Angel Song (14 page)
“Oh, of course. Of course you have things to do.” Tammy turned to look at Keith, who was hovering in the doorway, smiling timidly at Ann. “Keith, let’s help Ann bring in her things from the car, okay?”
“Okay.” He disappeared without a further word, and she followed.
“That’s really not necessary.” They were wasted words; Ann knew this even as she said them. “I’m perfectly capable of getting it myself.”
“Of course it’s necessary; doesn’t matter what you’re capable of. We want to help you in any way that we can, don’t we, Keith? That’s what friends do, help each other. In fact, I need to go to the grocery store too. Why don’t we make it a group shopping trip? Things like that are so much better when shared with a friend.”
“No, really—”
“I insist. Let me just go get my list and lock up the house. Do you want me to stop by and pick you up, or do you want to just walk over?”
Ann pictured Keith hovering in her doorway and talking about angels while Tammy waited in the car outside. The picture disturbed her enough that she said, “I’ll walk over. Give me a few minutes.”
“All right then. Come on over when you’re ready.” Tammy and Keith made their way across the lawn to their house.
What had just happened here? Ann lived in New York, for crying out loud. She worked in the business world and was not afraid to play hardball with the best of them. So how was it that this woman with a bow full of badly permed hair and hovering son managed to get her to do something she absolutely did not want to do—and they managed to pull this off over and over again?
Then she remembered her dream. And she began to wonder. Was she just imagining it, or did his face really seem extra pale today?
Ann shook her head. Apparently her imagination was still having trouble staying in check while she was in Charleston. Time to take control of this. These things were not real, and by sheer determination, Ann would excise them from her mind.
“We’ll help you bring your groceries in.” Tammy was out of the car and grabbing bags from the trunk before Ann could protest. Keith followed, carrying a twelve-pack of vitaminwater and humming softly to himself.
“Danielle will be so sorry that she missed your visit. She’s out of the country, you know. Did she tell you about her photo safari?”
“Safari? Like Africa?” Ann had trouble picturing Danielle anywhere other than an air-conditioned home with all the amenities.
“Yeah. She goes on those things for a couple of months at a time. One of the benefits of never marrying, I suppose, is the freedom to retire the way you want to.” Tammy looked a little wistful as she said it. “It’s not just play though, she does volunteer work with WorldVision, helping rural villages find ways to capture clean drinking water. Oh, the stories she’ll tell you when she gets home.” She reached for her bag. “I’ll help you put these things away.”
“Really, I’ve got it. I know you’ve got ice cream that’s melting as we speak.” Tammy’s smothering helpfulness was getting old. It wasn’t that Ann didn’t appreciate it exactly; she simply didn’t need help.
“Thanks for taking me to the store; I’ll see you later.” This sounded a little more New York direct than she’d intended, so she followed it up with, “You’ve just done so much for me already, bless your heart.”
Ann knew what Tammy’s next move would be. She would say something like, “I bought a pot roast, which is too much for just Keith and me. Don’t you want to come over for dinner?” Ann was preparing a firm but gracious “no” when Tammy said, “Okay then, all done. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
What? This stunned Ann enough that she couldn’t think of a way to respond. She finally managed to say, “All right, sounds good.” The weirdest thing about it was, after Tammy closed the door, Ann felt more than a little sting of rejection. She hadn’t been
that
blunt, had she? Why didn’t Tammy want her over for dinner?
Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.
Ann plopped the milk carton into the refrigerator, then put a couple of John’s Island tomatoes in the windowsill so they could finish ripening, just the way Nana used to do it. That little bit of nostalgia brought back the grief from earlier today, and she found herself crying again. Not with all-out sobs this time, just an overflow of sadness that kept running down her cheeks.
The doorbell rang. “Just a minute,” Ann called, loud enough, she hoped, to be heard. She splashed cold water on her face and dried it with a kitchen towel, then went and opened the door.
“Hello there.” Ethan McKinney stood on the doorstep, his hair slightly damp. “I heard you were back in town.”
Ann didn’t have to ask where he’d heard the news. She glanced toward Tammy’s house, wondering if this was the reason she hadn’t mentioned dinner. “Yeah, just arrived a little while ago, still getting settled.”
He nodded. “Did I interrupt anything?” He was careful not to look directly in her eyes. Ann surmised that he could tell she had been crying and was choosing to ignore it. She was grateful for that.
“Oh, I’m just putting away groceries. You want to come in and have something to drink?” Now would be a good time to talk to Ethan about her new plan. She’d been meaning to call him ever since she’d figured things out at the coffee shop.
He looked doubtful. “Well, I don’t want to intrude or anything. I mean I know you’re just getting settled, and I know you’ve had a long trip, and I know that things around here—”
“No, it’s fine. Really, come on in.” She held the door a little wider until he walked in. “I’ve just got to get a couple of things into the fridge, but there’s something I wanted to talk to you about anyway. Come on into the kitchen.”
“All right if I help? I’m sure I’ll put everything in the wrong spot, but I figure there’s not really much you can mess up when you’re putting veggies in the fridge, right?” He picked up a bag of produce and walked toward the refrigerator. “What’d you want to talk to me about?”
Ann unloaded the bread and some wheat crackers into a cabinet that served as a pantry. “I need to get this place ready to sell faster than I’d originally thought, and things are really busy in New York right now. I know we made a barter agreement, but I really think it would simplify things if I just hired you and let you finish up the work while I’m gone.”
“I don’t mind working while you’re gone, but like I said, I’m not for hire in your case.”
“Then I’ll have to find someone who is.” Ann turned and leaned against the counter, arms folded across her chest.
Ethan looked at her evenly, then finally said, “How long you in town for?”
“Tuesday.”
“All right. How about tomorrow I rent a couple of sanders and we start refinishing the hardwood floors?” He nodded toward the scarred floor under the kitchen table. “They’re pretty beat up. I could get here a little before noon; we could at least get the back rooms done.”
“This might be my last time back here for a long time. I’m telling you I likely will not have a chance to repay my part of the bargain.”
“That’s my problem, isn’t it?” Ethan put his palm against the wall beside the kitchen door. “You know, if we blew out this wall right here and took out this little breezeway, we could add a nice walk-in pantry. I’m sure it would help the sale price of the house a lot. Kitchens and baths are what everyone looks at.” He looked at Ann then, and his face turned faintly red. “Guess I don’t need to tell you that, huh? You know about that kind of stuff as much as I do, more probably, because I’m sure in New York—”
“That’s not a bad idea.” Exactly how many times could she interrupt one person without offending him? Somehow, with Ethan, she was more than certain she was going to get to that answer eventually.
Ann looked at the wall and considered what he’d just said. She was used to a small space, living in a New York studio, but she knew that most of today’s consumers preferred a larger kitchen. “It’d be a little pricey for what I was planning to do, but do you think it would pay for itself in the end?”
“I told you. I’m working for free.”
“And I told you I’m not taking charity. Besides, there would be all the dry wall, et cetera. The supplies alone will be costly. And . . . it would require more time than I was hoping to spend on this project.”
“That wouldn’t bother me.”
Ann wasn’t sure if he was talking about the supplies or the extra time. She chose to believe it was the supplies. “Let me think about it, but you might be right.”
“You want to try out Magnolia’s tonight? We can work on our plans while we eat.”
“I don’t think . . .” Ann was searching her mind for an excuse that seemed valid enough not to hurt his feelings when her cell phone rang. “Excuse me for just a minute.”
“Sure.” He leaned against the counter, his hands on each side of him, looking perfectly at home.
Ann walked toward the living room. Ethan would still be able to hear her there, but at least she wouldn’t be talking in his face. “This is Ann.”
“Yes. It is.” Patrick Stinson’s tone fell somewhere between silky and oil-slick. “I’m calling to make certain that you are thinking about me, just like you promised you would be.”
“As promised, I’m thinking about your project. I worked on some of the sketches today during the flight—fine-tuned some of the things we’ve talked about, started working on a few new ideas.”
“Good, that’s what I like to hear. I want our partnership to keep moving forward because I think we make a great pair.” He paused then, waiting—Ann supposed—for her to fawn some sort of agreement. The fact that he used the word
pair
instead of
team
was not lost on her. Instead of responding, she simply let the silence hang between them like a shield.
Finally, he cleared his throat and laughed. “I think I like your style, Ann Fletcher. You hurry back to New York.” And with that, the line went dead. Ann flipped her phone shut, fighting against an uncomfortable, almost slimy, sensation that oozed through her chest. It was silly really; he hadn’t done or said anything truly wrong. Maybe it was just another symptom of her overactive imagination. She shivered once, then returned to the kitchen.
There, still leaning against the counter, stood Ethan McKinney—king of the run-on sentence. Something about his presence made her feel better; it seemed to clear the ick from her mind. Maybe a dinner with a normal human being was just the thing she needed. “You know what? Magnolia’s sounds great.”
Ethan looked over the edge of the menu. “I noticed there were a lot of bean sprouts and stuff like that in your groceries, but whether or not you avoid eating fat, you cannot eat at Magnolia’s in Charleston and not have the she-crab soup. That just wouldn’t be right.”
“I don’t think so. I grew up in Charleston, so I shouldn’t have to do all the things a tourist would do.”
“That all depends. How long’s it been since you were here—other than two weeks ago?”
Ann slowly removed her napkin and set it on her lap, then took a sip of water. “A few years, I guess.” She continued to stare at the white linen tablecloth.
“How many’s a few?”
Ann took a sip of water. “Seven.” She whispered the word, as if it hurt her to say it.
He knew as much. He took a sip of his own water. “Since your grandmother’s funeral.”
“How did you know that?”
Sarah had often talked about trying to get Ann to come for a visit. She’d also talked about their mixed-up childhood and how Ann had fled Charleston, as if leaving here somehow removed her from the pain. Sarah’s field of study had led her to psychoanalyzing most everything and everyone, but Ann’s refusal to return home in particular disturbed her. “Well, I was at her funeral too, and I remember seeing you there. That was just after I got my contractor’s license, and I know I’ve been in business over seven years now. It all adds up.”
Ann toyed with her silverware, her eyes focused down. Perhaps he’d veered too far into personal territory, which always seemed to happen around her. He supposed that after living up north for a decade, she was used to people being a little more guarded. He leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Well, if it’s been seven years, then you are a tourist, so yes, you do have to eat the soup. In fact, we’ll also have to schedule a drive-through of some of the more historic districts, and maybe even a visit to Fort Sumter. We have to get you acclimated.”
Ann looked up, clearly surprised by this change in subject. She leaned forward, elbows on the table, and gave him a half smile. “I’ve never been much of a history buff myself.”
“You’ve just never had the right tour guide.”
Danger, Will
Robinson. Danger, danger. Stay focused; keep a clear head
. Ethan leaned toward her, pulled against his will. “I think I might know just the right person who could change your mind about that.” Wow, she was beautiful. The candlelight danced in her eyes and even seemed to glow in her dark hair.
“You ready to order?” The waitress was suddenly standing beside them, looking at Ann.
“Sure. I’ll have a salad, with honey mustard dressing on the side.” She smiled at Ethan. “And a cup of the she-crab soup.”
“That’s my girl.” No. She wasn’t. But a guy could dream, couldn’t he?
The feeling of complete peace slipped away with Ann’s dream, disappearing the very second she awoke, leaving a hollow place in its wake. She longed to return to the cocoon that had surrounded her—the warmth, the love. The music alone remained now, and it seemed to continue through the house long after she knew that she was fully awake. But that couldn’t be.
She listened. It sounded like it was coming from somewhere near the back of the house. What was
wrong
with her? Well, she was going to hit this paracusia head-on. “You’re not real,” she said aloud as she threw off the blanket and walked into the short hallway between the two bedrooms. She stood motionless, not even daring to breathe. Was it coming from behind the door of her old room?
She reached for the doorknob and somehow managed to turn it, although everything inside her screamed against it. She pushed against the door, taking an involuntary step back as it swung slowly open. Then the music ceased.
