But she shook her head. “Please don’t, John. I’m trying to hold myself together. I can’t do a long discussion.” She fully expected that he’d get up then, say good night, and leave. Instead he reached across the empty chair and took her hand in his. As tired as she was—and as dazed as she’d thought she was—she was unprepared for more tears to splash out of her eyes.
John moved to the chair next to hers, put an arm around her, and pulled her toward him. Her head tipped down and rested on his shoulder.
“It’s my fault,” she whispered. “If I hadn’t been . . .”
He shushed her, then kissed the top of her head. “Kevin shouldn’t have had the gun. Simon shouldn’t have wrestled him for it. And, yeah, you shouldn’t have been in there. But it was an accident, Annie. Open-and-shut.”
She wanted to say, “Tell my heart that.”
“I asked Simon not to leave the island until we’ve spoken to Kevin.”
If you’reableto speak to Kevin, Annie thought, but did not say.
Then a man in blue scrubs came through the “personnel only” door. The surgeon. Annie and Meghan simultaneously leaped to their feet.
“Doctor?” she asked, aware that John was right behind her, perhaps ready to catch her if she . . . fainted?
“He’s out of surgery,” the doctor said. “It was trickier than we’d hoped, but so far so good. We’ll going to keep him under sedation for at least twenty-four hours, maybe longer. We removed the bullet without much of a problem, but there were a number of bone fragments—one of them had nicked the subclavian, which is where all the blood came from. We were able to fix it, but we need to keep him immobile for a while to be sure.”
Annie and Meghan remained quiet, as if they didn’t realize that the doctor had finished speaking.
“Thanks, Mike,” John said. “I’m glad you were on duty.”
The doctor reached around Annie and shook John’s hand. “I’m happy it went well. We never know with these kinds of injuries.”
Annie moved away from John then and wrapped her arms around Meghan. Stalwart, strong Meghan, who started to cry.
“It’s okay,” Annie said. “He’ll be okay.”
“He’ll be in ICU,” the doctor—Mike—continued. “Whenever we decide to wake him up, we’ll let you know ahead of time, so you can be here if you want.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Meghan said.
“Then I won’t, either,” Annie added.
“He’s in recovery now; you won’t be able to see him until the morning . . .”
Then John interrupted. “Mike, is there somewhere near ICU where the ladies can stay tonight?”
“Man, it’s August. We’re okay right now, but I’m not sure we have enough beds for whatever else might happen the rest of the weekend.”
“What about the extra portable beds you brought in during the pandemic? Are they still in storage?”
“Not my department, but probably.”
John smiled. “I’ll check it out. I’m sure the ladies won’t mind sleeping in a closet if they have to.”
Chapter 26
While John was pulling whatever strings he had to pull, Annie texted Francine and Lucy about the surgery results and asked them to let Claire and Earl know. Then, because John was Annie’s hero, he once again saved the day with beds and linens and a supply closet that he set up as if it were a bedroom. He even procured a vase of fragrant pink roses that he’d coerced out of one of the nurses. According to John, they’d come from the nurse’s back yard, but she was happy to donate them to Annie and Meghan. He was Annie’s hero, indeed. But though Jane Austen might have been proud, Annie found the idea a little worrisome, not knowing what it meant, if anything, about their future.
Before one o’clock in the morning, she and Meghan were nestled in the closet, each in a twin bed that was remarkably comfortable. They set the roses on a wire rack that held boxes of latex gloves and surgical masks and agreed that they added a nice touch. Yes, Annie mulled, John had done a good deed.
So had Francine; she’d put a change of clothes and a few toiletries in Annie’s canvas bag and had thought to include Annie’s laptop and charger. The girl knew well what would be most important if Annie was sequestered for a day or two.
After saying good night to Meghan, Annie closed her eyes and willed sleep to come. It did not. Instead, her mind started spinning again, that time with thoughts of Simon. She wondered if he was sleeping in the cottage. If she were him, she’d be holed up in the other twin bed in Bill’s room. Or somewhere remote up in Aquinnah.
Then she remembered the explosion: the sound—as if the world had blown up. The gunshot: the reverberation—as if an earthquake had shaken the cottage. And Kevin’s blood: the stain—the floor of her beautiful bedroom now marred forever by this awful night. She sucked in her cheeks, clenched them between her teeth, and tried not to cry out.
