“Annie,” John said. Then he paused.
Ordinarily, his pause might have been disturbing, might have stirred up her insides. But her senses were still dulled from the night and the day to evoke any more emotion.
“I’m sorry for everything that’s happened,” John said. “Most of all, I’m sorry for being a jerk.”
She supposed he was referring to their relationship. “We all need a break sometimes, John. Even me.”
It was so hot the gulls weren’t bothering to squawk; the drawbridge seemed too lazy to rise up; there was no breeze to filter the buzz from jet skis on the Tisbury side of Lagoon Pond. It was as if everything and everyone was either cooling in the water or at home in front of a fan.
“Is it too late to say I made a mistake? That I overreacted because of Abigail, who’s known how to push every one of my buttons since the day she was born? Or because I’m jealous about a guy I’ve seen on TV for years but have never met? Or because last night I realized how much you’ve been going through, and how I’ve been so stuck in my own crap that I haven’t been very nice to you—of all people?”
She didn’t know how to answer. It might be the perfect time to tell him about Abigail’s assertion that he was going back to Jenn, and to ask if it were true. Or she could turn toward him, lean into him, kiss him, and say that everything would be fine. But her numbness felt as if the weight of a thousand concrete squares like those in the garden were parked solidly upon her chest. And she felt nothing else.
“John,” she said. “I appreciate what you said. Honestly, I do. But right now . . .” From out of nowhere, or from out of everywhere, tears came again. She wrapped her arms around her waist and hugged herself.
He kept the distance of about two feet between them. But he reached over and brushed back her hair. “I was afraid you decided you don’t want to marry me,” he said. “We hardly see each other anymore. And when I said I needed to take a break, I didn’t mean for you to think I don’t want to marry you. Or that I don’t . . . love you.”
Choosing her words carefully, then wondering why she needed to do that, Annie said, “I can’t talk about this right now. Can you understand that? I can’t think about anything except Kevin. Okay?” She looked out at the harbor, wishing one of the big boats was coming or going so she’d have something to focus on other than her feelings, or rather, her lack of them right then.
John stood up. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his uniform. Which was when Annie realized he was, in fact, in uniform, and he’d be on his way to work soon. Four to midnight. Or later if summer got out of hand.
“I keep thinking about him, too, you know.”
No, Annie thought. She hadn’t known.
“I guess I’ve said what I needed to say,” he added. “I’ll check in later. To see how he’s doing. Unless you don’t want me to.”
It was an odd thing for him to say. Or maybe it wasn’t. “I’ll be here,” she said.
Then he left.
And she stared down at the cement squares again.
* * *
The rest of the afternoon was a blur of people and nurses and hushed conversations in the ICU waiting room. Lucy came with Claire. Francine came without Jonas, which was understandable. By then, most people must have heard the truth about the Inn’s enigmatic guest Meghan, aka Mary Beth Mullen, aka Kevin’s wife. Jonas must be torn between his friendship with Kevin and loyalty to his mother. Annie hoped it hadn’t caused a rift between Francine and him.
Winnie, blessed Winnie, came, too. She suggested that Annie and Meghan get out of the hospital and go for a drive with her before sunset; Meghan politely declined, but Annie agreed. Life, after all, always felt safe when she was with Winnie.
They went to West Chop, not far from the hospital, yet removed from the whispers of people and the hums of machines and the faint scent of disinfectant.
Standing at the tip of the chop, where the west side of the Vineyard sloped south toward Aquinnah, they watched the sun deliver its end-of-day spectacle. Annie gazed at the green mounds of the Elizabeth Islands and told Winnie about John’s visit and his apology and her reaction, or rather, her non-reaction. She could have predicted her friend’s reply.
“Give it time,” her friend said. “Making important decisions when life is in turmoil often yields regrets.”
The only breeze of the day flittered past them then. Or maybe it was Murphy, underscoring Winnie’s wisdom.
In addition to advice, Winnie also had brought wine. Annie allowed herself a small glass; she sipped it slowly, savoring the taste and the way it helped melt her anxiety. She then told Winnie what she’d found out about Simon, though, in truth, it hardly mattered now. At some point that day, her interest in the mystery had slipped away. At least for the moment.
Winnie listened. She was good at that.
After an hour, Annie felt better.
But when she arrived back at the hospital, said good-bye to Winnie, and returned to the second floor, Annie’s mood shifted again. Meghan was alone in the waiting room, her head down, the calves of her legs swinging back and forth.
“Meghan?” Annie asked. “What’s wrong?” Her palms began to perspire.
Meghan lifted her beautiful face, her cheekbones chiseled like an ancient goddess’s, though her eyes had faded in the twilight that now seeped into the room.
