Inside, the skinny aisles were skinnier than usual, thanks to myriad extra merchandise.
As she gingerly made her way toward the sewing section, a voice called out, “Annie! Merry Christmas!” It was Myrna, from Sweetwater Farm in Chilmark, who had taught Annie about making honey a couple of summers earlier. They did a how-are-you, what-are-you-doing-for-the-holidays exchange, then parted, just as Annie spotted Lottie from the Chappaquiddick Community Center.
She asked Lottie how she was, and they chatted about the upcoming Christmas Eve party at the center, which had been postponed until the day after Christmas because the timing conflicted with Annie and John’s wedding, which several residents would be attending.
At last, she reached the aisle of ribbons when, from the corner of her eye, she saw someone she thought she recognized. A double take confirmed that she was right; it was Abigail. She was standing in the housewares department with a tall, dark-haired boy with a neatly trimmed beard. The boyfriend, Annie supposed.
Because she was so darned curious, she tried to squint without getting caught. The boy, too, looked like someone she’d seen before, but Annie reasoned that, sooner or later, most year-round islanders looked familiar. Though Annie doubted that she knew him, one thing for certain was that he was standing close to Abigail. And they were giggling.
Annie ducked down the aisle before Abigail could notice her.
Moving straight to the ribbons, she quickly found three large rolls of what she needed. Ribbon was sold by the yard, but before taking them to be measured, she knew her behavior about Abigail had been ridiculous. Saying hello and having a chance to meet her boyfriend might be a good way to connect. But when Annie turned back toward housewares, they were no longer there.
Rather than look for them and lose time, she had the ribbon measured, then moved quickly to the checkout counter line. She kept an eye out but didn’t see them. She did, however, see Monsieur LeChance, a pleasant older man, an accomplished violinist who lived on Fuller Street and was in a quartet that Taylor had joined with her cello. The group played at several venues every summer.
Finally, Annie paid for her purchases and left the store. But when she crossed the lot toward the Jeep and started to open the driver’s door, she quickly saw something disturbing: the left front tire was completely flat.
She studied it a moment, trying to figure out what happened. But she wasn’t pleased with the thought that came to mind. She took a deep, slow breath.
Tires go flat all on their own, she tried to convince herself while standing on the asphalt, shopping bag in hand. It wasn’t as if Abigail would have punctured the tire. She was not a malicious girl.
Was she?
Just because she and Annie hadn’t meshed, it didn’t mean the girl would do something so . . . juvenile.
After staring at the tire for a couple of minutes—as if staring could inflate it back to life—Annie tossed her things inside and knew she’d have to change it. At least she’d developed some survival skills since moving to the island. But as she went to remove the spare from the rear cargo space, she remembered what she’d find: before she’d left the island for her book tour in September, she’d run over a nail on her way home from Winnie’s. Grateful that her spare tire was full-sized and not one of those doughnut things, she’d changed it on the side of the State Road, put the damaged one in the cargo space, and gone on her merry way, knowing she should have it fixed before she left. But Annie had run out of time. And she’d since forgotten, what with everything else.
So she had no spare tire.
She didn’t want to call John because he was on duty and this wasn’t a police emergency. She didn’t want to call Francine because she’d said she had schoolwork. She could have called Jonas, but he was probably babysitting for Bella or outside somewhere painting on Chappy. So Annie called Earl, the go-to guy. He told her to sit tight and that he’d be right over.
If Annie had known the kind of vehicle John had bought for Abigail, she would have strolled around the lot to check out the cars while she waited for Earl. She could have called Lucy and asked, but that would seem more than a little obvious. So, with the afternoon growing chilly, she went back into Granite and browsed for the twenty minutes it took for Earl to arrive and call to say he was outside in the lot.
“Sliced clean through,” he said when Annie joined him. “Looks like you ran over something with an agenda. Like a ferocious knife.”
It took all the self-talk Annie could muster not to tell him that she’d seen his granddaughter just before the tire met “something with an agenda.”
“I’ll get you home,” he added. “I already called John, and he’ll take care of this when he’s done with his shift. He’ll get a new tire on and a spare in the back that actually works. He’ll leave the Jeep at his place; you can get it tomorrow when you two go shopping or whatever you’re going to do.” He scratched his chin. “There’s nothing better than having a couple of men around to look after a fair damsel, is there?”
Annie groaned and got into his pickup before she had a chance to hear him chuckle.
And on the way back to Chappy, she no longer paid attention to how lovely the village looked in its finery: the town hall, the small cinema marquee, the cheery window at Edgartown Books—and the traditional white canvas banner strung between the rooftops across Main Street that heralded the upcoming weekend.
Instead, Annie was saying a silent prayer that the tire slicer had not been Abigail.
Chapter 16
I’ve thought about her lots of times, even though I was warned not to.
“What’s done is done,” they said, as if Bella didn’t exist. As if she weren’t family.
They’d be pissed if they knew what I’m going to do. But I don’t have to worry about that now.
I should have brought her a gift, something that might get her to like me. Maybe books or puzzles or something frilly for a girl. I could get her a musical toy, like a little keyboard or something where she can punch buttons and listen to kids’ songs. She might like that better.
If anyone asks, I’ll say I’m buying Christmas presents for a long-lost relative.
I suppose I should get a car seat, too, in case she wants to go for a ride. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that sooner.
