Annie tried to coax him into thinking he should rest, that they could talk about this later. But he just shook his head, as if now that he’d started, there was no way that he could stop.
“She was pregnant when she fell. The baby died.” He let out a somber rush of air. “She was on the pill, so I don’t know how she got pregnant in the first place. I don’t think she fell on purpose, though. I don’t think she would have tried to have a miscarriage.” He fell silent a minute, then added, “I didn’t even know she was pregnant until after the accident. Until Meghan was in a coma, and the doctor told me he was sorry. But I never told anyone. Not even Mom.”
All Annie wanted then was to crawl into the bed in the next room, pull the sheet over her head, and make this go away. Like with other things, it wasn’t her place to tell him that Donna had known about the baby, that Meghan had told her. Maybe he’d learn all that some other day. Maybe not.
“I know you’ve never liked Taylor much,” he continued, “but she helped me come to terms with all of it. She showed me that maybe my marriage to Meghan hadn’t worked because our values and our needs weren’t the same. Neither one of us was wrong; we were just too different.”
And then his pain broke through—no surprise, Annie thought. She called for the nurse and asked if his meds could be increased, and the nurse said he was due for the next dose. So at least that was one miracle.
It wasn’t long before he drifted back to sleep, thank God, and Annie got out of there fast. As soon as she reached the hospital lot, she called Francine.
“I need to talk to Taylor,” Annie said, “but I don’t have her number. Do you? Or does Jonas, if you’re with him?”
“Sorry, I don’t, and I’m not with Jonas. But I know where she is. Jonas brought her to the boat. She’s on the three forty-five out of OB. How’s Kevin?”
“He’s okay. We talked. Where’s Taylor going?”
“Back to Hawaii. She got a flight for tonight. Do you want me to call Jonas?”
Annie didn’t know if Francine knew about the Hawaiian nuptials, but she didn’t want to put what might be a wedge into anyone’s relationship. So she said, “Never mind. But can you hold down the fort a little while longer?” It was already three fifteen. If Annie hurried, she could make it to Oak Bluffs before the three forty-five left port.
* * *
Annie jumped into the Jeep and peeled out of the hospital parking lot. Anywhere near the OB pier in August that close to boat time meant the traffic would be backed up and parking would be deplorable. Not to mention it was the Monday after the last big week of summer. Tourists would be leaving, having figured if they waited until the weekend was over the mass exodus would have lessened. Seasonal folks who had closed up their houses would be heading home, too. And everyone would be mingling with the day-trippers on bicycles who’d be grasping the green island maps they’d picked up at the terminal. But Annie knew she had to try. Because it absolutely, positively, was the right thing to do.
When she reached the area, it was every bit as jammed as she had feared. So she did what she never thought she would: she double-parked, got out, and locked the doors. If she blocked traffic, she didn’t care; if she was ticketed and fined an exorbitant amount, she didn’t care about that, either.
Tuning out everything and everyone around her, Annie zigged and zagged through the people and the vehicles while she mad-dashed up the sidewalk and down onto the pier where the line of walk-on passengers was backed up what looked like the length of a football field to the street. They stood four abreast, not counting their suitcases, bikes, and dogs, with no room to spare between the barrier on one side and the water on the other.
“Sorry!” she shouted repeatedly while weaving in and out. “Coming through! Emergency!” Most people accommodated her by stepping aside; she didn’t notice, or care, if anyone was upset—she was too preoccupied scanning the crowd for the telltale auburn mane.
And then she caught a glimpse of it far ahead: the hair was thick and long and shining in the sun, the color of deep ginger, careening back and forth as Taylor moved up the gangway. Which meant she had already handed off her ticket to the Steamship ticket-taker in the fluorescent yellow vest.
Cupping her hands to her mouth, Annie shouted, “Taylor! Stop!” The sea of people parted then; she raced ahead, saying “Thank you” in all directions until she reached the ticket-taker who stopped her from going farther. By then, Taylor was only a foot or so from stepping into the boat.
“Taylor!” she railed in one last effort.
But Taylor must not have heard, as the auburn mane vanished inside the doorway.
Annie stopped. If there had been a wall nearby, she would have slumped against it. The line moved politely around her and the passengers held out their tickets. And all Annie did was start to cry.
The man in the fluorescent yellow vest scanned another barcode. Then Annie heard him say, “You looking for Taylor Winsted?”
Lifting her head, she said, “Never mind. She just boarded.” Too distraught to explain why she’d caused such a scene, Annie turned and started to trundle back up the pier.
“Wait,” the ticket-taker called after her. “I’ll get her.”
Annie stopped. She quickly moved back to where he was busy on his walkie-talkie. She heard him say Taylor’s name, then add, “Yeah. The redhead.”
Less than thirty seconds later, Taylor was walking down the gangway. She stopped at the check-in spot. She looked summery and fashionable in a pastel, citrusy Hawaiian way. But her face was twisted in apprehension.
“Annie? What happened?”
“Kevin told me you got married.”
“He’s awake?”
“He is. He’ll be okay. Please don’t leave. Please stay until this can be sorted out.”
