On the way to the Inn, Annie realized she’d never seen Francine angry; the young woman seemed to hold her anger inside, perhaps letting it fester, perhaps not. For as well and as long as Annie had known her, she couldn’t be sure. Then again, after their friendship had blossomed, Francine often said she hadn’t been as happy as she was now since before her mother died. Until she’d come to the Vineyard, she’d gone through an empty, lonely time, which had been complicated by toting a baby in a basket.
After settling in on the island, maybe she’d been too happy to be angry about anything.
Annie would have bet that Francine was angry now. Irate, furious, livid at Jonas, the father of her unborn baby. She didn’t speak on the short trip. She simply sat as rigid as when she’d been standing, as if she were afraid that, if she moved a muscle, she would erupt, a volcano on Chappaquiddick, splaying boiling lava across the dunes and the meadows and the ponds.
Before turning onto North Neck Road, Annie eyed her phone; still no text from John. She remembered when Murphy’s twins had disappeared; they’d been around four years old. Texting was in its infancy back then; neither Murphy nor her husband, Stan, had cell phones that provided it or software that could have tracked them. A few neighbors had gathered to help in the search; Annie had been the one who’d found them. It was springtime; they were under the forsythia bush, “camping out,” as the older twin, Danny, expressed it. The branches of full, yellow blossoms had grown straight up, then arced down to the ground, creating a near perfect dome that left plenty of space underneath for two small boys to disappear into with their Matchbox cars and a bag of Skittles. “We weren’t hiding,” Danny, who now, amazingly, was about to become the astrophysicist, had explained matter-of-factly.
It had been a happy ending. But it had been in the daytime, not in the dark. And the suburban home in Brookline didn’t have the ocean in the backyard.
In the distance, the floodlights smoldered through the fog. “Lots of people are looking for her,” she said softly. “I think John called every police officer and every islander he knows.”
Francine didn’t respond.
And then the road curved and the vehicles appeared: scores of pickups, SUVs, and vans were parked willy-nilly on both sides of the one-lane dirt road, as if it were August and this was the ferry queue.
Beside her, Francine shifted ever so slightly.
Annie aimed the Jeep toward a small aisle between the vehicles.
“Stop the car,” Francine suddenly said. “I can walk faster than you can drive.”
Annie stopped and let her out.
Francine crossed in front of the Jeep, her head straight, her legs fast-clipping in mechanical motion, a soldier advancing to the front line, propelled by determination.
Annie wilted. She puffed out her cheeks and started to cry the pent up emotion that had been building since Jonas arrived at the school and asked if Bella was with her.
“Oh, God,” she said to no one in particular, not to Murphy, not even to God, really. Then she knew that she, too, must propel herself forward. But while Francine was moving on adrenaline, Annie needed to march ahead with common sense. A level head. With a priority to support Francine . . . no matter what.
So she continued to drive on to the Inn. There were no spaces left in which to park the Jeep, so she stopped in the middle of the road. Let the others figure out how to get around her. She had work to do.
Chapter 23
It was so easy, it’s sick.
But it happened fast. Like I was dreaming.
How was I supposed to know she’d be right there—sitting all alone, playing with her dolls—with no one else around?
Is it any wonder I couldn’t resist?
I’d left the toys and stuff in the car. I wanted to see if she was there before I brought them to her.
“Bella!” I whispered as I bent down, all the while grinning, not believing she was really there. “I’ve been looking for you.” Then, before I knew I was going to say it, I said, “We’re going for a little ride! Okay?”
She didn’t say no. To be honest, she didn’t say anything. She looked at me as if she were a little confused, but then she held her arms out, so I picked her up.
Then I spotted what I figured must be her jacket and hat and stuff hanging up near the back door, so I grabbed them, and off we went!
I didn’t get a car seat because I really just wanted to see her. I thought that would be enough. Until I walked into the Inn, and there she was . . . mine for the taking.
When we got into the van, I snapped the regular seat belt around her and gave her one of the books I bought her. And she was fine. I went slow so she wouldn’t be scared, and, anyway, once you’re outside Edgartown, there’s not much traffic in December.
And, like I said, it felt like I was dreaming.
I didn’t notice till we got to the cabin that she’d brought her teddy bear. I was glad because it would be nice for her to have.
Wow. This day turned into such a surprise. I’m not sure what to do next. I only wish that she’d stop asking me where Mommy is.
