“I looked for you this morning, but the Jeep wasn’t here. I was wondering how you’re doing since that absurd picture was posted.”
“Ah, yes. That. I believe the term is I’m doing ‘as well as can be expected.’ In other words, I don’t have a clue how I’m doing. John is angry. I’m angry that he’s angry. I can’t figure out who did it or why. So, yeah, I guess ‘as well as can be expected’ pretty much sums it up.”
“Oh, Annie, I’m so sorry.”
“Me, too. I heard you defended my honor during breakfast. Thanks for that.”
“It’s all so ridiculous.”
“That it is.” She shut down her laptop, closed the lid, and rested her arms on top. She leaned closer to Meghan. “But much in life is ridiculous, isn’t it? Like how you happened to arrive here the very day that Kevin left.”
Meghan studied her fingernails—clipped short, and nicely manicured with clear polish. “I haven’t wanted to ask, but have you heard from him about the picture?”
“No.” She did not want to tell her that she wouldn’t be surprised if Kevin was not monitoring VineyardInsiders because he was otherwise occupied. “But I don’t want to talk about it anymore. What I would love would be for you to come to the fireworks tomorrow night. They’re really magnificent. They take place in Oak Bluffs, but I like to go to Fuller Street Beach in Edgartown. I went there last year with Earl and Claire. It isn’t as crowded, and the view is terrific. In fact, maybe I’ll invite the honeymooners and the Indiana sisters, too. Not sure about Simon and Bill, though. Not after our last public outing.” She’d added the last part in an attempt at a joke, hoping to elicit a laugh out of Meghan. It didn’t work.
“That’s the other reason I was looking for you,” Meghan said. “Thanks for the invite, but I’ll have to decline. I spent most of the day walking and thinking and thinking some more, and I’ve decided to leave the Vineyard. I’ll check out in the morning.”
It felt as if someone had sucked the air out of the room. Annie’s whole body went limp. “No-o-o-o,” she whimpered. “Please. Don’t go, Meghan. You only just got here . . . I’ve only just met you . . .”
But Meghan shook her head. “I can’t. That picture of you and Simon . . . I’m standing right there in the background. Thank God it was dark, and the lights pretty much blurred me, so I’m not recognizable. Which is good, because my bet is that if Kevin hasn’t yet seen it, he will. But who knows what will happen next? Will somebody take another photo—that time with me in it, front and center? I can’t risk it, Annie. If Kevin comes back it should be because he wants to. Not because he finds out I’m here. It wouldn’t be fair. Not to him and not to that woman . . .”
Annie tried to listen patiently, to not interrupt. But the reference to Taylor made her stifle a grimace. “What really isn’t fair is that he doesn’t know.”
Weaving her fingers together, Meghan said, “At some point, I’ll get in touch with him—I agree, it’s the right thing to do. But if I stay here he might find out by mistake. And I don’t want to shock him. I’ve put him through too much as it is.” She stood up, tears now coating her cornflower eyes. “I’m really sorry, Annie. You’re so special, and I’m so glad Kevin has you. Under other circumstances, I think we’d be good friends.”
“Not only friends, Meghan. Family. We are family, after all.”
As Meghan pressed her lips together, a single tear trickled down her cheek.
Annie stood up and gave her a hug. “Think about it some more, okay? And let me know if there’s any way on this planet I can get you to change your mind.”
But Meghan slipped from her hug and from the room without responding.
* * *
Annie could not let Meghan leave, so she knew she had to act. It took all of five seconds to come up with what she hoped was the right strategy. But she couldn’t execute it there.
Gathering her things, she left a note on the front desk saying she’d return in half an hour. Then she left the Inn and headed toward the meadow, where she quickly climbed the stairs to her temporary digs over the workshop and thanked God for the decent cell service up there. But before she could make the call, someone connected to her line.
“Annie?” an unfamiliar voice asked.
Instantly fearing it was a prank call—a woman calling to spout off about the picture of her with Simon, like maybe his wife who could have tracked Annie down, or one of Simon’s enamored fans who thought she was entitled to have him for herself—Annie paused. And waited.
“Annie?” the voice repeated. “It’s Lottie Nelson.”
Annie sighed. “Oh. Lottie. Thanks for calling me back.”
The woman paused, as if she’d heard the distress in Annie’s voice. “Did you decide to use the space at the fire station after all?”
“No,” she replied, shaking her head as if Lottie could see her. “I was wondering about something else. I didn’t get to see you at Illumination Night.”
“We were there. Along with Georgia, who I’m sure would have loved to see you.”
The mention of Lottie’s sister, a kind hospice nurse, an “angel of mercy,” as she’d been called, triggered a tug of emotion. Annie cleared her throat. “I’m sorry I missed her. But I did hear that you picked up a couple of passengers at the ferry. A couple of guys who might have entertained you?”
Lottie laughed. “They sure did. Joe spotted them. Well, he spotted Simon. He watches him every night from eight to nine. Georgia was delighted when the men squeezed into the back seat. Simon sat next to her.”
“That’s nice,” Annie said, as if she thought it was. Simon, on the other hand, would have been pleased to know that his brand had had a positive impact on Chappaquiddick, at least with Lottie’s trio. “This is going to sound absurd, but do you remember if Simon’s assistant had any camera gear with him?”
