“Great. And I’ll come over in an hour or so to start baking. And Annie?”
Annie paused, bracing for the teenager’s next words.
“I’m sorry my dad can be so lame.”
So was Annie, but coming from his favorite daughter, who was also John’s best cheerleader, it meant a lot. “He’ll be fine, honey,” she said. “This time of year must be wearing on him. But we’ll have fun tonight. I’m glad you’ll be with us.” Somehow, that small bit of conversation calmed much of Annie’s malaise. She hoped the feeling wasn’t fleeting.
* * *
Aromas of warm ginger and chocolate wafted through the Inn. Annie had decided to make it a mental health day, which, for her, meant absolutely no work. No writing work, anyway. Bella left with Claire; Francine went off to see Jonas; and Lucy arrived—without Restless, as they’d be in the kitchen where dogs weren’t allowed because, as Earl had explained, “They might muck up the works.”
So Annie and Lucy were left to measure and mix together, to talk a little, laugh a little, and make sure that “the works” turned out successful. Lucy dubbed them “the dynamic cookie duo.”
Annie loved being with her; she loved the girl’s smarts, her energy, her flair for creativity. After more than an hour, with four sheets of oversized cookies (“Ginormous,” Lucy called them) ready to go into the oven once the two sheets that were in there were done, Annie calculated that six dozen should be more than enough sweet things for their fireworks party.
Sitting on a high stool, watching Lucy survey the perfectly shaped creations through the glass oven door, Annie realized how comforting it felt to have someone else in the kitchen—which had no connection to any fond memories of baking with her mother. Ellen Sutton had always been nervous that Annie would make a mess, ruin the outcome of whatever recipe she attempted, and wind up crying, all of which would result in giving her mother a “sick stomach.” As badly as Ellen had presumably wanted to be a mother, she’d rarely been able to relax. Except when they were on the Vineyard for summer vacations. Annie was grateful she at least had those memories.
Then the back door banged open, suspending her nostalgia, as Simon sprinted into the kitchen. His white polo shirt and crisp pleated shorts made him look more prepared for competitive tennis than for hanging out on casual Chappy.
“Where’s Mary Beth?” he shouted as if there were a fire that only she could extinguish. He halted in front of the stove.
Mary Beth. Annie gulped. “I have no idea.” What did Simon want with her?
“I passed her on North Neck when I was riding here on my bike,” Lucy said. “She was walking, and she had a water bottle, so maybe she went hiking.”
He frowned. “Damn. I heard that a leatherback was spotted off East Beach. They think it’s tangled in fishing net—or plastic. I figured she’d want to know.”
Right, Annie thought as her jaw tightened. “Thanks, Simon. We’ll be sure to tell her if we see her.”
“If I had a vehicle, I’d try to find her,” he said. If he was hinting that he’d like a ride, Annie was not going to bite. The fewer times she was seen in his company, the happier she’d be.
“Sorry,” she said, then gathered the mixing bowls and the measuring cups, brought them to the sink and, with her back to their guest, started to wash them.
“Do you have her cell number?”
Annie shook her head and said, “Sorry,” again.
“Her room’s next to Bill’s, right?” Simon asked. “I’ll leave a note on her door. She won’t want to miss this.”
Before Annie could stop him, Simon was in motion again, hurrying past her toward the great room and up the stairs.
Once he was out of sight, Lucy said, “He’s kind of a weird dude, isn’t he?”
Annie laughed, then the timer dinged, diverting her need to invent an answer.
Lucy pulled out the cookie sheets while Annie said, “As soon as we’re done here, how about if we drive around Chappy? I’d love to find Mary Beth before Simon does.” It felt strange to call her Mary Beth again, but she congratulated herself for remembering to.
“Sorry, but I have to get home. Kyle’s coming over; we’re going to the beach before the fireworks.”
A small tic of sorrow dinged in Annie’s heart the way the timer had dinged on the oven. She knew it was a reminder that Lucy was, indeed, getting older and soon would be gone from John’s nest . . . which might happen long before Annie had settled there.Ifshe settled there.
“But you can take off,” Lucy said. “I’ll finish up here and pack the cookies. All you’ll need to do is bring them tonight with the rest of the feast.”
Annie thanked her, probably too profusely, then grabbed her purse and her phone and headed outside to the Jeep. She had no idea what direction Meghan had walked in, but she wanted to find her before Simon did. The man made Meghan nervous; being “outed” by a journalist—even if unintentionally—was not what Kevin’s wife had had mind. Annie understood: her flailing relationship was proof of the damage that could cause.
He had no idea why Annie was so wigged out about a picture that Taylor said other women might be flattered to have. In fact, her exact words had been, “Simon Anderson isn’t exactly chopped liver.” Which was okay, until she’d added, “Then again, maybe your sister set the whole thing up and is embarrassed to admit it.” Taylor was not always tolerant of others—she probably had the right, after the way folks had treated her—but he liked being with her. A lot. She was testament to that fact that Kevin MacNeish was alive, after all.
But it hurt to think that Annie might have lied to him.
