A Letter for Annie (2 page)

But that was then. Kyle was far from happy-go-lucky now. He survived one day at a time. Nose to the grindstone. Minding his own business. Expecting nothing.

A fog rolling in from the ocean forced him to concentrate on driving. Beside him, Bubba licked his chops, then pressed his nose to the passenger-window glass.

A man and his dog. It was enough.

T
HE MORNING AFTER
her arrival Annie stood at the window facing the sea, watching rivulets of water smear the panes. The rain had started late last night shortly after she’d moved all her belongings to this upstairs front bedroom, the one that had always been Geneva’s.
Now, because of her weakened condition, Auntie G. stayed in the downstairs bedroom. The damp Pacific coast was a far cry from the dry desert air. No welcoming sun greeted Annie here. But what had she expected? In memory, she’d always pictured Eden Bay through a scrim of gray mist.

Pulling the oversize plaid flannel shirt closer around her, she turned to study the room. Although most of her aunt’s belongings had been moved, the double bed with the inlaid wood headboard and its matching dresser were still here, as were several of Geneva’s oil paintings, including the one Annie had always liked best—a rocky beach scene with white-tipped, emerald waves crashing against the shore.

A wide, six-foot-long table stood against the north wall. Annie didn’t know where it had come from, but Geneva’s thoughtfulness of providing a worktable made Annie feel at home in a way little else could have.

Moving to the first box, she unpacked multicolored scraps of upholstery material and stacked them beneath the table. In a second carton she located shears, scissors, spools of thread, braiding and her large button box. She arranged these items neatly on the left, then pulled a piece of cranberry floral material from the fabric pile and spread it across the surface, visualizing the exact way she wanted to cut it to transform it into a satin-lined tote. For the first time since Carmen’s call, she felt the coils of tension ease.

Keeping busy was the answer. Between caring for Geneva and burying herself in work, there would be no time to think, to remember.

At the sound of a light tap on the door, she said, “Come in.”

Carmen waited with a tray. “Breakfast, Annie? Your
tia,
she is still sleeping.”

With the first whiff of blueberry scones and coffee, Annie realized she was ravenous. “Thank you, Carmen.” She moved across the room and took the tray. “But I don’t need to be waited on.”

“Maybe just for today.” In the woman’s eyes, Annie read understanding.

Annie set down the tray. “Will you call me when Geneva is awake?”

“
Sí.
Your visit, it is bringing her joy.”

“What have her doctors said?”

Carmen shook her head. “Better to ask her. It is not for me to tell.”

“I need the truth.”

“She is strong. She is not afraid of that truth.” Carmen nodded at the tray. “If you want more, come to the kitchen.”

“Thank you.” Annie closed the door behind Carmen, then sat with her breakfast in a chintz-covered armchair. The scone was buttery and delicious and the coffee strong and hot. Neither, however, filled the empty place within her.

L
ATER THAT MORNING
when Annie entered the living room, Geneva looked up and smiled. “Good morning, petunia.” She gestured toward the bay window. “Nice day for ducks.”

“Typical Oregon.” Taking the chair across from her
aunt’s, she noticed that Geneva was wearing a colorful Moroccan-style caftan. “How are you? Did you eat your breakfast?”

Geneva gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “I’d rather not dwell on my health, but I did eat a poached egg.”

Annie tried to match her aunt’s bantering tone. “And that’s a cause for celebration?”

“Bells, whistles and firecrackers.” Geneva cocked her head, studying Annie. “Did you sleep well?”

“Fine,” Annie lied. No point mentioning the hours she’d lain awake listening to the wind and wishing Geneva still felt like trotting around the globe gathering information and anecdotes for her travel books.

“I don’t believe you.” Her aunt hesitated. “Everything must seem strange to you. The town, the cottage—” she gestured airily “—and me. No wonder. I feel strange to myself. I keep thinking I can run upstairs, walk on the beach, drive a car.” She sighed. “I guess I should be thankful I’m still breathing, because we have work to do.”

“Work?”

“See that chest over there by the piano? Bring it to me.”

Annie pushed the heavy container across the floor to Geneva, who leaned over and, with effort, opened the lid. Inside were sheafs of paper, along with photo albums.

“This, my dear niece, is Greer family memorabilia. You are my only descendant, and I don’t want our history to die with me.”

Annie picked up a packet of letters tied with binding twine. “You’re the only Greer I really know. I have
sketchy memories of my father, but I was only five when he died. It’s as if he’s the star of a long-ago movie that I can scarcely remember, no matter how hard I try to rewind.”

“We can’t bring him back, but we can certainly flesh out some of those memories and more. If nothing else, Greers have always been unique individuals. Look at me. I’ve been to six continents, had lovers on three—”

“Auntie G.!”

“Don’t look so shocked. Just because I never married doesn’t mean I didn’t have good times. But more about that later.” She paused to cough wetly into a tissue. “I thought each day we might make some headway with what’s in the chest. You can work in the afternoon while I rest.”

“I’d like that,” Annie said quietly.

“You know, this house is falling apart. The porch railings are loose and there are water spots upstairs. I don’t want to even think about dry rot around the doors and windows. Would you mind going through the place to check for problem areas?”

“Not at all.”

“I’ll phone my neighbor Frances Gardner for recommendations for a repairman—it’s been so long since I lived here. I want to get this done.”

Annie recognized the steel in Geneva’s voice and the implied message:
before I die.
“I’ll get right on it.”

“Good. Then after my nap, I’m challenging you to a game of gin rummy. Winner gets an extra glass of wine.” Her eyes glinted mischievously.

“Are you even supposed to drink?”

“One glass. But that’s if I lose. Which I won’t.”

Annie wanted to argue, to implore her aunt to do exactly what the doctor had ordered. Yet, if her days were numbered, what harm could a second glass of wine do in the big scheme of things?

The phone rang and Annie heard Carmen answer it in the kitchen. After a few moments, she appeared in the doorway, her expressive eyes filled with tears.

Geneva stretched out her hand. “Carmen, what is it, dear?”

“My daughter. She’s had her baby. A
niño,
a boy. Too soon. Three months soon. I…She needs help with my granddaughter.”

“Of course, you must go.” Geneva’s tone brooked no argument. “As soon as you can.”

“But you are sick and—”

“Annie is here and she will take care of me.”

Carmen wiped her eyes. “
Gracias, señorita.
I go now and pack. Annie, you come and I tell you about caring for your
tia.
”

The rest of the day passed in a blur of instructions and arrangements. At Geneva’s insistence that she could be left alone, Annie drove Carmen to catch a shuttle at the nearby beach resort.

When Annie returned to the cottage in the late afternoon, she noticed there were no lights shining from the house. She found Geneva asleep in her chair, her skin ashen and her breath labored, despite the oxygen tank.

Annie panicked. What did she know about caring for a dying woman? With Carmen away, Annie would be forced into the community—to the grocery, the phar
macy, the gas station. There would be no avoiding people. People who would not welcome her presence. People who would blame her.

M
ONDAY MORNING
Kyle dragged himself into consciousness, battling images of his recurring nightmare. Drenched in sweat, he sat on the side of the bed cradling his aching head in his hands.
Damn it, damn it, damn it!
The dream always started so innocently, luring him into the vortex of horror. The details might change, but the ending never did. Dressed in period costume, he stood on a scaffolding, holding in his hand a long-handled ax, dripping with blood. And staring up at him with a gentle but distorted smile was Pete, his head severed from his neck.

It didn’t take a shrink to get the symbolism. The hell of it was, he lived it every day, with or without the dream. Each time he passed the field where he and Pete had played American Legion baseball, reported to the National Guard Armory or shook hands with Bruce.

Why couldn’t it have been him? What did he have to live for compared to Pete? A mother who’d abandoned him and a father who beat the crap out of him on a regular basis? Certainly not a beautiful girl he loved with every fiber of his being. Nor a future full of promise.

Kyle shut his eyes to the photo on his dresser of him and Pete, arms around each other’s shoulders, caps tilted cockily, on their last day of leave before deployment to Afghanistan.

Slowly the sensation of Bubba licking his toes pulled him from his thoughts.

After a long, hot shower and a bowl of instant oatmeal, he felt minimally better. It would be a relief to go to work. There he wouldn’t have time to brood.

Rita eyed him speculatively when he arrived at the office. “You’re late.”

“So?”

“Just commenting because you’re almost never late.”

He shrugged, disinclined to engage in their usual banter.

“Well,” she drawled, “maybe you’re excused just this once. Besides, if you’d already been on the job, you’d have missed this.” She handed him a phone memo.

“Huh? The Greer place?” He studied the message requesting an estimate on repairs. “I thought I saw a car there last week.”

“Frankly, Geneva didn’t sound good. Told me she wants to get her place fixed up ASAP. Before she dies, she said. Talk about a conversation stopper. I didn’t know what to say to that, so I told her we’d have someone out today.”

The Greer cottage had always had a special charm. He was sorry about the old lady, but he’d love to get his hands on that house.

T
HE MORNING HAD NOT
gone well. Figuring out Auntie G.’s medications and dressing her had taken longer than Annie had predicted. Then she’d burned the toast and undercooked the eggs. Geneva had waved off her apology, daintily dipping a corner of her toast in the runny yolk, but beyond that, eating nothing.

After breakfast, even though she seemed tired, Geneva insisted that Annie help her into her living room chair. Managing the walker and the oxygen tank at the same time was difficult, but finally she had her aunt settled, the afghan over her knees, a book in her lap.

“I’ll be fine here. Go, get the kitchen cleaned up, take a shower. Don’t worry about me.”

After loading the dishwasher and wiping down the counter, Annie checked on Geneva, who sat staring out the window with her open book facedown. Annie bathed quickly, worried that she wouldn’t hear Geneva if she called. Or fell. Annie toweled her hair, then threw on a shapeless blue T-shirt over gray sweatpants and was slipping on her Crocs when she heard Geneva ring the bell she’d given her to use as a summons. Annie raced down the stairs. “What is it?”

“Calm down. The repairman I’ve been expecting is coming up the walk.”

Through the bay window Annie saw a white pickup with red lettering on the door. AAA Builders Home Repair and Remodeling. “That was fast.”

“I told you I wanted the cottage fixed. And I want it done properly. This company came with high recommendations.” A heavy knock sounded on the door.

Running her fingers through her damp hair, Annie walked to the front hall and threw open the door.

The world fell away. She couldn’t breathe, much less utter a sound. She leaned against the doorjamb, a wave of dizziness threatening her balance.

“Annie?” The blond-haired man hovered over her, his strong, broad-shouldered body blocking the sun, his chiseled facial features pale beneath his tan. Then he turned away, swiped the ball cap from his head and paced to one end of the porch and back, stopping in front of her, his gray eyes icy. “You’ve got some nerve showing up in Eden Bay.”

Annie gripped the door, focusing on his chest, on the forest-green of his chamois shirt, on anything but those accusing eyes. If she could focus there, she could stop the memories—Pete, Kyle…her reasons for leaving town. “I…I…” She faltered, realizing there was absolutely nothing she could say to Kyle.

“Don’t even try to explain.” He placed the cap back on his head. “Find someone else for this job.”

“Annie?” Geneva’s imperious voice pierced the silence. “I want to see that young man.”

Kyle hesitated.

“Look,” Annie said in a low enough tone that Geneva couldn’t hear, “my aunt’s sick and wants this place fixed up.”

“There are plenty of guys who can do it.”

“You were recommended.”

He peered over her head into the interior. “All right. I’ll tell her no myself.” He stepped around her and strode into the living room.

Struggling for equilibrium, Annie sank onto the stairs, listening to the rise and fall of voices. After Kyle told her great-aunt he would be unavailable to do the repairs, she heard Geneva’s voice but couldn’t make out the words. After a few minutes, Kyle returned, his expression grim. He paused in the doorway. “Have your damn list ready. I’ll be here Wednesday morning.” He put his hand on the doorknob, then spoke again. “One more thing. Stay out of my way.” Then he was gone.

Slowly Annie released her death grip on the banister. Why had she ever thought she could hide out here? Avoid the disapproval, even hatred, of those in Eden Bay?

Her muscles tensed. She longed to leave this place. Now.

“Annie?”

She took a deep breath, then went into the living room.

Her aunt’s color had improved and her face bore a triumphant smile. “Well, everything’s settled. That’s a very professional young man.” She adjusted her nosepiece. “Did you know him when you lived here?”

Annie nodded, dreading further questioning.

“He seems nice. Maybe you should get in touch with some of your old friends.”

“No.”

The smile faded from Geneva’s lips. “It was a long time ago, dear.”

“They haven’t forgotten. Or forgiven.”

A
DRENALINE PUMPING
, Kyle gunned the truck down the driveway then onto the Coast Highway where he abruptly pulled into a scenic overlook. Oblivious to Bubba’s quizzical look, he gripped the wheel, stared at the ocean and swore at the top of his lungs. Finally, with the cab closing in on him, he climbed out and gulped in sea-fresh air, haunted by what that bitch Annie had done to Pete ten years ago.

As if it were yesterday, he was in Pete’s bedroom listening to his friend’s voice break with emotion. “She’s gone, man. Just like that. What did I do?” Pete clutched a crumpled envelope.

Kyle had thought to be supportive by telling him no girl was worth it. Wrong tactic. Pete loved Annie with an intensity that defied reason. They were the perfect couple, the ones who would be as crazy in love in their nineties as they were in their teens. That’s why her abrupt departure was so twisted, made no sense.

“You don’t get it, Kyle. I can’t live without her. I’m going after her.”

Kyle picked up the Dear John letter and scanned it. “Forget her. It says right here she wants a new life. Without you. Besides, you can’t go after her. We leave for National Guard training tomorrow.”

Pete howled Annie’s name. Kyle wrapped him in a bear hug, while Pete said, “Something’s not right. Something’s not right.”

The roar of the surf filled Kyle’s head. A lot of somethings weren’t right. Annie had no business coming back to Eden Bay and stirring up the past. Her presence would remind everyone of Pete, of his never-ending search for her—a search that bordered on desperate—of the way her disappearance had slowly drained the vitality from him.

Worse, she would remind Kyle of all the ways he’d let down his best friend and all the reasons why that sniper should have hit him, not Pete.

What a mess. And so typical of Kyle’s life. The chance to work on a gem of a house like he’d always wanted tainted by seeing her every day. Every time he saw her—still beautiful, damn it, despite the lack of makeup and the too-big clothes—he could remember how close he came to betraying Pete.

Kyle sighed. The least he could do was protect the Nemecs from her. The last thing they needed was her stirring up their grief. Man, she was trouble. He had hoped never to see her again because he was afraid of what he’d say to her, do to her.

Yet when she’d opened the door this morning, his breath had stopped. A part of him was glad to see her. And that’s the part of himself he damned to hell.

P
ROPPED UP
on three bed pillows, Geneva stared at the ceiling, wide-awake. When she was younger, she’d hated such sleepless nights. Now they were a blessing.
They meant more time to remember, to plan, to
be.
She’d asked Annie to crack the window so she could hear the waves lapping the rocky beach in a soothing lullaby. And smell the tangy salt air that transported her to so many of the places she’d visited—the Greek Islands, Australia, Tahiti. It had been a good life, full of adventure and fascinating people. And no small measure of success. For most people enough satisfaction for a lifetime.

But not for her until this one last thing was done—helping Annie
live.

Geneva rued the fact she’d been halfway around the world when Annie had needed her all those years ago. Annie had fled Eden Bay in a panic, for reasons she had never shared. Geneva had been unable to help. The best she’d been able to do from so far away was direct Annie to Nina Valdez in Bisbee, Arizona.

Geneva had first met Nina at a women’s consciousness-raising retreat in Mexico where they’d struck up an enduring friendship. Nina owned a small café and herb shop, and under Nina’s wing, Annie had found sanctuary, but not the happy, fulfilling life Geneva wished for her. The way Nina described it in a letter, Annie was simply doing what people expected of her. Making no waves. Forming no close friendships. Calmly and dispassionately
existing.
Annie deserved more. Needed more. Needed to live.

For a brief time this morning, Geneva had thought the appearance of Kyle might offer Annie a connection to the town. But Annie had made it perfectly clear that she wanted no part of him or anyone else she had once known.

Something continued to eat at Annie. Something that
had happened here. And until she faced it directly, she was doomed to a half-life.

Geneva closed her eyes.
Give me time, please, to help this lost girl.
Then, lulled by the wash of the ocean, she drifted to sleep.

W
EDNESDAY MORNING
Kyle parked his pickup beside Annie’s well-used Honda, wishing he had not let the old lady get to him. She had skillfully used both flattery and her failing health as inducements for him to take on this work. Ever since, he’d been cursing his gullibility and stupidity. He did not need this job. He did not want this job. And, especially, he did not want to be on the same planet with Annie Greer, much less in the same house.

He let Bubba out for a brief run, then had him hop into the truck bed. “Stay. Be a good boy, fella. Stay.” As if sensing the undercurrent in his master’s voice, Bubba’s ears perked up. “Yeah, I know. I’m not the happiest camper.” Kyle grinned wryly, then picked up his tool chest and plodded toward the cottage, noting, without conscious effort, the loose guttering on the ocean side. Hopefully there wouldn’t be that much on the repair list. But the sagging front door, the weatherworn shingles and the loose shutters were not good omens. He set down the chest, took a deep breath and rapped on the door.

When Annie answered his knock, she stood aside and directed him to the living room. He nodded coolly, then brushed past her. Geneva sat before the bay window. Two chairs faced her and on the table between them was a typed list. Without a word, Annie indicated he should
take the chair closer to the window. Then she perched on the other, as if poised for a quick getaway.

To Kyle’s relief, Geneva broke the tension. “Well, young man, I’m delighted you’re here. My niece has gone over the house thoroughly and prepared a list.”

As he read, the silence was broken only by the melodic tinkling of an outdoor wind chime and Geneva Greer’s oxygen tank. Beside him, Annie sat primly, back straight, fingers laced, jaw rigid. Yeah, well, she wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to be here.

Still, the house lured him. He took in the crafted mantel and staircase, the patina of the hardwood floors, the high ceilings, the beveled glass in the built-in break-front. This house was a woodworker’s paradise.

“Well?” Geneva studied him with alert blue eyes.

“It looks like a complete list, although I’ll have to inspect everything myself.”

“I would expect that. I’m prepared to pay well for you to complete this job quickly. As you know—” she paused, as if summoning strength “—I have little time left to enjoy your handiwork. And it is
your
handiwork I want.”

He heard Annie’s quick intake of breath, but still she said nothing.

“I’ll have to leave occasionally to check on my men. Yours isn’t the only project we’ve got going.”

“Understandable, but I want the best, so I’d prefer that you do the bulk of the work.”

“I’ll try.” He rose to his feet, wondering if he’d lost his senses. “Perhaps Annie will give me a tour and point out what needs to be done.”

When Annie stood, a fragrance like summer roses engulfed him, taking him back to senior prom and the two dances he’d had with her. The two dances Pete had grudgingly relinquished to him. And if Pete had known what was going through Kyle’s head, he would have never let Annie within ten miles of him.

“We’ll start outside,” she said, as she led the way to the front door.

O
UT ON THE PORCH
, her turtleneck sweater offering little protection against the raw wind, Annie wanted to push Kyle away, avoid the man who represented her demons. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, somehow release the panic welling in her. Yet her loyalty to Geneva took precedence. “This is on the list,” she said, indicating the rickety porch railing.

Hugging herself against the chill, she waited while he tested each post. When he finished, she walked around the side of the house and pointed at the guttering.

“I saw that earlier,” he said.

She was grateful when the tour continued in this manner: him carefully appraising each flaw, her accommodating him only so far as was necessary. When they came to her bedroom, though, she stopped in the doorway, blocking his entry. She didn’t want him in her space, violating her privacy. Just thinking of his having personal knowledge of her worktable, her bed, her toiletries laid out on the dresser made her feel exposed.

He came up beside her, crowding her with his hard, toned body. “Excuse me,” he said, “but isn’t this where the ceiling leak is?”

More in an effort to get away from him than to allow him entrance, she stepped away. He strode into the room, dwarfing the dainty rocker by the door. She pointed to the northwest corner. “Over there.”

As he studied the telltale signs of water damage, she watched for any change in his expression. Any time now he would ask her the question hanging between them:
Why did you treat Pete so heartlessly?

F
OR DINNER THAT EVENING
Kyle fixed a frozen pizza, then grabbed a bottle of beer and settled on his dilapidated couch to watch the Mariners game. Bubba, quite a pepperoni fan, made a pass at his plate. “No way, buddy. You had your supper. Alpo. Yummy.”

Bubba gave up and settled, head on his paws, under the small kitchen table.

Kyle took a swig of beer and fixed his gaze on the screen. Bottom of the seventh inning. Two outs, two men on base. He let his mind wander to the upcoming weekend. Friday night’s company softball game. Then the party at the Nemecs’ to celebrate Rosemary’s birthday. His Saturday fishing date with Buzz Royer, the company electrician.