“The same way that, like my mother, you’ve probably forgotten to eat today. Which is why I brought vittles. Cheese-and-avocado paninis. Not exactly Thanksgiving food, but I figured one will keep your taste buds hankering for turkey tomorrow.”
“Hankering,” she said. “What a great word.”
He rolled his pearl-gray eyes the way Lucy rolled hers. And as Earl often did, too, though his eyes were brown, while John’s and Lucy’s were clones of Claire’s.
Annie followed him into the kitchen, where Claire was sitting at the island, relishing a sandwich.
“Here’s the deal,” John said after he poured glasses of water. “I’ll bring the girls to the boat and meet you in the lot. Do you still have the car seat for Bella?”
“I do. It’s even still hooked up in the back seat.” She bit into the sandwich and slowly chewed.
“Good. You’ll be able to pick up Francine, Jonas, and Bella. I’ll have room for Kevin and Taylor and all the suitcases. Then we’ll meet at Taylor’s. I assume that’s where Francine and Jonas will stay?”
Gesturing that she had no idea, Annie said, “Unless something’s changed since they left.”
“Changed how?” Claire interrupted. “Is something wrong?” Claire was a fussbudget who was always concerned about those she called family.
“Not that I know of,” Annie replied. “So, yes, I expect they’ll stay at Taylor’s.”
“Oh, please,” Claire said, setting down her sandwich and folding her hands as if in prayer. “Please let everyone be all right.”
“Stop it, Mom,” John said. “Everyone’s fine. Except Abigail, who’s pissed about having to wait until the five o’clock boat, because it cuts into the time she’ll have with her boyfriend. Like that’s my fault. Anyway, she said she hates me and stomped out of the house.”
“She’ll get over it,” Claire said as she resumed chewing. “As I recall, you hated me plenty of times when you were young.”
“No, I didn’t, Mom. And at eighteen, I sure as hell didn’t bring home a girl and expect that you and Dad would let us have a sleepover.”
Annie ate in silence, listening to the lighthearted chatter and wondering if it was going to be possible for her to be a patient stepmother to willful Abigail.
* * *
The parking lot at the boat was Thanksgiving holiday crazy. Both vehicle check-in booths were open, with the ticket checkers hollering “Lane six,” “Lane three,” “Lane eight” over the din, directing cars and trucks to the pre-boarding queues that were rapidly filling up. Suitcases ground across the pavement as people walked every which way, clutching bags of last-minute snacks from the Black Dog Bakery next door or the Stop & Shop across the street. Dogs barked, children shrieked, gulls dive-bombed the crowd, hunting for scraps of anything edible. It reminded Annie of summer, except that the mob now wore down jackets and hats with earflaps, as if they were expecting a nor’easter.
The three forty-five hadn’t yet arrived from across the sound.
Inching the Jeep through the narrow pick-up, drop-off area, Annie could not find an open slot. She drove out to Water Street, but the few parallel-parking spaces were taken, as were those in the public lot. She turned onto Union and went up to Main Street; if there wasn’t room there, she’d swing onto State Road, head up to Park-n-Ride, and take the shuttle back to the boat.
As she considered her options, an SUV miraculously backed out of a spot in front of Rainy Day gift shop. Annie gave a thumbs-up to the driver, then slid between the white lines.
“Hallelujah,” she said as she checked the time on her phone: 4:21. She texted John: PARKING IS HIDEOUS. I’M ONMAIN. YOU MIGHT NEEDP-N-R. Then she grabbed her purse, jumped out, and headed back down the hill on foot, texting Kevin as she went, alerting him she’d be at the terminal entrance.
By the time she crossed the street and stepped onto the sidewalk, theIsland Homehad rounded the jetty and was gliding into the harbor, its massive size and stark white beauty evoking detectable awe through the crowd. It was clear that Annie wasn’t alone in thinking that the sight of the “lifeline to the island,” as it was called, was somewhat magical.
Finally, the big boat docked and the deboarding process began. Like Annie, those who were there to pick up friends or relatives stood first on one foot, then the other, their necks craned, their eyes darting around, searching for familiar faces.
Her mane of vibrant auburn hair made Kevin’s wife, Taylor, easy to spot. Annie waved both arms and, within seconds, she was greeting the four adults and holding Bella.
Then John called. He said he’d dropped off the girls and Restless, his dog, and parked at the Tisbury Police Station, across the street. Annie hadn’t realized that, of course, he could park there. She also hadn’t been aware that the sweet black, white, and brown, part Bernese mountain dog, part something anonymous, would be going to Plymouth, too.
Leaving Kevin and Taylor to wait for the luggage cart to roll off the freight deck, Annie told them to stay put until John crossed the street to help convey the bags, while she, Francine, Jonas, and Bella buckled up and headed to Chappy.
Finally, they broke free from the dance of holiday revelers, and life began to feel almost normal again.
* * *
The sun was fully set by the time Annie reached Edgartown Road, and her passengers had settled in for the twenty-odd-minute drive to the Chappy Ferry—theOn Time. Bella had fallen asleep in her car seat; Jonas sat quietly beside her with one hand protectively positioned on the armrest. Francine was in the front passenger seat, rambling on about the flights, the wait in Philadelphia, the bus trip from Logan.
“We’re exhausted,” she said.
