“Annie?” Simon said.
She stopped. She turned around.
“Thanks for not calling me Andrew.”
Under other circumstances, his admission might have been confounding. But basically he’d validated Annie’s discovery, and she couldn’t resist giving him a tiny smile. Then she gestured thumbs-up and continued on her mission to get clothes, and he perhaps went back to “touching up” the floor.
* * *
The Jacuzzi was incredible. After a glass of wine, a little dinner, and a lot of girl talk, Francine shooed Annie and Meghan upstairs to their rooms so she could tidy the kitchen. It was only ten o’clock, but morning would come soon enough—earlymorning, in order to catch the “custom-scheduled” ferry, as Earl called it when he’d phoned to say it was arranged.
However, with the night ahead of her, Annie wasn’t yet ready to try and sleep. Instead, she luxuriated in the churning water that slowly massaged her aching muscles. She added a few dashes of lavender oil that Winnie once told her was the best antidote to a difficult day.
Closing her eyes, allowing the bubbling jets and the scent to soothe her, Annie thought about how much she’d missed not having been able to gather herbs and wildflowers that summer; not having been able to craft her soaps: beach roses and cream, buttercup balm, fox grape and sunflower oil, and more. Her favorites were violets and honey, and her newest creation, snowdrops, both of which were unique discoveries that she’d blended with a good dose of imagination. She missed wrapping each bar in the collection in pastel netting, tying it with coordinating ribbon, and adding a label that read,Soaps by Sutton. Each time a customer purchased one (more often they bought three or four), Annie felt as proud as if she’d sold one of her books. The most important aspect of her life now was to do things that brought joy to others, whether through calming, sudsy scents or giving her readers permission to curl up with what she hoped they’d feel was an engaging mystery.
Until she’d moved to the island, though, she had no idea that real, not made-up, mysteries would permeate her days.
When Kevin had learned that his big sister was an author, he wondered if writing could be genetic, and if so, he thought he should try his hand at it because he said that sitting around all day, making stuff up, must be a lot easier than building buildings.
It hadn’t been long, however, before he decided not to try writing a book after all. He said he had enough trouble putting together an intelligent email.
As time went on, he’d finally shared the details about Meghan, about how “ripped up” he’d been about the accident, and about his guilt.
“The weather had been lousy all month, and we’d lost a lot of time,” he’d explained. “That day, the forecast was for more snow; I asked her to stay home.” But he said that, in addition to being great builder, she had a “fierce head” for the bottom line; she was determined to finish before Christmas in order to meet the deadline and ensure final payment by the end of the year. “She also heard that the client was planning another mall on the South Shore,” he’d continued. “She wanted us to get the job. So even though I begged her not to, even though I told her the last thing we needed was another job that size, she wouldn’t listen. That’s why she was on that damn scaffolding when the wind kicked up and the whole damn thing collapsed. I never should have allowed her to be up there.”
He’d also said it had taken him a while to believe the doctor’s prediction that she wouldn’t recover.
He’d never mentioned whether or not he’d learned she’d been pregnant. Or if his guilt had turned to anger because she’d taken such a risk. Perhaps the doctors hadn’t told him about the baby. Maybe Donna had told them not to.
The irony, however, was that now the situation had been reversed: Meghan was the one waiting for Kevin to recover.
A gruesome twist of fate. A dreadful coincidence.
As Annie smoothed the lavender water over her arms and legs, the wordcoincidencelingered a breath too long, swinging her thoughts back to Simon. She now was fairly certain it had not been a coincidence that Simon had come to the Vineyard, to the Inn. The only piece still missing was why.
Tomorrow evening would be interesting. Perhaps he only wanted to apologize for dissing her years before, for upsetting the young widow more than she already was. As if there could have been any chance of that.
Suddenly, the comforting bath lost its dreamy allure; the water had gone cold.
She turned off the jets, opened the drain, and got out of the tub, knowing that if Kevin woke up in the morning without complications, she would be happy beyond measure. And that any mea culpa Simon might later impart would almost not matter; it would not be able to rattle her joy.
But if anything bad happened to Kevin . . .
She grabbed the thick terry towel and held it to her face, trying to snuff out any tears before they dared to start. Then she slipped into her nightgown and went straight to bed.
That night she dreamed she heard Donna calling out to her.
* * *
Sunrise in the third week of August came early to Chappaquiddick: it officially occurred at the same time Annie’s Jeep rolled onto theOn Time. She’d packed a Thermos of coffee, two slices of Lucy’s fresh sourdough bread, and a small container of strawberry jam made from this summer’s crop. It wouldn’t be much of a breakfast—not compared with the ones Francine was growing famous for—but Annie figured that she and Meghan at least would have coffee to help them stay alert.
Meghan looked pretty in a pale aqua linen sundress and white, skinny-strap sandals. When Annie complimented her, she said the outfit belonged to Francine, who’d let her borrow it so she’d look extra special for her husband. Annie nodded and agreed that Francine was thoughtful.
It was the last bit of conversation they had for a while; there would be plenty of time for talking later.
The channel in the harbor was choppier than usual, which Annie supposed might be due to the early hour. As she recalled, Captain Fred had a wife and a grown daughter; she made a mental note to drop off a few of her soaps and perhaps her latest book at Fred’s house. Though Annie was certain Earl had given him a decent tip, it never hurt to do something personal.
She knew her mind had drifted from the purpose of their mission because it was less scary than thinking about where they were going and what was going—or not going—to happen. Whatever was playing out in Meghan’s mind she was keeping to herself as she sat, her head turned toward the window, either transfixed by the sunrise or frozen with fear, as Annie was—not only from the odds of what might happen when Kevin awoke, but also about how he’d react when he saw his wife.Ex-wife, Annie corrected herself.
