“Oh,” Annie said for what felt like the hundredth time.
“They talk, but if I walk into the room, they both shut up. Do you know how that makes me feel?”
She said she imagined it would be disturbing.
“Disturbing?” He harrumphed again. “Yeah, it’s like I’ve walked in on my wife cavorting with another man.”
Cavorting? She suppressed a smile at her brother’s word choice. Under other circumstances, she might have asked if he’d become part Victorian.
“Have you talked to Taylor about it?” Was something in the air preventing people from talking to their partners? Annie understood Francine’s reluctance to tell Jonas about her aunt and uncle’s request; after all, they were young and inexperienced. But Kevin? Good grief. What was stopping him from talking to his wife?
“I tried,” he said. “She said she and Rex have a few things to work out, and she doesn’t need my help. I asked, ‘My help?’ Like I’m not her husband and don’t want to know if she has a problem with her dinosaur brother?”
Annie tasted the soup not because she was hungry but because tasting, chewing, swallowing gave her something to do.
Then Kevin dived into his chili as if he’d just noticed it. Or maybe he felt as if he’d said all there was to say.
And Annie was reminded that even the happiest couples couldn’t always avoid troubled waters. She wondered if, at some point, that would happen to John and her.
Dismissing the thought, she asked if there was some way she could help. Kevin just shook his head.
“Okay,” she added. “But that’s a standing offer, in case you change your mind.”
He nodded, and they went back to eating their lunches, and did not talk again on the whole way back to Chappy.
* * *
Later that night, John stoked the woodstove. They turned off the lights and curled up on the love seat, their wineglasses forgotten on the end tables. Then, as if they were a longtime married couple, they shared the news about their days.
John had taken care of three minor traffic accidents—no injuries. He’d also followed up on a resident’s complaint that her neighbor’s chickens persistently kept wandering into her yard and making a mess. And he’d checked out a summer home where the front door was ajar though the owners lived in Sacramento and no one seemed to be around. His investigation didn’t turn up mischief—apparently the wind had blown the door open.
“Another exciting day in law enforcement,” he added.
Annie knew that though John was a detective sergeant, he did whatever was needed, especially in winter, when little was going on.
She told him she was making progress on getting her soaps ready for the Fair and that she’d gone to Vineyard Haven with Kevin and had lunch at the Barn. Once again, she refrained from mentioning Francine’s dilemma. She also failed to mention Kevin’s conundrum over his newly acquired brother-in-law. Though John might have been able to add some insight to both situations, Annie didn’t like gossipy natter. Besides, it was too nice to be together to bring other people’s problems into the mix.
But once John’s breath slowed into sleep, her mind slid back to Francine.
To Kevin-Taylor-Rex.
Even to Rose, whose reaction to Rex had been bizarre. At least the tray Annie had left showed up in the kitchen the morning after. No leftovers were on the dishes, so maybe Rose had enjoyed a Thanksgiving dinner and a slice of pumpkin pie.
Annie mused that she barely knew the older woman. When she’d signed the lease for the October-through-May “winter” rental, Rose had said she was from Maine, which would explain the license plates on her little Fiat and the fact that her rental check was drawn on a bank in Kennebunk. She’d also said she was retired, but had not elaborated.
Annie did notice that she went for long walks every day, often returning with her knitted handbag bulging. Annie had supposed there might be a book or two inside, something from the shelves at the Chappy Community Center. Or maybe a scone, a muffin, or one of Lucy’s cookies that Rose had snitched at breakfast. But now Annie wondered if the bag had been filled with rocks like those on the window seat. The act might have seemed more than a little odd, but on the island, few people bothered with “odd.” Instead, most things and most people were simply accepted.
Quirks aside, however, it was apparent that Rex Winsted had triggered a knee-jerk reaction in Rose. Annie knew there could be an emptiness, a dark side to being alone. Maybe she could help Rose overcome whatever was bothering her.
Drama, drama, drama, Murphy suddenly chimed in from somewhere up in the ceiling.You’ve been writing fiction far too long.
Annie’s eyes darted to John to make sure Murphy hadn’t woken him up . . . as if anyone but Annie could actually hear her.
As usual, Murphy remained undaunted.Do you think if you can learn the secrets of real people, you’ll create a more interesting story?
“Sssh,” Annie whispered. “Go away. Go to sleep.”
Murphy’s happy Irish laughter filled the room, and Annie dropped her chin, wondering if, indeed, she was confusing compassion for self-serving snooping.
