Chapter 18
After leaving the restaurant, they went to John’s to show Lucy and Abigail the ring. Lucy was home; Abigail, however, had brought her boyfriend to the boat, which perhaps was just as well. Lucy was nearly delirious at the sight of Annie’s “swag,” as she called it.
Once back on Chappy, she climbed into bed. In less than ten minutes she began tossing and turning, like the lyrics of an old record her mother used to play. She held up her hand and watched the diamonds twinkle like starlight; she wondered how she’d been so lucky to be loved by such an awesome man. Then she tossed again, this time staring at the ceiling, worrying about the conversation she’d have with Trish, and, furthermore, the one she needed to have with awesome John. She didn’t think that being very rich was a priority for him, either, and the fact that Annie would be very busy would likely be upsetting.
Most of all, she was apprehensive about the phone call, because she had no idea what she should say to her editor. She tried to sort out the facts she already knew.
Fact one: If she could push away her utter panic long enough to write down every tidbit Trish could provide, at least Annie would be better equipped to list the pros and cons.
Fact two: The more she knew, the better chance she’d have to make a decision she’d want to live with.
Fact three: The better she felt about her decision, the easier it would be to tell John.
She thought about what to ask.
When would she be expected to start?
Should she finish the manuscript she’d already started?
How much time would she need to spend in California—and, as important—when? If it was in the summer, the Vineyard’s crazy season, Annie would have to decline. She couldn’t abandon Kevin, Francine, Earl, and everyone who depended on her to help make things happen. They were a team. They were the troops. And they needed one another.
She knew it was possible that she was merely too afraid of getting caught up in that other world again, the one across Vineyard Sound, over in America. Where there were big stores and all kinds of businesses and high-rise apartments and planes and trains and traffic lights and streets with lots of lanes, some coming, some going. Where there were too many people. Most of whom called it the real world.
If Murphy weren’t sleeping, she’d probably berate Annie for obsessing.
Annie sighed. She got out of bed, went to the kitchen, and made tea. She sat at her small table and wrote down her questions because she’d learned that middle-of-the-night thoughts often had a way of vanishing once the sun rose.
She thought she’d finalized her list when another idea surfaced: What if the series was expanded beyond a first season?
And then: What about her future ideas? Would they wind up being forty-five-minute episodes instead of three-hundred-page books? If so, was that what she really wanted?
She wrote those things down, too.
Then she went back to bed.
Morning came too early, as mornings often did. But now that Annie knew what to ask, and now that there would be eight hours before Trish called, she knew she needed to stop thinking about it. Wrapping and packing soap wouldn’t help distract her, because she’d be in the workshop alone, tediously working, with nothing to do with her mind except let it wander. Instead, she needed to do something completely different.
It seemed like the perfect time to relocate the mouse, if there really was one, from the chef’s room at the Inn. Dressed in old jeans and a sweater that her mother would have labeled “threadbare,” she went to the workshop where she knew Kevin kept a few no-kill mousetraps. To date, Annie didn’t think they’d needed them, but with the fields and woods and the beautiful meadow on the grounds, being prepared was a wise idea. After all, not all their guests would appreciate the Inn’s theme of “Vineyard Natural” in that kind of natural state.
She wondered how her brother was doing, and if he’d pretend to be speechless that Annie was tackling such a “manly” job as tracking down wildlife.
Then she laughed, because Kevin always made her laugh. Made her happy. Made her feel like she belonged.
She wondered what he’d have to say about Trish’s offer.
“Stop!” she cried aloud, as she often did when Murphy was not available.
Plucking two traps from the cabinet, she grabbed a pair of gloves and walked up to the Inn, went in the back door, and ran smack into Rex.
“Oh!” she eeked.
“Oh, yourself,” he replied, then brushed past her and went outside.
Annie supposed she should have asked what he was doing on the property. But when she went into the kitchen, Rose was standing there, looking bereft.
“Rose,” Annie said, “are you okay? Why was Rex here?”
Shaking her head a little, Rose simply slipped out of the room. For all Annie knew, they’d been having a romp upstairs in Rose’s room.
