea of living under the same roof with her mother’s ‘ridiculous boyfriend’ is ‘totally moreabysmal.’” He pierced the bangers with his fork. “I can’t believe that teenagers talk like that in Plymouth. Besides, when was she ever ‘trapped’ here?”
Annie tried to process what she’d heard. Would she now be expected to be actively involved as a stepmother to both Lucy and Abigail? Would the four of them live under the same, two-bedroom roof? “I thought she was going to go to college.” When Abigail had graduated from high school in June, John had gone to the ceremony with Lucy, Earl, and Claire—Earl’s wife and Lucy and Abigail’s grandmother. John hadn’t said much about his elder daughter after that. Summers on the Vineyard were so hectic that the days and nights tended to eclipse everything else.
“She didn’t get into BU.”
Annie had a vague memory of already being told that. “What about Rhode Island? Wasn’t that her backup?”
He shoved a forkful of potato into his mouth, shook his head, and waited half a minute. “Turns out, she never applied. She only wanted BU because that’s where her boyfriend went. But he’s long gone now. He was a year ahead of her so, no surprise, right after he got there, he hooked up with another girl. Acollegegirl. End of high school romance.”
“Oh, dear,” Annie said, remembering how crushed she’d been when, at sixteen, she thought that her first boyfriend had found “someone else.” He hadn’t; they’d gotten back together, and a few years later they had married. But those days of feeling she’d been dumped had been shattering. “She must be upset.”
“Yeah, upset enough to ask to come back here.” As usual, it was difficult to tell what John was feeling. He kept his head bowed, his eyes set on his dinner.
“How does Lucy feel about it?”
“Let’s say she wasn’t pleased to see her grandfather and me haul the other twin bed from the basement. She ranted about having to share a room with her sister like when they were kids. Then she stormed off to Maggie’s.”
At least Lucy and Maggie were friends again; perhaps Maggie could serve as a buffer of sorts between the two sisters. Then Annie realized she now had the answer as to why Earl had helped John move furniture. Good dad and granddad that Earl was, he’d left it up to John to break the news.
“We’ll see how it goes tomorrow,” John said. “She’s coming over on the two thirty. And I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” He lifted his chin; Annie noticed that his eyes were clouded, not with tears but with a veil of distance. She’d seen that look before when he hadn’t known what else to do, as if taking a step back from a problem was the only solution, a kind of self-protective detachment. “How’s Kevin?” he asked, brightening. “I can’t believe he took off to see Taylor.”
The conversation about his daughters had ended. If Annie weren’t so tired, she might have tried to resurrect it. Not that she could have helped. She’d only talked to Abigail a year ago over breakfast at Among the Flowers. Unlike Lucy, the older girl had been neither engaging nor engaged, perhaps because John had introduced Annie as an author, not as his “lady friend.” And though he’d told Annie earlier that Abigail liked to read, as they chatted awkwardly over English muffins and beach plum jelly, the girl had been noticeably disinterested.
“My brother’s gone, all right,” Annie said now, forcing herself to follow John’s lead, knowing they’d talk more about the daughter situation when he was ready, and, God knew, not one second before. Especially when a twelve-hour shift was ahead of him. “I can’t control my brother’s love life, if that’s what he and Taylor have. He’d been despondent since his wife, Meghan, had that horrible construction accident, and I do think Taylor helped bring him out of that.” Meghan had been seriously injured nearly four years ago. The last time Kevin saw her, she didn’t know him; the doctors said there was little hope that her brain trauma would improve. About a year ago, Kevin had filed for divorce; Annie had vowed she wouldn’t get involved in his relationship with Taylor unless he asked for help. Some days, like today, the challenge felt impossible.
Then another question struck her: The wedding! Would Abigail’s presence delay the wedding plans? She put her hands on her lap and twisted her napkin.
“Taylor must be homesick,” John continued, oblivious to Annie’s agitation. “I wonder if she’s trying to win him back.”
