In a matter of seconds, Annie became surprisingly fascinated by what was on the screen. Page after page, image after image revealed outstanding art. Exceptional, simplistic landscapes, magnificent blends of colors and light, painted with textures created not only from brushes but also palette knives—and all were venues on Chappaquiddick. Picasso, indeed.

“Lucy? Are these really his?”

“Duh. Yeah. He’s been working on his portfolio for years. Every summer that he’s been here with his grandparents.”

Annie was astonished. “These are incredible. Not to mention that they’d look amazing at the Inn. We could showcase his work throughout the common rooms where the most people would see them. What do you think? Would he like that?”

“Um, I think you should talk to him first, don’t you? I’m not exactly his agent. Besides, I’m not even sure he wants to think about this place right now, let alone come back.”

“Does he have the paintings with him?”

“The ones on his site are in storage in New York. Some place near where his grandparents live. I used his photos of them to create the gallery page.”

Suddenly, Annie had another reason for wanting Jonas to return. It was a selfish one, but added to Taylor’s relationship with Jonas and Kevin’s relationship with Taylor and Jonas’s future and maybe even Lucy’s opportunity to have a good friend who she might help save from being lonely, the motivation had piled up. Calling the young artist now felt necessary. And a nice distraction from the sad things going on.

“May I use your phone?”

Lucy handed it over.

And Jonas picked up on the first ring.

* * *

Annie was tired, but she was happy about Jonas. Also, she was glad she’d asked the waitress at Linda Jean’s to wrap up the rest of her sandwich—she wolfed it down on the quick ferry ride back to Chappy.

Even though he hadn’t sounded terribly thrilled, Jonas had agreed to have two or three of his paintings shipped for her to hang in the Inn. “I’ll do it for Lucy,” he’d said, “for building my website.”

But when Annie had broached the subject of the woman in Boston, he’d shut down. All he’d said was, “It’s about my mother. And about who my father might or might not have been.”

Which had turned Annie’s thoughts to two things: first, how to stop Jonas from being scammed; second, who her own birth father was, and if she’d have the chance—or the courage—to ask Donna before it was too late.

She realized then that she was not only exhilarated, but also depressed as hell. Yin and yang. Or yang and yin. However that went.