About some things, Earl liked to exaggerate—the weather, the size of the blue fish someone caught during the derby, the fact that peanut butter cookies were the best ever. But Annie didn’t think this was one of those times. Her slow burn of impatience settled into smoldering worry. If there was no Inn, Earl and Kevin would lose their investment. Though they—not even Kevin—had not detailed their personal finances, Annie didn’t think that either man could afford to lose that much. She supposed that, like many older islanders, most of Earl’s worth was tied up in his land. It reminded Annie of an elderly friend of Winnie’s who lived on a meager Social Security check but couldn’t bring herself to part with her valuable ten acres because it was where her life, her home were rooted. Island tradesmen and landscapers took turns taking care of the woman’s place for free; their families made sure she was looked after. After all, her husband had been a fisherman who’d once fed most of them.

Kevin had an income from a few condos in Boston that he owned and rented, but Annie thought that was it. The money from the sale of his business had gone into a trust for his wife’s medical care, which might continue for a long time.

And if there were no Inn, what about the tenants that they’d already signed up? Annie knew firsthand the struggle to find year-round housing on the island. Then she gulped as something else occurred to her. What about her? Annie couldn’t afford to buy a place, not until her income caught up with the years that it had taken to pay off her ex-husband’s debts.

She knew that neither John nor she were ready to make a lifelong commitment. But without one, what should she do? Should she move back to Boston where she’d lived most of her life? If Kevin went too, at least she’d have family there. And Donna! Why did Annie often forget about her birth mother? At the very least she needed to get ready for Donna’s visit. If Annie’s world was going to fall apart anyway, what was one more bit of drama over which she had positively no control?

Earl pushed back his chair and stood. “There’s always a chance none of this will come to anything. Maybe your skull isn’t even real; maybe it’s a leftover toy from a party last summer. Or maybe it’s an old Halloween prank. Stranger things have happened out here on Chappy.”