Annie squirmed in her seat as more people turned to look at her.
“At first, all we felt was relief,” Tildy said, “but the more we talked, the harder it got to look each other in the eye, and the more ashamed we were.”
Judy blew her nose. “How were we going to face all of you day after day, face our kids, knowing in our hearts what we did?”
Barbara straightened her shoulders. “We knew this would eat at us for the rest of our lives if we didn’t come clean.”
“Confession is good for the soul,” Marie said sanctimoniously. “And that’s what we decided we had to do.”
“We can’t change what we did,” Naomi said. “All we can do is be honest about it. You can judge us. You can hate us if you have to.”
Annie couldn’t take any more, and she sprang up again. “The only person who has a right to hate you is me, and I don’t, so the rest of you shouldn’t either. Now I move to end this meeting right now.”
“Second,” Booker Rose called out, overlooking Annie’s nonresidency issue.
The meeting was adjourned.
Afterward all Annie wanted to do was get away, but she was surrounded by people who wanted to talk to her, thank her, and apologize to her. The islanders ignored the grandmothers, but Annie didn’t doubt that the worst was over for them. It would take the Mainers a while to sort things out in their own minds, but they were a tough lot who admired resourcefulness, even if it was ill-advised. The women wouldn’t be ostracized for long.
THE SEAS HAD GROWN ROUGHER by the time she returned to the boat, and a bolt of lightning sliced the horizon. It was going to be a wild night, a perfect bookend to the wildness of the night when she’d arrived. By this time tomorrow, she’d be gone. She prayed Theo wouldn’t show up to say good-bye. That would be too much.
A wave washed over the stern, but she didn’t want to seal herself in the cabin yet. She wanted to watch the storm roll in, soak up its ferocity. She located the boat’s foul weather gear. The oversize jacket smelled of bait, but it kept her dry to midthigh. She stood in the stern and watched the violence of the light show. The city isolated her from nature’s shifting rhythms in a way the island couldn’t. Only as the lightning came closer did she go below.
The cabin lit up, then darkened, then lit again as the storm attacked the island. By the time she’d finished brushing her teeth, she was queasy from the boat’s rocking. She sprawled on the bunk without getting undressed, the legs of her jeans still wet. She tolerated the roll as long as she could, but the queasiness grew worse, and she knew she’d throw up if she stayed down there any longer.
She grabbed the wet orange jacket and staggered back up to the deck. The rain blasted her through the open end of the pilothouse, but that was a price she was willing to pay for clean air.
The boat continued to pitch, but her stomach settled. Gradually, the storm began to move off and the rain eased. A shutter banged against the side of a house. She couldn’t get any wetter, so she climbed up on the dock to see if there’d been any damage. Branches were down, and a distant flash of lightning revealed dark patches on the town hall roof where a few shingles had blown off. Electricity was expensive, and no one kept their porch lights on, but several were burning now, so she knew she wasn’t the only one awake.
As she surveyed the scene, she noticed a strange light in the sky. It seemed to be coming from the northeast, near the area around the cottage. The light began flickering like a campfire. But this was no campfire. It was a real fire.
The first thing she thought of was the cottage. After everything they’d gone through, it had been hit by lightning. There’d be no new school. No summer rental money. It had all been for nothing.
She scrambled back on the boat to get her keys. Moments later, she was running down the dock toward the fish house where she’d parked her car. The rain would have turned the road into a quagmire, and she didn’t know how far she could get in her Kia, only that she had to try.
Lights had come on in more houses. She spotted the Rose pickup truck backing away from the house, Barbara in the passenger seat. Booker must be driving. The truck wouldn’t have any trouble navigating the road, and she ran toward it.
She slapped the side panel before they could get away, and the truck stopped. Barbara spotted her through the window, opened the door, and moved over so Annie could get in. She didn’t ask for an explanation, so Annie knew they’d seen the fire, too. Rain rolled off Annie’s jacket. “It’s the cottage,” she said. “I know it.”
“It can’t be,” Barbara said. “Not after everything. It just can’t be.”