Chapter 34

Two months later

Annie turned her wheelchair away from the view of the door to the Manns’ house and back toward the bay. It was a breezy day, a little on the cool side, and the sun reflected bright light on the surface of the water. A single tear oozed from the corner of her eye and slid down her face.

“Have some tea, dear. You need a little something to tide you over before dinner.” Sybil pushed the steaming cup across the glass tabletop, then leaned back to caress the sling that held her other arm. She wiggled the fingers sticking out from the edge of the sling, and frowned. The broken collarbone was on the mend; it had all but healed; even the numbness in her hand was almost gone. She was better, but her sugar cookies had suffered in the meantime.

Sybil offered Annie one of the cookies and was not discouraged at her refusal.

Annie, too, was getting better. The young woman was at least walking a little bit now and improving every day. Soon enough, she would be fine, physically anyway. Her outlook was a little more stubborn. These things took time, but she was young and stronger than she thought, so maybe it wouldn’t be all that long.

The little yellow pills the doctor had given her would help ease the pain and bury the memories until Annie could better deal with them. When the anger emerged full force rather than in the drips and drabs now, Annie would do better still.

Mann coughed and sputtered, spraying liquid in small droplets across the table. “I hate flowers in my tea. Stupid little petals and disgusting yellow things that stick to your teeth like cement. Did you have hopes of being a rich dentist or something? Or maybe you’re just supporting one on the side.”

“Have a cookie, Winston. It’ll scrape off the flowers and restore the shine to your teeth.”

“Jeez, Syb. You know I hate flowers in my tea.”

“They’re for Annie. She needs the strength.”

A flicker of amusement crossed Annie’s face.

“See? Even she admits it. Don’t you, honey?”

“They’ll do in a pinch, I suppose,” Annie said, never looking away from the bay.

“I’ve said it before, you know, and I’ll say it as often as I can.” Sybil touched Annie’s arm. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you will. We love the company.”

Annie shrugged. “I know you do. And I love you for it. I don’t know yet. I just…don't know.”

“It’s not that I’m pushing,” Sybil said.

Mann snorted. “You’re pushing.”

Sybil eyed him with a look she hoped would wither any further comment. “It’s just that I, well, we worry about you. There. It’s said.”

“I’m telling you, Syb, you’re pushing. Leave the woman to decide for herself what’s best. Well, look here. Richard’s back sooner than I hoped, and bearing gifts.”

The young man waved, then sauntered up the rise from the boat. He brushed a hand through Annie’s tousled hair, rubbed her neck, and deposited a small spray of flowers in her lap.

“How you doing?”

Annie smiled and nodded.

“Everything’s handled just the way you wanted. The divorce is final in a week or so, and Mrs. Cameron’s estate will be, too.” Richard touched a finger to the large, healing scar across his cheek, a habit he had developed without realizing it, and reached for a cookie. “Looks like David will be a lot worse off than he ever thought possible.”

“I miss Grandma.” Another tear crept down Annie’s cheek.

Richard leaned over and took her in his arms. “It’ll be okay. I promise. I’ll make it okay.”

She nodded, wiped a hand roughly across her cheek. “Where’s Charlie?”

Mann backed his chair out. “Took a walk, so he said. I’ll go hunt him down. Need the exercise anyway.”

Sybil threw herself in front of him. “You’re not going anywhere. And I know I don’t have to remind you what the doctor said. Rest, rest, rest. And a little extra fluid wouldn’t hurt either, I suspect.”

“Oh no, you don’t, Sybil Mann. I’m not going that route again.”

“Then leave the boy alone. He needs time to himself, just like the rest of us. I’ll call him when dinner’s ready.”

****

Charlie stood at the edge of the burned tabby foundation and listened. A gentle breeze carried the coolness of approaching island winter, but no sound. No voice, and no laughter either, there was just emptiness that echoed the hollowness he felt. He missed Grandma more than he ever imagined was possible, but knew, somehow, that she stayed with him, took care of him, and might even come to him in his dreams if he looked hard enough.

He stepped inside the tabby foundation and kicked at the ashes and small pieces of charred wood. This was all that was left of Manchester Place, and all that was left of his grandmother. The house would never be rebuilt, the Manns had said, and Grandma was never coming back. If only there were something to remember her by, something he could keep, could hold in his hand.

A gleam of something reflected the sunlight. He approached it cautiously, hoped that it was what he thought it might be, and picked it up. He rubbed it gently against the rough material of his new blue jeans then held it tight in his fist. The rhythmic rumble of a boat motor close to shore pulled his attention.

Eleanor nodded at him from the boat, then pointed out to the bay.

More in his mind’s eye than anything else, the vision was real to him just the same.

There, in the distant waters, was a rowboat with a tiny light cast across the gentle currents like a sunbeam. The light stretched a thinning tendril toward the shore where a shadow shimmered, mingled with the wind, and carried with it the soft cry of a lonely young woman who had lost everything now.

The light caressed, beckoned. The woman reached out, then went to it. Shadow and light swirled and danced with one another, became one, then both fell quietly into the water. The rowboat was gone.

Eleanor called out. “Charlie, listen to me. Take care of your mom. She needs you. She loves you, too. Promise?”

He crossed an “x” over his chest and waved. She waved back. The boat turned toward the mainland. In minutes it was out of sight.

Charlie took a deep breath, puffed out his chest, and headed back to the Manns’ house. There were things to do now. Important things. Chores needed to be done, books needed to be read—Uncle Winston had insisted on that part—and there was a mother to take care of. Ms. Trippett was right. His mother needed him.

He brushed fingertips gently across his neck where his mother had squeezed. The darkness had come to take care of him that night. It took him deeper than he’d ever been before and lulled him to an almost breathless sleep.

She hadn’t meant to hurt him. With Auntie Sybil’s help and Ms. Trippett’s explanation, he knew that now. And while it wasn’t completely clear what happened, he had accepted their story and went back to his mother’s welcoming arms.

The darkness was gone forever now. He was an almost-man, and almost-men looked to themselves for the answers.

He smiled, fingered the coin he found in the ash then slid it gently into his pocket.

They needed each other, he and his mom.

Together, they’d remember Grandma.