A Letter for Annie (4 page)

She drew the baggy University of Arizona sweatshirt she’d bought at a flea market over her overalls, covered her hair with a ball cap and put on her sunglasses. Maybe she’d look like a tourist. Certainly not like Annie Greer, Homecoming Queen.

To her relief, the supermarket was nearly deserted. A bored clerk stood at Register Two, and a pimply faced teen was replacing the baggies in produce. A couple of perplexed-looking men in sweats stood in front of the
coffee display, and one elderly lady was picking each and every egg out of a carton, checking for cracks.

Annie grabbed a cart and made her way tentatively up and down the unfamiliar aisles. This store had not been here when she’d lived here, but it was the closest to the cottage. As a few more customers entered and the market grew more crowded, Annie felt the keen edge of panic. She had to get out of the place. She grabbed the last few items off the shelves, and it was only when she got to the checkout stand that she realized she’d selected the wrong brands of several things.

“Paper or plastic?”

She couldn’t think. Finally, she blurted, “Paper.”

By the time she paid and started for the car, her knees had turned to rubber. She had escaped. She imagined a comic-book bubble of dialogue floating above her head: “The invisible woman triumphs again!”

In the car, she turned on the radio and headed down the street toward the ocean and home. A radio evangelist’s voice filled the air. Annie twisted the dial again. This time it was gospel music. Granted, it was Sunday morning, but surely some station was playing pop or jazz. So intent was she on tuning the radio that she nearly rear-ended the last car in a long line of vehicles stopped at the Coast Highway light. Two highway patrol cars blocked the intersection. There must’ve been an accident. Traffic was being diverted. Northbound to the right onto a side street; southbound to the left. Annie inched along until she made it to the side street, which wound through a brand-new subdivision. Still fiddling with the tuner and paying scant attention to her where
abouts, she followed the line of detouring cars as it entered a more established neighborhood.

Maybe it wasn’t about the tuner at all. Maybe she’d been subconsciously trying to block out her surroundings. But when the line of vehicles—including her Honda—made the next turn, she saw the large hacienda-style house in the middle of the block—33 Kittiwake Road. With trembling hands she managed to pull over to the curb and open the car door before vomiting into the street, her vision blurred by tears.

H
ANDS FOLDED
in her lap, Geneva sat quietly, waiting, worrying. She’d always tried to be a positive person. If only she could be positive about Annie and her future. Isolating herself here indefinitely was unhealthy. If Annie didn’t open up soon about what was worrying her, Geneva would have no choice but to force the conversation.

She remembered that morning after high school graduation when Annie had called her at the hotel in Bangkok and told her she had to get away. She’d begged her great-aunt to help her. When Geneva had pressed Annie for details, the girl had refused to say anything more. Yet there’d been no mistaking the panic in her voice. Reluctantly, Geneva had given Annie instructions, called her friend Nina and wired money to Bisbee.

From that time to this, despite Geneva’s frequent probing, Annie had never spoken about any of her friends, about her mother and George Palmer, her stepfather, or about why she had needed to flee Eden Bay.
Geneva shuddered to think what hideousness lay beneath her niece’s refusal to talk.

She brooded, unaware of the passage of time. When the front door opened, she started. “I’m back,” Annie called.

After putting away the groceries, Annie came into the living room. Her pallor highlighted the faint freckles running across the bridge of her nose and under her reddened eyes. “I think I’ll lie down,” she said. “Something must’ve disagreed with me. I’m a bit queasy. Can I get you anything before I go?”

What Geneva said aloud was “No.” What she was thinking was
Child, you can get me the truth.

A
NNIE BURROWED
into the folds of the downy comforter, overwhelmed by a storm of long-buried emotions. She had thought never to see 33 Kittiwake again, her happy home for six years. The summer before her seventh-grade year her mother had married George Palmer, president of the local bank. Before that, she and her mother had lived in a cramped bungalow near downtown where Liz Greer owned a gift shop. They had struggled on occasion, but even when times were good, her mother had never seemed satisfied. When she started dating George, all she could talk about was his country club membership, the fancy dining establishments where they ate and his elegant home in one of the best neighborhoods.

When George had proposed, Annie remembered feeling happy about having a new dad and the prospect of a beautiful room with a canopy bed, a horse of her own and all the clothes any girl could desire. Instinc
tively she had warmed to George’s smile, his fatherly hugs and the way he called her “sweetie.” On their wedding day, Annie stood proudly by her ecstatic mother. She had never seen Liz Greer so happy. Holding a bouquet redolent with the scent of lilies and listening to her mother promise to love, honor and obey, Annie finally believed in fairy-tale endings.

Whatever George wanted, her mother gladly supplied. Both Liz and George expected Annie to behave in a way that reflected favorably their standing in the community. However, no matter how hard she tried to live up to their expectations, there was always the lingering suspicion that she never quite satisfied them. Even so, she’d reveled in the affection George showered upon her.

Gradually, though, she began to see that her mother’s attention was almost totally fixed on George. He, on the other hand, doted on Annie and seemed more a parent than her own mother. Over time Annie began to question her mother’s love, and a hole opened in her heart, ever widening, until Pete came along.

She muffled her sob. It was too painful to remember him and his gentleness, his devotion. And to remember what she’d had to do to him. To herself.

Auntie G. had sent her Pete’s obituary. For two weeks she never left Nina’s house, paralyzed by grief and memory. Pete represented the only time in her life when she had known the meaning of love and the sacrifices it required. Auntie G. and Nina could talk all they wanted about “moving on,” but the truth was that when she abandoned Pete, she lost any chance of knowing enduring love.

Now Pete had been dead six years. Two years ago George had died of a heart attack. She had thought she’d escaped Eden Bay forever. Rolling over on her back, she stared at the ceiling, the water stain resembling a cracked heart.

Suddenly the room seemed suffocating. If she stayed here, images from the past would loom and her stomach might again revolt. Leaping up, she pulled on her old Nikes, grabbed a sweater and bolted down the stairs. Geneva assured her she would be fine if Annie left for a while.

She jogged down the drive toward the ocean. Breakers were rolling in, crashing against rocks, spilling on the sandy beach. The sun sparkled on the whitecaps, turning the foam to spun sugar. It was a beautiful day, she kept telling herself. She had to live in the moment. Anything else was too painful.

She stood for several minutes at the edge of the sea, letting its roar and rhythm soothe her. As she caught her breath and her heart rate slowed, she made up her mind. She was here. In Eden Bay. It was unreasonable to suppose she could hide indefinitely. She was an adult. It was time to begin acting like one.

Feeling better, she started off at a brisk walk, following the curve of the shore. Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t see the figure walking toward her, until the person said, in a shocked tone, “Annie? Annie Greer?”

The woman’s face was obscured by a broad-brimmed straw hat and sunglasses. But Annie knew the voice, and her heart plummeted. “Margaret?”

Slowly Pete’s older sister removed her sunglasses and
then stood blocking Annie’s way. “My father told me you were back in town. I’m sorry about your aunt, but I hope to God you’re not staying long. You are not welcome in Eden Bay, not now, not ever.” She stepped around Annie, put on her sunglasses and strode off down the beach.

Annie remained glued to the spot, the words “not now, not ever” echoing above the thundering surf.

M
ARGARET’S WORDS
didn’t surprise Annie, but that didn’t make them any less hurtful. Walking back to the cottage, she reminded herself of her resolution. She wasn’t about to let the disapproval of other people interfere with her reason for being in Eden Bay. She was here to care for Geneva, and that was exactly what she was going to do.

Not that she could blame Margaret. Annie had never wanted to hurt Pete. But on that long-ago night and in the painful morning hours that followed, she’d had no choice. Giving up the dreams she and Pete had shared had taken every ounce of her strength and had left her hollow.

Auntie G. was right. She needed to face her demons. Yet the immediacy of her revulsion when she’d seen the Kittiwake house had scared her. She didn’t want to revisit the past, even as a means of healing. In Bisbee she had avoided the issue; here, it confronted her everywhere.

When she reached the cottage, Geneva was dozing in her chair, her veined hands resting on a stack of photographs in her lap. In repose, the crepelike skin on her face sagged and she looked every one of her eighty years. Her chest worked to pull in air, and with each ex
halation, a ragged sigh escaped her lips. Annie smoothed back the wisps of hair on her forehead, and then went into the kitchen to make a fruit salad and warm some soup for supper.

“Annie?”

“I’m in the kitchen.” She lowered the heat on the stove and went into the living room.

“I must’ve dropped off. Did you have a nice walk?”

Erasing the image of Margaret’s stony face, Annie nodded.

“Could we eat in here on trays?”

“No problem.”

“After supper I want to give you more of the family history and it’s just easier to stay here to eat.”

The truth, but not the whole truth, Annie suspected. Each day, in increasingly obvious ways, her great-aunt was failing.

Famished from skipping lunch and walking on the beach, Annie wolfed down her supper. Geneva, on the other hand, moved fruit around on her plate before finally spearing a chunk of pineapple and eating it. She did better with the soup, but still left half a bowl untouched. “I’m finished,” she said, dabbing her lips with her napkin.

“Auntie G., you need to keep your strength up.”

“I’m trying. But who are we fooling? I’m not going to live forever.”

Annie seized the opening. “What have your doctors said?”

Geneva gazed directly into Annie’s eyes. “That I’m terminal. Complications from my weak lungs and con
gestive heart failure will ultimately make breathing nearly impossible and affect other systems.” She handed her tray to Annie. “That’s why we have to make the most of the time I have. Starting with tonight.”

In the kitchen, blinking back tears, Annie rinsed the dishes and quickly loaded them in the dishwasher. Nina had tried to warn her and she’d understood the seriousness of Geneva’s situation, but hearing the word
terminal
from her great-aunt made the prospect unavoidably real.

“Do you remember your grandfather at all?” Geneva asked when they were settled in the living room.

“I saw him only a few times. When Daddy died, he came to the funeral. He brought me a doll. But I never played with it. It reminded me too much of the day of the funeral and the way the house smelled sickeningly of flowers and macaroni and cheese.” Annie recalled looking up at her tall, slender grandfather with his gray hair and sad blue eyes. The man who had come not just to comfort her with a doll, but to bury his son.

Geneva stared into space before continuing. “When Caleb was born, I thought he’d been created solely for my entertainment. I was four and, from the beginning, mothered him. Summers here at the ocean were magical. I loved holding his little hand and leading him down to the beach for family picnics. As he grew older, he was a natural athlete who shared my zest for adventure. One day just before World War II we hiked so far down the beach we didn’t get home until nearly dark. Our mother was frantic.” She smiled at the memory, then was quiet for a moment, the hiss of the oxygen a reminder of how
far removed she was from that time when she and her brother had romped at the shore.

She shuffled through the photographs, handing Annie one of a skinny young man in a swimsuit balancing on a rock, waves crashing around him, a delighted grin on his face. “He was such fun. He had a talent for friendships and a wicked sense of humor.”

“What about my grandmother?”

“Jody? Like Caleb, she thrived on seeing new places, trying new things. They were married in 1951 just after they graduated from college.” She sorted through the pictures until she found one of her brother in a white dinner jacket gazing adoringly at a dark-haired young woman with short, curly hair and a pixie-like grin. “Here they are. During the Korean War, Caleb joined the Marines. While he was overseas, Jody lived here in the cottage.”

“I never knew that.” Annie tried to picture the young woman living here alone, isolated, worrying about her husband.

“Practically the minute Caleb returned home, Jody got pregnant and nine months later, along came your father. Shortly after John’s birth, Caleb was hired by a New York City bank and they moved.”

“That explains why they didn’t often get to Oregon.”

“One reason.”

Something in Auntie G.’s tone grabbed Annie’s attention. “Another reason?”

“You may as well know. Caleb and Jody didn’t care much for your mother. They found her attractive enough, but, well, somewhat superficial. Not well suited to John.”

Annie wished she could defend her mother, instead of acknowledging the fairness of the judgment. “What about Daddy? Did he love her?”

“Yes, I think so. He did everything he could to please Liz.”

Annie knew the outcome before she voiced it. “But it was never enough for her, right?”

“Oh, child, what are we doing probing into the long-ago relationships of other people? Marriages are what they are.” She paused, then sighed. “I’m so tired. Please help me to bed.”

Annie assisted her great-aunt to her feet and followed close behind with the oxygen tank as Geneva slowly made her way to the downstairs bedroom.

Once she had helped her into bed, Annie sat for a long time in the silence of the living room, poring over the photographs of her family—the family that now consisted only of her beloved Auntie G. and herself. She knew it was a matter of a few short weeks until that family would be reduced to one. Loneliness—so acute it was physically painful—washed over her.

K
YLE FINALLY GAVE UP
trying to sleep. He’d been tossing and turning since four in the morning, the sheets a tangle around his legs, his pillow lumpy and warm. Bubba’s snores added to his insomnia. He’d had the nightmare again. The one about Pete. Damn Annie, anyway. Seeing her had been like picking at a scab and reopening a wound.

He sat on the edge of the bed holding his head in his hands, once again picturing Pete pausing that fatal few seconds to look at Annie’s photo. Why couldn’t Pete
have moved on? Forgotten the high school sweetheart who’d punted him without an explanation? But no. Pete had carried the torch up to the instant he was killed. Oh, sure, after they’d finished Guard training, Pete had tried to find Annie. He’d talked to everyone who’d ever known her, interviewed the bus station agent and pored over cab company records. But he’d gotten nowhere. Her stepfather, George Palmer, was as clueless as Pete. And since Geneva Greer had not been living in Eden Bay at that time, Pete had no idea how to contact her. It was as if Annie had dropped off the face of the earth. But Pete never gave up. He lived as if he expected Annie to turn up on his doorstep any day. And the hell of it was, Pete would have welcomed her, no questions asked.

Kyle lurched to his feet. What in blue blazes was the matter with the woman? Seeing her here in Eden Bay infuriated him. Why had she waited so long to return? Crap, now he had to consider what to do about the damned letter.

Stumbling into the kitchen, he made coffee and turned to see Bubba standing in the bedroom doorway yawning. “Yeah, I know. Too early. Sorry, buddy.” When he went outside to retrieve the morning paper, clouds scudded across the sky and a cool breeze ruffled the scraggly bushes in front of the mobile home. Kyle drew a deep breath before going back in. Bubba lay on the floor eyeing him curiously. Kyle shrugged. “Hell if I know why I can’t sleep, fella.”

When the coffee was done, he poured a cup and settled on the sofa to read the Sunday ball scores. But he couldn’t concentrate.

He kept replaying Margaret’s voice on the phone last night: “Kyle, what are you thinking working for the Greers? How dare Annie Greer show her face in this town! It would’ve been bad enough while Pete was alive, but now…? So help me God, I’ll never know why my brother couldn’t get over her.”

And he kept seeing Annie’s face, her tortured hazel eyes dominating her pale, freckled skin, her auburn hair blowing in the wind. There was something hauntingly lovely about her.

“Damn!” He threw down the paper and raked both hands through his hair. “We’re going for a run, Bubba.”

It was still dark when the two started down the road for the beach. Kyle pumped his arms rhythmically, punching the air in front of him. He picked up the pace, his breath coming in tortured gasps. And all the while, with the regularity of his heartbeat, came one word over and over.
Annie, Annie.

What in the name of everlovin’ God was that about? He didn’t need a replay of high school angst.

L
ATER THAT MORNING
, Kyle picked up the clipboard in his office and scanned the jobs in progress. He needed to check on the Swenson deck remodel and be at the Whites’ when the crew knocked out the kitchen wall. “Rita, I’ll be making the rounds today. You can catch me on my cell.”

“Not going to the Greer cottage?” Her voice was studiously neutral, but the cocked eyebrow gave her away.

“I’m sending Vince. Weather forecast looks good. He can repaint the front porch.” Geneva Greer surely wouldn’t expect him to handle that part of the job.

“Have a good one, then.”

He and Bubba headed for the truck. He fully intended to have a “good one.” Being as far away from Annie as possible assured it.

The day went fast. He’d made a few suggestions to his man working on the Swensons’ deck and then headed for the Stevenson project. Damn good thing. The boys had encountered a few problems and his being on the scene meant they’d had no delay in overcoming them. Time was, after all, money, as Bruce Nemec frequently reminded his employees.

Driving along the coast to pick up supplies from the lumberyard, he thought back to Friday night. He was going to have to do something about Rosemary. How did a guy say “Sorry, not interested” without hurting her and jeopardizing his relationship with her family? Somewhere out there was a guy who would adore her. But Kyle wasn’t that man and he needed to deal with the issue. Sooner rather than later.

Perversely, with every mile he drove up the highway, his mind turned to what was going on at the Greer cottage. He pounded the steering wheel. Yes, that was exactly why he needed to put some distance between him and Annie. Every time he saw her he wanted to shake her and demand an explanation for what she’d done to Pete. But at the same time, damn it, he wanted to hold her and soothe away the worry lines etched in her face.

He didn’t like this. Not one bit. He’d always thought of himself as an uncomplicated man. A relatively contented one.

And then
she
had shown up to turn his life upside down.

A
NNIE SAT
on one of the wicker porch chairs wrapped in a heavy blanket, the cup of coffee she held warming her hands. The sun was just rising, gilding the calm surface of the ocean. She’d had a restless night, worrying about Auntie G. and wondering about her own future. Living in Bisbee, waiting tables and making purses, had worked for these past years. But that wasn’t how she wanted to spend the rest of her life. Geneva’s legacy of the house gave her options she’d never been able to consider.

She’d missed college, of course. Maybe she could rent the cottage and move to a university town, work part-time and take some classes. She’d always hoped to go into fashion design. Was it too late?

She inhaled the fragrant steam rising from her coffee. No use spoiling these few weeks with idle speculation. There would be time enough for that after…after…She shrugged off the threatening tears.

Shorebirds roused and set up their hungry cries as they strutted on the beach and wheeled low over the swells in search of breakfast. Annie watched them until she finished her coffee. Reluctantly she got to her feet. Mornings were so traitorously full of promise.

In the kitchen, she set about making a bacon-and-cheese quiche, hoping she could tempt Geneva. While it baked, she ran upstairs for a quick shower. The oven timer went off just as she finished slipping into a sweatshirt and jeans. Racing into the kitchen, she shut off the timer and then checked on her great-aunt, who lay on her back staring at the ceiling, her breath labored.

“I’ve made something special for breakfast.”

“Smells good, honey. But I’m not hungry.”

“Let me help you sit up.” Supporting Geneva, she plumped up the pillows and straightened her covers. “Better?”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll be right back with your breakfast tray.”

Annie thought she heard Geneva sigh as she left the room. Had it been only a week ago that Geneva had dressed before breakfast and eaten at the kitchen table? Annie filled the teapot with boiling water, put a slice of quiche on a plate and added some leftover fruit salad. Carrying the tray with care, she set it down in front of Geneva, then spread the blue-and-white-checkered napkin over her chest.

“How did you sleep?”

Geneva made a fluttering motion with her hand. “I don’t have time for sleep. Too much to think about.”

Annie knew that wasn’t totally true since Geneva spent an increasing amount of her days and nights dozing. “Like what?”