“August will be over,” Earl said.
“Francine will be gone.”
“Did you expect Kevin should take her place and make breakfast for our guests? I ate his fried eggs once. ‘Sunny-side up’ was more like ‘broken-side down.’”
One corner of Annie’s mouth curved up. Earl knew how to humor her.
“Did you forget that Claire offered to babysit the Inn while you’re away? And cook every morning?”
“Sorry. I guess I did.” She was so tempted to tell him what was really going on. He might have a better idea about how to handle this. But Annie could imagine the forlorn look on Meghan’s beautiful face if she learned Annie had broken her promise. Her trust. So Annie couldn’t do it.
“Have you thought about not being so hard on Kevin?” Earl asked. “And let whatever he’s got going with Taylor run its course?”
She smoothed the edges of the sleeping bag. Since Annie had moved to the island, Earl had been a wonderful friend. She hated that she was deceiving him, too; she hoped that once this was out in the open, everyone she loved would understand why she hadn’t told them the truth about Meghan.
“For a summer that started out with so much uncertainty,” she said quietly, “it’s been amazing in so many ways.” Cocooned in the zippered bed, she almost felt safe. “It’s as if once we were under way, everything fell into place. But all of a sudden I’m sensing a shift: Kevin has abandoned us for God knows how long; I have to stop playing and get back to my other responsibilities; Francine will be off to finish her two-year college program. And John has both of his daughters now, and though they’re teenagers, he’s still responsible for them.” She paused, needing, yet not wanting, to tell Earl how John’s dismissive attitude was contributing to her unrest. “It’s almost as if we’ve been like seasonal people—all summer, we’ve been surrounded by them, watching them have fun while loving life on the Vineyard. We’ve bought into the dream. But now our time is up, too, and we need to go back to reality. I guess I’m afraid of how that will turn out.”
“Well . . .” Earl began, “‘It ain’t over ’til it’s over,’ said Yogi Berra—a smart and a decent catcher, despite that he played for the enemy. Anyway, we still have an Inn. We are a community; hell, we’re a family. In other words, we figure things out. Together. I thought you knew that by now.”
Annie sighed. Her eyes became teary; she could no longer hold back. “Even with all this ludicrous business with Simon? John won’t give me a chance to explain.”
Shaking his head, Earl said, “So you lashed out at Kevin because of John?” He scratched his chin. “Well, that would make more sense. John’s my son, but he can be ornery. Takes after his mother—don’t tell Claire I said that. Give him time to cool down, Annie. You know he’s under a bucket load of stress this time of year; as much as he loves the gusto our tourists bring, he’s counting the hours ’til August is over. It’s the double-edged sword of living here.” He rolled onto one side, pushed himself up, and brushed plywood particles from the backside of his jeans. “I expect you’ll join us for the fireworks tonight? Fuller Street? Claire’s making snacks.”
“I was thinking about inviting our guests . . .”
“You know my motto: the more the merrier.” He pondered a second, then added, “That’s my motto, I think. Or maybe it was Shakespeare’s. I don’t think it was Yogi Berra’s.” He chuckled and turned and trundled back down the stairs.
Annie rubbed her eyes. She knew she had to get moving and go help Francine. She had to invite everyone to the fireworks and pretend she was in a glorious mood. It was, after all, time to start celebrating that, after this weekend, with the Vineyard summer “officially” finished, the Vineyard Inn would have closed the book on a highly successful first season. She knew she needed to focus on that. And not on Kevin or Meghan. Or John.
* * *
Everyone wanted to go, including Simon, who Annie could have done nicely without, but she figured there would be safety in numbers. She also felt fairly sure that no one in their group would dare reenact the incident of Illumination Night.
After breakfast was finished, the kitchen was cleaned up, and everyone went off in different directions, she got on the phone with Claire and coordinated what they’d make for what Claire decided should be not simply snacks but a “sunset supper”: cold chicken and ham; lentils simmered in spices then tossed with sweet potato cubes, cilantro, and kale; red bliss potato salad; fresh green beans with red onion, feta cheese, and cherry tomatoes; roasted squash, zucchini, red pepper, and onions. And fresh rolls that Francine would make that afternoon and serve with sweet, creamy butter.
Next, Annie called Lucy and asked if she could come to the Inn and bake cookies—lots of cookies.
“And come with us tonight. Your grandparents will be there and Jonas and Francine and Bella. We’d love to have you.” She quickly added, “And Abigail, too. If she wants.” She stopped short of saying that of course John was also invited, and simply commented, “It’s too bad your dad will be working.”
“What kind of cookies? Chocolate chip? How about ginger? I saw a recipe for those online . . .”
“Either,” Annie laughed. “Both if you want. Counting all of us, there should be around eighteen.”
“Too bad Restless shouldn’t come. Dogs are allowed on the beach after dark in the summer, but I think the fireworks might freak him out. Can I bring a substitute for him? Like a person?”
“Sure. If it’s okay with your dad. And Maggie’s mom.”
“It’s not Maggie. It’s my friend Kyle. From school. He lives right in town.”
Annie hesitated, glad that Lucy couldn’t see her grin and be mortified. “Boyfriend?”
“Friend-friend. Maybe more. Not yet.”
“Very nice.”
“Yeah. What time should I tell him?”
“Seven-ish?”
