Thankfully, Kevin interrupted before temptation overruled Annie’s better judgment.
“I’m on my way to Vineyard Haven to pick out bath fixtures,” he said.
As far as she could tell, he wouldn’t need those for a while. “A little early for that, isn’t it?”
“I wanted you to come with me. I was going to treat you to lunch at the Barn. But I can tell you’re busy.”
Annie always seemed to be the one in need; Kevin rarely asked for anything. So, without hesitation, she wiped her hands on her apron, unknotted the tie, and set it on the workbench.
“Your timing is perfect,” she said. “I need a break.”
“Thanks. Because otherwise you might be forced to watch me explode.”
That’s when Annie noticed he looked bleary-eyed, as if he hadn’t slept, and that his usually cheerful face was anything but. As he turned and went out the door, she snapped off the radio, grabbed her phone, purse, and jacket, and was right behind him.
Chapter 8
This place is perfect. It has a nice big room with a fireplace and a little kitchen, plus two small bedrooms and a bathroom. It’s furnished with things that are old but look okay: a plaid couch and matching chair, a worn leather recliner, a small table. There are sheets and towels in a closet, so whoever owns it must rent it in summer.
Best of all, there are woods all around. The land is thick with pine trees and some other things that haven’t lost their leaves, so the cabin’s well hidden. And the other driveways I saw on my way in look like they lead to summer cottages, so I don’t think anybody else will come down the road this time of year.
Not that it matters. I won’t be here very long.
And then I won’t ever have to come back.
Chapter 9
“Talk to me,” Annie said.
They sat in a large booth in the busy restaurant; since they’d climbed into his pickup, Kevin still hadn’t told her what was bugging him. They’d gone to Vineyard Haven first; he loaded the truck bed with lots of boxes and more crates. Then they backtracked to the big brown barn in Oak Bluffs that was also a bowling alley and bistro, hence its official name, the Barn Bowl & Bistro.
Through the wall of glass behind her brother now, Annie had a bird’s-eye view of the bowling lanes. She knew that before Kevin had hooked up with Taylor, he’d spent a lot of evenings there, often finding someone to play a string or two with him. On Monday nights, especially in winter, he seemed to like going for board game night. Kevin loved to be around people; he liked both working hard and having fun. Unlike Annie, who leaned toward overthinking almost everything, Kevin had inherited their mother’s optimistic outlook and usually took life as it came. Which was another reason why the fact that he still hadn’t shared his problem was puzzling.
He sipped his beer. He set down the bottle, picked up his spoon, and made swirl designs in the bowl of chili parked in front of him. The longer he stalled, the more unnerving Annie found it. Then the table started to shimmy; she knew he must be jiggling his leg. She pressed her palms on either side of her place setting to try to stop her French onion soup from slopping out of its crock. She prayed for patience.
“We were gone four days,” he said suddenly, finally. “Counting two for travel. Sunday. Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday. Now we’re back on the Vineyard, and I’m living with a stranger.”
The fact that Taylor could be defined as strange wasn’t news to Annie. Then she realized maybe he meant Taylor’s brother.
“Rex?”
Kevin harrumphed as if he were an old man. “His name is Theodore Whitcomb Winsted. The Whitcomb was his mother’s maiden name.”
“And the Rex came from . . . ?”
“He was a giant kid. You might have noticed he’s a big guy now.”
“Well. Yes.” She grew annoyed at how Kevin continued to stir his chili, and at the way he was making the table wobble. He did not, however, seem aware he was doing either.
“Taylor said he was so much bigger than the other kids in elementary school, some of them called him ‘T Rex,’ like the dinosaur, you know?”
Yes, Annie knew.
“The Rex part stuck.”
“Oh.” She doubted that the etymology of Rex’s name was why Kevin was upset. “So . . . is he living in the garage apartment now? Is he planning to stay?”
“He’s in the spare bedroom and refuses to go to the garage. I have no idea how long he intends to stay. In fact, my wife hasn’t told me much of anything, except the bit about his name.”
