* * *
Annie should have spent Saturday returning to her priority of wrapping and packing. Instead, she stayed in bed with John, who was off duty until Monday. He offered to help her cut soaps or pack them or whatever she needed, but Annie said if she couldn’t take a day off to be with him, what was the point in living?
He laughed and pulled the comforter over their heads, which Annie told him made her miss Restless, his furry dog, who no doubt was protecting Lucy up in Plymouth.
Though their busy schedules made leisure days practically nonexistent, they were the ones that Annie cherished most. Somehow rigid, coplike John brought out a playful side in her that she never wanted to let go of.
Annie had amassed enough Thanksgiving leftovers to hold them through the weekend, and, best of all, no one bothered them. No calls, no texts, no knocks on the cottage door. And though her mind often wandered to how the troops could possibly be handling things at the Inn without her, she was having too much fun to get up, get dressed, and go looking for trouble. Until Sunday afternoon when she no longer could stand being so content.
“I have to find Francine,” she announced when they sat at the tiny kitchen table, finishing the turkey potpie that Claire had made on Friday before they’d gone into seclusion.
John laughed. “Tomorrow, right?”
She shook her head and tried to look coquettish, though she doubted she was succeeding. “I’m worried about her, John. She’s afraid she’s going to die of an infection after the baby’s born—the way her mother did. I need to try and nip that in the bud because she still has five months to go.”
“You’ve become such a mother hen. And I mean that in a good sense.”
“I grew up in the city, John, where people kept to themselves. I only had my parents and one grandmother. I had an Aunt Sally, but she and her husband moved away—which is another story I’ll share with you someday. We had neighbors and friends, but not like here. I like having people to watch out for.”
He shook his head that time, as if he’d spent his whole life doing that, and that it wasn’t quite the fantasy that she imagined. “Were you a lonely kid?”
“No. I didn’t know the difference.” She wasn’t going to tell him that loneliness had consumed her after Brian died. That was her other life—one of them, anyway. John knew the basics, but she saw no need to weigh him down with gloomy details. She smiled and brought the dishes to the sink; she’d had enough turkey for another year. “Before I track her down, I’d better take a shower.”
“And I suppose I could go back to Edgartown and rest up for my Monday-morning shift.”
Then, suddenly, he was behind her, urging the tie of her thick terry robe to come undone and slide to the floor.
And Annie didn’t get to see Francine, and John didn’t leave for Edgartown, until dinnertime.
* * *
“We’re having Chinese tonight,” Francine announced when Annie found her later in the kitchen of the Inn. “Jonas went to pick it up. Do you and John want to join us? I think we ordered too much.”
Annie patted her stomach. “Not all of us are eating for two,” she said with a gentle smile. “And, to be honest, I’m fooded out.”
“Fooded? Is that a word?”
“It is now. I make up new ones whenever possible.” She glanced into the chef’s room. “Where’s Bella?”
“Upstairs napping. I put the baby monitor on. I think she’s confused about all the changes in the past few days. We went from Minnesota to Earl’s and now we’re at the Inn. The poor kid probably wakes up without a clue where she is.”
“And you?” She pulled out one of the high stools at the island in the center of the room. “Are you doing okay?”
Francine told her she’d decided to stay at the Inn because she wanted to sleep in the same bed as Jonas, which they couldn’t do at Earl and Claire’s.
“I missed him,” she said. “So I thought we’d stay here while you and John were in the cottage. We’ll go back to Earl’s tomorrow.” She folded her hands across her tiny baby bump and raised her big, dark eyes. “And before you ask, no, I haven’t told Jonas about my aunt’s request. Not yet.”
“It’s up to you, honey. Whatever makes you comfortable.”
Then John arrived, even though he’d just left, and his reappearance put an end to the conversation. “Guess who I ran into at the ferry,” he said. Behind him came Jonas, carrying two large bags that scented the room with something unmistakably sweet and sour. Or fried rice. Maybe dumplings.
“Join us?” Jonas asked.
John said he hadn’t had Chinese in ages, so before Annie knew it, the four of them sat down to yet another meal. Being with Francine and Jonas—hearing them laugh, watching loving glances crisscross from one to the other—dispelled Annie’s worries about them. Or at least it did until she felt familiar arms suddenly reach out and softly hug her. They did not feel like John’s arms but Murphy’s.
Chapter 10
In the morning, Annie and John bumped against each other while they hurried to get ready for the day; Annie had told Francine to sleep in as long as Bella did, that she’d tend to breakfast for their tenants, which was far easier off-season than in summer, with oatmeal, yogurt, and muffins replacing Francine’s elaborate brunchlike casseroles and quiches, served with heaps of ham or bacon and thick slices of homemade toast slathered with butter.
