“How so?”
“Is she a hoarder? I mean, all the junk and stuff she has piled all over the countertops and table.”
Keaton’s arm continued to hold her close to him, and she laid her head against his shoulder, treasuring these peaceful moments with him.
“If you think the kitchen is bad, you should see the rest of the house.”
“Really?”
“She has more junk lying around than anyone I know.”
Annie released a sigh. “The thought of clearing it all out probably overwhelms her.”
“Don’t know that she wants it gone.”
“What if she did?” Annie wondered, watching him for any nonverbal clues to what he was thinking. “I could ask her.”
Keaton snorted. “You going to volunteer to help her with it?”
Annie laughed. “No, but I know someone who could.”
Keaton frowned. “Who?”
She broke away, and turned and looked at him square in the face. “Teresa.”
“Who’s Teresa?”
“Teresa Hoffert, Carl’s wife. She cleans houses and she’d be perfect.”
Annie had met a woman in Teresa’s situation while working at the clinic in California. She had spoken frankly with the woman and asked what made her stay with a man who hurt her and her children, when there were shelters that would help her. What she’d learned surprised her. Not all women’s shelters take adolescent males after a certain age, so this woman had no place to go where she could be safe. She made the difficult choice to stay with her husband. The problem had weighed heavily on Annie’s mind. Many shelters in Washington had similar rules. Annie had reported the abuse, but the woman refused to press charges. She never saw or heard from her again, although from time to time she’d come to Annie’s mind.
Teresa reminded her of the woman from California. If she could convince Mellie to let Teresa work for her, then Annie would have the opportunity to talk to Teresa and perhaps encourage her to get away from Carl. Although it was speculation on her part, Annie had the feeling that Mellie had been in a similar situation and had found the courage to break away.
“So, what do you think?” she asked eagerly.
Keaton didn’t look convinced. “If Mellie would agree, and that’s a big if.”
That, of course, was the bigger question. “Yes, but if Mellie knew she was helping someone, she just might.”
Keaton still had his doubts.
“I wanted her to clean for me, but as you might have guessed, Carl would never allow that. Teresa needs someone who will help her see that there’s a way out of this abusive relationship. She feels trapped. If she works for Mellie, then I’d have the chance to spend time with her.”
Keaton’s frown deepened. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?” Personally, Annie thought it was brilliant.
Keaton’s shoulder instantly tensed. “You’d be putting yourself at risk.”
“Keaton, Teresa is—”
“Is married to an abuser,” he finished for her. “He already slashed your tires. If he finds out you’re talking to his wife, there’s no telling what he’ll do. Please, Annie, reconsider this. I appreciate your concern for this other woman, but you don’t need to get involved. It’s not your problem.”
“Life is a risk, Keaton. I know what you’re saying, but I want to help. It’s like your rescue efforts with animals. This is my own attempt to help someone. You can understand that, can’t you?”
He parked the truck outside the cottage, briefly closed his eyes, and nodded.
Annie grew more excited about the possibility of Mellie hiring Teresa. “I think the two women would be good for each other. Mellie needs her house cleaned and Teresa needs—”
“Mellie has issues, Annie,” Keaton reminded her.
“We all have issues. I understand that the reasons that lead to her hoarding are complicated. It speaks of other issues Mellie has. I know she needs to address those if she’s ever going to move on in her life. But Mellie needs a starting point, and if I can be a friend enough to get her to recognize it, then it’s a win-win for everyone.”
Keaton grew silent. He remained unconvinced. “I don’t trust Carl. I don’t want him getting anywhere near you.”
“He won’t,” she told him, feeling more confident by the moment. “If Teresa works for Mellie, then I can also develop a relationship with her, and maybe help her.”
“Annie…”
“Keaton, please trust me in this. I appreciate that you’re concerned, but I have a good feeling that this could work to the benefit of both Mellie and Teresa. The potential is there if I can set everything in place.”
“Mellie won’t easily give up whatever she has in those boxes.”
“Probably not,” Annie agreed. It went without saying that Mellie letting someone else into her home would be a major obstacle, but Annie wasn’t about to abandon the idea because it was difficult. Her one hope was that Mellie would be willing when she understood Teresa’s circumstances.
“I’m glad you came with me,” he said.
“I’m glad I came, too.” She’d learned more about him in the two nights they’d been out than in all the time she’d known Keaton, and the more she discovered, the closer she felt to him. “Thank you for hearing me out. You know Mellie better than anyone. There’s no guarantee any of this will work, but I feel the need to try.”
Keaton didn’t seem to have anything to add, yet she felt there was something on his mind. “You wanted to say something?” she asked.
He pressed his hand against the side of her face, his eyes delving into hers. “I wanted you to know I’m sorry to hear about your parents. I can only imagine how hard that must be for you and your brother to lose them both at the same time. Anytime you want to talk about it, I’m here.”
Her brother. She didn’t remember ever mentioning Mike, but she must have. She missed him dreadfully. Swallowing down the pain, she bit into her lower lip. “Thank you.”
If she told anyone the full story of what had happened, it would be Keaton. But not tonight. To bring that grief into their evening together would ruin the good feelings she had about being with him.
“You’ve never mentioned any brothers or sisters,” she said, in an effort to turn the subject away from herself.
“There’s just me. Mom died shortly after I was born.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too. My father is a brute.”
His face tightened when he mentioned his father, and that look alone spoke more than a lengthy tirade. Keaton didn’t need to explain to Annie that his father had physically abused him. The way he’d reacted when he’d learned she’d been threatened by Carl told her that nearly everything she’d suspected about his childhood was true.
“Is your father the reason you don’t talk much to others?”
He nodded.
Her heart ached for him. Annie felt the need to show him how deeply she cared. Words were difficult and unnecessary; she understood, and she said it by framing his face between her hands. His eyes held hers as she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.
Awkward as it was with him behind the steering wheel, Keaton’s arms circled her, his mouth devouring hers. Keaton’s kisses were unlike any others she’d experienced. He was her prince, although he hadn’t come wrapped up in the traditional handsome package. To the rest of the world he was ungainly, and antisocial. Annie had been gifted with the ability to see him as others rarely had, and probably never had the chance to. His heart was good; he was kind and generous, talented and loveable.
Keaton broke off the kisses and buried his face in her neck, kissing her there, loving her with a gentleness that belied his strength and size.
“Go inside, Annie.”
Her head was still trapped i
n a fog of desire. “What?” she asked.
“It would be best if you got out of the truck.”
It took a moment for his words to make sense.
“If you don’t get out of this truck in the next sixty seconds, I swear I’m not going to be able to resist making love to you.”
Annie smiled. “Those are the sweetest words you’ve ever said to me, Seth Keaton.”
“Annie, please, I am only so strong when it comes to you.”
“Okay, okay.” She opened the truck door and climbed out, blowing him a kiss as she hurried toward the cottage.
CHAPTER 20
Keaton took his lunch break from his most recent painting job. He worked as an independent contractor and had more work than he could handle. After he ate his sandwich, he drove over to the animal shelter. Earlier in the day, he’d asked Preston to drop groceries off to his father. As much as possible, Keaton avoided contact with his caustic parent. Still, he was concerned, as his father wasn’t in the best of health. Keaton had long suspected the old man had cancer, although Seth Senior wouldn’t admit it. Not to him, anyway.
The animal shelter was a cacophony of barking from the rescue dogs. The noise comforted him in ways he couldn’t explain. Because he was often at the shelter, he recognized many of the volunteers who came to walk and feed the strays. Keaton found Preston in his office. His friend hated paperwork and put it off as long as he could. Apparently, the need had caught up with him, as it was rare to see Preston sitting.
His friend looked up when Keaton leaned against the doorjamb.
“How’s he looking?” Keaton asked. Keaton didn’t need to explain who he was asking about.
Preston’s eyes revealed the answer. “Not good.”
Keaton expected as much. “Don’t suppose he’s been to see Dr. Bainbridge?”
Preston leaned back in the chair. “Wouldn’t tell me if he had.”
Again, this didn’t come as a shock. His old man was as stubborn as they came. Not much he could do about it.
Preston had done him a favor by checking on his father, and Keaton thought he would return it. “Mellie asked me to pick up a few things for her at the store. Don’t suppose you’d like to make the delivery?” Knowing his friend had been in love with Mellie for years, this would be a good opportunity for Preston to spend time with her alone.
Preston’s look resembled a man who had unexpectedly confronted a grizzly bear in the woods. “I…I don’t think so.”
“You’re going to have to let go of the past one of these days,” Keaton said, shaking his head. It was a shame Preston hadn’t. The two of them would be good together. Soon after Mellie had returned, Preston had asked her out and had been harshly rejected. That was all it took to keep him from trying again.
“I will…one of these days,” Preston said, repeating Keaton’s words back at him. “You’ve been on me about Mellie ever since Annie showed up.”
Keaton couldn’t deny it.
“You stuck on her?” Preston asked.
“Pretty much.” It wasn’t like Keaton could hide it, knowing that Preston would see through the lie.
“Thought so,” Preston replied. “She’s what you need.”
Keaton agreed and grinned, feeling a little foolish yet elated that she was in his life. He never expected his infatuation with her to develop into anything more than a few sketches of a girl he’d once met on the beach. He’d never been in love before, and the emotion made him leery. He couldn’t help wondering if her attraction to him would last. He feared he was a novelty to Annie, and that when the time came, she would go back to her life in Seattle and leave him behind. The sooner he accepted it, the better it would be when it came time to let her go.
“You might want to check on your dad,” Preston suggested, breaking into his thoughts. “He barely raised a fuss when I stopped by. That’s not like him. Most always he tells me to take the groceries back because he doesn’t need or want anything from you. He didn’t do that this time.”
Keaton could think of other ways to ruin a week besides visiting his father. But knowing that Preston wouldn’t mention his father’s failing health without cause, he decided to stop by when he’d finished work for the day.
* * *
—
Keaton didn’t expect the visit to go well, and his dad didn’t disappoint him. He arrived at about six, and after one hard knock on the door, Keaton let himself into the house. He found his father sitting in his recliner in front of the television.
The old man had once been as tall and big as Keaton. Over the years he’d lost two or three inches and was quite a bit lighter. His clothes hung on him from the recent weight loss. His eyes narrowed as he lowered the recliner and stood, confronting Keaton.
“What are you doing here?” the old man demanded loudly. His voice had lost its strength, and he wobbled slightly.
“Came to check on you.”
“Don’t want you here.”
Keaton was accustomed to the lack of welcome, so it didn’t faze him. “You need anything?”
“Yes. I need you to get out.” Seth sank back into his recliner, nearly falling into the chair—he was that weak.
Keaton walked over and sat so he could get a better look at his father. His pallor was yellow, telling him the old man’s liver wasn’t functioning properly. “When was the last time you saw Dr. Bainbridge?”
“None of your business.”
“He doesn’t make house calls, you know.”
“Leave me alone. I’ll be dead soon enough.”
Keaton ignored the comments. “If you need me to take you to an appointment, let me know.”
“Wouldn’t ask anything of you if I was dying, which I am, so go.”
Knowing there was nothing more he could do, Keaton returned to his truck, where Lennon waited for him. He sat in the driver’s seat for several minutes before he pulled away. This was the house where he’d been raised, where he’d lived most of his life, but it had never been a home. For whatever reason, his father had resented him from the day he was born. There’d been no love in that house, no caring.
Each visit left him feeling like a lead blanket had been placed over his head, dragging him down into the dark depths of depression. When this happened, he turned to his art. Over the years, he’d filled dozens of sketchbooks. About five years ago he’d started painting on canvases, many of which were stored in a back bedroom.
* * *
—
Thursday night, Keaton took Annie to the Concert in the Park. The city council provided entertainment each Thursday night for the community. These events were popular with the locals. Keaton had attended a few now and again, preferring to remain in the background. When he brought Annie, it was different. She was becoming known in the community and was making friends. The bleachers were full, so she spread a blanket on the crowded lawn. Annie refused to listen to his protest as she unpacked their dinner. Keaton had never felt comfortable in large groups. What surprised her was how many of the townsfolk greeted him by name. Lennon stretched out at his side and Annie was thoughtful enough to have packed turkey and thick tomato sandwiches for the two of them.
The entertainment that evening was a group of young musicians who played music from the Beatles. Annie sat in front of him between his outstretched legs, leaning her back against the broad expanse of his chest, bobbing her head to the musical beat. Lennon pressed his chin against her thigh, content.
Keaton had never experienced this sense of belonging before. For most of his life, he’d felt like an outcast. He’d always been the one on the outside of life, looking in, pretending not to care. Being with Annie was a good feeling. Having her this close, snuggled up against him, enjoying the sounds of the sixties, was about as close to heaven as he ever expected to get. He reached out and petted Lennon’s head, his heart full.
&
nbsp; After the concert, Annie and Keaton lingered in the park.
“What was it that Ed from the pharmacy said earlier?” she asked as she gathered the remains of their picnic basket. “You know, about when that scene would be finished?”
Keaton hesitated. He’d never mentioned the murals to Annie. Several people knew that Keaton was the artist who’d painted the murals in town. He didn’t sign his name to the artwork. No need. He wasn’t looking for the recognition. He painted for the sheer joy of it, of creating something beautiful the community could be proud of.
She paused and looked at him expectantly.
“Best show you,” he said, rather than explain.
Walking hand-in-hand, they headed toward Center Street and turned one block off the main drive until they faced the corner around from the bank building. He stopped and stood directly in front of her.
“What are we doing here?” she asked, frowning.
He grinned, slightly embarrassed. “I paint.”
“Yes, I know you’re a painter,” Annie commented, sounding confused. “It’s how you make your living.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “But I paint more than just walls and houses.”
Moving around the corner, they stood in front of the half-finished mural on the back side of the bank. Keaton waited for her reaction. Annie stared at the artwork and then looked at him.
Slowly her mouth sagged open. “Are you telling me you painted this?” Her voice rose half an octave with the question.
He nodded, enjoying her surprise.
“The other murals in town? You did those?”
He nodded a second time.
Gesturing toward the wall, she looked dumbfounded. “This is all your work?”
“It is.”
Her hand flew to her heart. “Keaton, they’re…they’re wonderful.”
Her praise embarrassed him, and he could feel his mouth forming an involuntary smile. “Thanks.”
“Wait,” she said, her arm flying out and pointing at him. “The mural by the real estate office. The woman with the single braid who’s by the ocean. That’s me, isn’t it?”
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