Annie wanted to ask, “Your brother let you give up your baby and go to a shelter?” But she knew better than to come between siblings.
“I paid Rex back with the Flanagans’ money. I paid off the mortgage on my parents’ house. I got a studio apartment and put myself through Berklee. I was amazed that they accepted me. For a few years I was okay. I loved playing in the symphony. But when my father got sick, my mother found me and, well, here I am. I thought my father would forgive me if I took care of him. But he said I owed him more than that for the shame I’d put them through.”
Annie ate a forkful of salad, trying to think of the right words to say next. It was true that the story sounded as if it took place in the fifties, not in the late nineties. She wondered how much had changed since then when it came to the dynamics in some families.
“My plan didn’t work,” Taylor added. “Or, at least, my father died before he forgave me. And it wasn’t long before the big check from Roger Flanagan was long gone.”
After a quick swallow, Annie said, “I’m so sorry, Taylor.”
The auburn eyebrows elevated again. “After my father died, my mother and I became friends again. So it wasn’t such a bad thing. And because I’d already paid off the house, I was able to support the two of us with my caretaking jobs on Chappy.”
Annie was reminded of the first time she’d seen Taylor. It had been a cold, wintry night; Annie and Earl had been combing Chappaquiddick, hoping to find the mother of the baby that had been left on Annie’s doorstep. As Earl turned his pickup down a narrow dirt road, they came across the caretaker of a seasonal estate. He was dressed in a heavy knit cap and an L.L.Bean parka, not unlike the one that Earl wore. Thankfully, Bella was tucked warmly and safely in her basket, which sat between Annie’s feet on the floor of Earl’s truck. Then, as the caretaker moved closer to Earl’s truck, he removed his cap and a mass of auburn hair tumbled out. As it happened, it was not a man but Taylor.
Pushing her plate away now, Taylor continued. “I didn’t know that my father changed his will, that he left the house to Rex. And only Rex. The old man really did hate me. I’ll never know if my mother had known about it. And if she’d agreed.”
Annie was stunned. “Oh, my God, are you sure?”
She nodded. “I never saw any paperwork—or the will. When my mother died, I just kept living there and paying the bills. The property taxes still have my father’s name on them; I guess no one at the town hall thought to fix it. And I never said anything because, in my mind, nothing had changed. Yesterday Rex called a lawyer, Sophie Johnson—the daughter of our parents’ original attorney, who’s dead now, too. Rex put Sophie on speaker and she confirmed it. Of course, Rex has known the truth all along. So I guess it’s true that most of us never get everything we want out of life.” She sighed again. “Please, don’t tell Kevin. I don’t want him to know yet.”
Annie did not want the responsibility of keeping something so important from her brother. But she also wanted to be friends with Taylor, so she said, “I won’t tell him if you don’t want me to.” She hoped it wasn’t a mistake.
It was Taylor who hesitated that time, perhaps weighing her losses. “Thanks. I was hoping Jonas would know he had a place on the Vineyard where his father had been happy. At least there’s the house on Maui. It’s run down now, but it was Derek’s, so Rex can’t get his big mitts on it.”
“And Jonas will have the house at the Inn, too,” Annie said. “As long as he and Francine stay here and don’t wander back to Minnesota.” As soon as she’d said it, Annie wished she could hit “delete.” She had no idea why that information had popped out of her mouth.
“Jonas and Francine won’t wander anywhere. Unless you know something I don’t.”
Annie returned to toying with her napkin. “No,” she said, forcing a smile. “I’m just so glad they’re here, I’m afraid they won’t want to stay forever.” She had no idea if that made sense.
Then she wondered that if the house on Chappy went to Rex, would Taylor and Kevin move to Hawaii . . . for good? Not just for the winters? And what about Jonas and Francine? Would they decide to live there, too? For someone who, until moving to the island, had always lived her life within five miles of the house where she’d grown up in Southie—South Boston—it was strange that housing concerns now occupied so much real estate in her brain.
It’s the Vineyard, Murphy whispered.Where housing drama is a tradition. Especially for single mothers like Taylor had been. And Francine.
Annie shushed her spirit friend. Then an idea begin to take shape—not a book idea, but a very different one. It was small in scope but might help spread a little cheer. And, more important, some hope to those who might need some.
Signaling the server for the check, Annie wasn’t trying to dismiss Taylor; instead she wanted to mull over her new thought.
* * *
In the twenty or so minutes it took to get from the Black Dog to the triangle in Edgartown, Annie decided that her new idea had merit. She told Taylor she needed to make a quick stop for a gift, then she ran into Granite—the “everything” store that was a seventy-five-year-old island staple—where she bought a dozen woven baskets with handles—about the same size as the one in which Bella had arrived when she’d been not much bigger than an infant.
Once they were back on Chappy, Taylor climbed into her old pickup and headed home. And Annie quickly ducked into her cottage and powered up her laptop. She knew she should be in the workshop tending to her soaps, but her new project now felt more important.
She clicked on the file that listed participants in the Holiday Fair. Scrolling through it, she noted at least a dozen who might like to contribute to Annie’s “baskets” with their beeswax emollient bars, soy candles, all-natural healing balms, and more. Anything to help the recipients feel pampered. Annie would include a couple of her soaps, a gift certificate for a mani-pedi or a facial at an island spa of their choice, and a pretty, handmade alpaca scarf. Maybe there would also be room for extra treats: ajar of raw honey, a bag of locally roasted coffee, some fabulous sea salts, and, of course, Vineyard chocolates. She would contact the island support services for women and let them distribute the baskets anonymously to whomever they felt could benefit from some unexpected joy. Then Annie thought that, because her book sales had been good this year, she might donate the profits of her Holiday Fair soap sales to the support services. Yes, she thought with a small smile. And she’d do it all in honor of her dad.
She couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of it sooner.
Annie’s dad, Bob Sutton, had owned a small insurance company that he liked to say “specialized in helping families.” And he’d meant it. He’d been a kind man, often generous beyond his means, according to her mother. But her dad told Annie that some of the best Christmas fun was to be one of Santa’s Helpers, a local charity whose members collected gifts and donations from individuals and businesses and secretly distributed them on the Sunday night before Christmas to neighbors in need.
Starting when Annie was six years old, she’d gone with her dad on his rounds. By the time she was ten, she figured out that he’d been slipping extra gifts into his sack, and that he sometimes went to houses that weren’t on the official list.
“Don’t tell your mother,” he said with an impish twinkle when Annie questioned him.
That was the year they went to the tenement where Frankie Longworth lived, down by the railroad roundhouse, where the trains from Albany and Providence turned around before heading north or south or west, because the only thing left to the east was Boston Harbor.
Frankie and Annie were in the same classroom, grade four, Miss Topor. Some kids made fun of him because he had few clothes. In the fall, he wore a red plaid shirt; once the temperature dropped, on top of the shirt he wore a dark blue sweater that had red diamond shapes around the chest. Day after day, Frankie showed up at school wearing the same things. Annie remembered feeling sorry for him.
After they left the tenement that Sunday before Christmas, she told her dad about Frankie’s shirt and sweater. The next night after supper, her dad announced that he needed to shop for the three girls in his office; he asked Annie to come along. They bought small bottles of Shalimar cologne and Isotoner gloves. But while the clerk was gift-wrapping the purchases, Annie’s dad steered her to the boys’ department.
