“The doctor wants to wait until tomorrow morning to wake him up.”
Annie asked as she took the chair next to her, “I suppose the longer he sleeps the better he’ll heal . . . ?” Had Doctor Mike explained it that way? Or had Annie made it up? She decided it wasn’t important; what counted was that Kevin hadn’t needed another surgery. So far.
Meghan shrugged. “Supposedly, he’s stable, and his vital signs are strong. The doctor isn’t expecting any problems, but he did say when it comes to the body—especially with trauma—they can never be a hundred percent sure. But I know that from experience.”
Annie put her arm around her. “The doctors here know what they’re doing, too. Kevin will be fine. I believe that.” Right then, she actually did. “Why don’t we go back to the Inn and get a good night’s sleep? We can come back early. Did he say what time they’ll wake him up?”
“Seven o’clock.”
As Taylor had pointed out, the first trip off Chappy wasn’t until six forty-five. In spite of that early hour, chances were they wouldn’t make it to the hospital and upstairs by seven.
She thought about texting John to ask if he could pull a few strings. But Winnie’s words echoed: “Give it time.” So Annie called Earl instead.
“Be at the dock at six,” he said. “I guarantee someone will be there to bring you across. It might be me in a kayak, but I’ll get you there.”
What with Winnie and now Earl, they might get through this after all.
But when they got back to the Inn, Annie’s optimism faded when she saw the light burning in her cottage. For some reason, she’d really hoped that, though John had told Simon to stay on the island, he had found other accommodations.
* * *
Deciding that in order to keep a modicum of well-being, right then Annie also needed to give the situation with Simon some time. So she summoned all her courage, looked away from her cottage, got out of the Jeep, and followed Meghan through the back door of the Inn where she intended to put together a quick and healthy meal. She did not expect to see a large shopping bag on the kitchen counter.
There’s more in the refrigerator, an accompanying note read. It was signed Claire and Lucy, with several X’s and O’s under their names. The bag was stuffed with freshly baked brownies, a batch of peanut butter cookies, a loaf of home-baked sourdough bread (which must have been Francine’s doing), a box of oyster crackers, and a bottle of Chardonnay. A quick peek in the refrigerator revealed barbecued chicken breasts and thick slices of ham; pasta salad, broccoli, cole slaw, and potatoes au gratin; and a large container of creamy clam chowder.
“Enough to feed all our guests and residents for a week,” Meghan said with a small laugh. It felt like days since Annie had heard her laugh.
“The intention is more than enough to lift my spirits,” Annie said.
“Mine, too. I might have a slice of bread and a small piece of chicken . . .”
Annie retrieved clean plates from the dishwasher just as Francine scooted in from the great room.
“How is he?” she asked.
“The same,” Meghan said.
“Stable,” Annie added. “But they won’t wake him up until tomorrow morning.”
“So will you sleep over the workshop again tonight?”
“I suppose so.” She took utensils from a drawer and set them next to the plates.
“Don’t forget that the honeymoon suite’s available. It might be good to pamper yourself a little. Get you prepared for the future, you know?”
How had it happened that Francine had missed the grapevine about John needing a break? Or perhaps she had but was being optimistic. Annie sighed. Then she realized that, yes, she could do with some pampering . . . a nice, warm Jacuzzi, a giant, comfortable bed . . .
“Okay,” she said before she started to dwell on John. “I’ll take it. Shall I change the sheets?”
Francine smiled. “Everything’s ready for you. All you need are your jammies and whatever you’ll want for the morning.”
Annie could have kissed her. So she did, right on her forehead. “I have those, thanks to the bag you brought to the hospital for me. But I’d like to get clothes for tomorrow. Maybe I’ll run down to the workshop now; we’ll be leaving for the hospital early in the morning. Meghan, help yourself. And if you don’t mind, I’ll have what you’re having. Maybe with a little pasta salad on the side. And a cookie. Francine? Can you stay? Will you join us for food and wine?”
“Absolutely.”
And Annie was reminded that no matter what was going on, life was best when love was shared.
With an unexpected surge of happiness, she rushed from the Inn and headed toward the workshop. On her way, she glanced over at the cottage where the light still glowed; it would be a decent human gesture if she updated Simon on Kevin’s condition. After all, chances were the guy was still upset from having shot someone. They could talk about Andrew Simmons tomorrow. Or the day after that. Or never, if he didn’t want to.
