His contact's wrath over the newspaper photo would be nothing compared to the hell that would break loose when they found out he had been in contact with Arnie Gillingham about Claudia's contract with Adam Winters. He had left behind a paper trail a blind man could follow.
But it was too late now. The machinery was in motion and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
His nights in Annie's arms were numbered.
#
Warren showed up on Claudia's doorstep precisely at eight o'clock on Saturday night, same as usual.
The greeting he received wasn't usual at all.
"He told you, didn't he?"
Warren doffed his hat and flung it on the hall table. "Who told me what?" He slipped out of his coat and hung it from the coat tree near the door.
"That friend of yours from New York told you what I did."
"Are you talking about Sam?"
"Yes, I'm talking about Sam. He told you what happened and you made them give my money back."
"You been hitting the scotch?"
Her gaze was as fierce as it had been when she was a beautiful young wife of nineteen. "No, I haven't been hitting the scotch. Don't tell me you don't know what I'm talking about, Warren Bancroft, because you do."
"I don't understand one word, old woman. Now slow down and start over again."
She talked and he listened while he poured himself a stiff shot of single malt he kept in her kitchen cupboard.
"Nope," he said. "I had nothing to do with it."
She dished up some spaghetti and meatballs and set it down in front of him. "Don't lie to me, you old coot. Who else could have made it happen?"
"Sam," he said as he reached for the green container of shaking cheese. "That's who you should be thanking."
#
Claudia had been afraid of that. When the courier showed up at her house three mornings after Annie's whatever-he-was had found her sniveling on Warren's doorstep she had suspected Sam Butler was at the bottom of it. God knew, it was the last thing she had wanted, to be in that man's debt. Bad enough that he knew her for the weak-willed, lonely woman she was. Now she would have to thank him for cleaning up the mess she had made.
She waited until Monday morning when she was sure Warren was on his way to Portland on business and Annie was at the shop. She knew that Sam spent his days in the workshop behind Warren's house, working on some project for the museum.
The lawn sparkled with early morning frost as she pulled into the driveway behind the house. Autumn was invariably kind to their part of Maine and this autumn was no exception. Beauty and commerce met and married in September and October and the honeymoon, if they were lucky, might extend until Christmas. The last two weeks had brought a flood of leaf-peepers to Shelter Rock Cove and Annie's Flowers had done land office business. Sweeney, too, had been crowing about the record sales enjoyed by the artistans' co-op. Everyone, it seemed, was pleased with her lot in life but Claudia.
Sam Butler's disreputable truck was parked a few yards ahead of her sedan. He still had his New York license plates and she wondered if that meant he planned to go home one day. Annie never said a word about their plans. Surely they must have talked about the future. The only thing lovers enjoyed more than recounting their own intimate history was making plans for the future, but if Annie and Sam had such plans, they weren't talking.
Are you going to sit out here all day, Claudia, or are you going to get it over with?
She checked her lipstick in the rear view mirror, patted her hair, then stepped out of the car. What was the name of that movie with that nice Tom Hanks, the one about death row? The Green Mile, that was it, with the long walk the convicted man took to the electric chair. That was how she felt as she approached the huge garage, like she was walking her last mile and Sam Butler had his hand on the switch.
His noisy dog announced her arrival which, she supposed, was a good thing. If the yellow Lab hadn't started barking, she might have been tempted to sneak back to her car and zip away.
"Knock it off, Max." Sam Butler's voice rumbled from somewhere in the barn. "I hear you."
She approached the door, trying to pretend that huge animal wasn't dancing around her knees. Maybe she could write him a note or, better yet, send him a bouquet of something fresh-smelling and masculine as a thank you.
Coward.
She lifted her hand and knocked twice. The door opened a crack and a surprised Sam Butler looked down at her.
"Warren's down in Boston," he said. "He'll be back later this afternoon."
"I'm not here to see Warren." She willed herself to not look away from him even though she found his gaze unnervingly intense. "I'm here to thank you for what you did."
The door swung open wide. The guarded expression in his melted-chocolate eyes was replaced by what Claudia could only describe as flat-out joy. "Arnie came through!"
"Last night," she said stiffly. "A courier showed up at my house with a cashier's check."
He motioned her into the barn and the dog followed right behind her. "They should have provided you with a notarized document stating that your agreement with Adam Winters Inc. was null and void."
"They did," she said. "It's in my safety deposit box at the bank."
How handsome he was when he smiled. It wasn't something Claudia wanted to notice but his happiness was impossible to ignore. You would think there was something in this for him.
What a fool she was. Of course there was something in it for him. What did he care about the future of an aging widow from Shelter Rock Cove, Maine? Claudia was just another old lady to him. Her future was of no consequence. He was looking to charm Annie and how better than to bail her foolish mother-in-law out of trouble. He would probably make sure this sorry story hit the front page of the weekly paper, same as that picture of him kissing Annie had last month.
"I suppose you've told Anne." She phrased it as a statement of fact, not a question.
"No," he said. "I didn't. Who you tell or don't tell is your business."
Another surge of gratitude washed over her. What nerve he had being understanding and thoughtful. How could she hate him when he was going out of his way to treat her with kindness and respect?
"I don't believe in sharing my financial information with family."
"I understand," he said and his tone made her believe he really did. "Most people will show you their diaries before they'll show you their bank statements. Money is the last taboo in this country."
She laughed and he looked almost as surprised as she was by the sound. There was something very appealing about him when he let down his guard, a bracing kind of sharp-edged charm she found most agreeable. The fact that there was an equally sharp-edged intellect beneath the work shirt wasn't lost on her either.
"I would like to repay you somehow for what you've done for me," she said. "Maybe you would like to take Anne out to Bar Harbor for a weekend. I would be glad to –"
"No." His smile softened the word. "But thanks. Just think twice next time before you sign on the dotted line."
He wouldn't take anything from her. Even her thanks seemed to make him uncomfortable. No preening, no angling for an imaginary spotlight. He was straightforward, direct, and kind. He hadn't helped her so that he could shine more brightly in Annie's eyes. He hadn't helped her to score points with Warren. He had helped her because she needed help and because he had help to give.
There was so little kindness in the world that its absence was taken for granted. Nobody noticed the daily slights, the snubs, the raised voices and harsh words. They were all part of the landscape, as invisible as hello and goodbye. But when kindness suddenly appeared in the guise of a man like Sam Butler, a woman couldn't help but sit up and take notice.
Chapter Eighteen
Annie had developed the habit of lingering in bed until Sam headed out for his morning run with Max. She waited until she heard the sound of the front door swinging shut behind them then leaped from bed and made a mad da
sh for the bathroom.
It was hard to believe an empty stomach could cause so much trouble but for the last fourteen mornings, Annie had embraced the john and prayed for a bolt of lightning to put her out of her misery. Twenty minutes of utter misery were followed by ten minutes of queasy discomfort that were finally eased into submission by a cup of spearmint tea with sugar and a handful of oyster crackers. By the time Sam and Max came back, sweaty and exhilarated from running along the beach, she looked as if she had done nothing more exciting than brush her teeth and drink some orange juice.
She had been fine this morning when she left for work but something shifted inside her stomach when she rounded the curve on Shore Drive and she had to pull off to the side of the road and humiliate herself. Thank God nobody was around because the news that Annie Galloway was upchucking her breakfast on a public street would go from one end of town to the other before lunchtime.
"You look terrible," Sweeney said when Annie finally got to work.
"I feel—" She bolted for the small bathroom behind the giant refrigerator.
"Here," said Sweeney, handing her a cup of hot tea. "Peppermint, for your stomach."
"I've been drinking spearmint," she said, wrapping her hands around the warm cup.
"Peppermint," said Sweeney wisely. "The first trimester's a bitch. You need the heavy artillery."
Sweeney's words sent a shudder of shock through Annie's body. Hot tea sloshed over the side of the cup and dotted her forest green sweater. "First trimester!" She dabbed at the droplets with a square of paper towel. "I think you're jumping the gun."
"I've been through it three times, honey. Believe me, I know the signs."
"I know what it looks like," Annie said, "but it's impossible."
Sweeney arched a brow. "Impossible?"
"Okay, okay. Theoretically possible, but not very likely." She took a sip of the sweet mint tea. It tasted like melted candy canes. "I'm thirty-eight. It's probably early menopause."
"Menopause doesn't give you morning sickness."
"Shh!" Annie glanced quickly around the store. "I'm not looking to make a public announcement, Sweeney."
"Claudia's not here yet. She called to say she'd be a little late."
"Well, she picked the right day for it," Annie said as she ran for the bathroom again.
Afterward, she washed her face and was drying it carefully when she caught sight of herself in the mirror. She looked every single one of her thirty-eight years and maybe a few more for good measure. She also looked terrified. Of course she'd wondered if maybe, just maybe, she might be pregnant but each time she considered the possibility it seemed downright laughable. She had been married for almost twenty years to a man with a healthy sperm count and not once in those twenty years had she ever become pregnant. She had dreamed about it, prayed for it, until she finally mourned the children she would never have. Ultimately she had made her peace with her situation but the sense of loss was never far from the surface.
Loving Sam was nothing short of a miracle. Only a greedy woman would ask the gods for one more chance at heaven.
"You should buy yourself one of those home pregnancy tests," Sweeney suggested once Annie was back behind the counter.
"Can you see me trying to slip one of those things by Ceil at Yankee Shopper?" Annie had to laugh. "She would know the results before I did."
"So would her next-door neighbor," Sweeney admitted. "I'll buy one for you."
Annie shook her head. "You don't have to. I have an appointment with Ellen this afternoon."
"Have you told Sam yet?"
"There's nothing to tell."
"There will be," said Sweeney. "Honey, this time I think you've hit the jackpot."
#
Annie told Claudia she was going for her annual pap smear and exam and Claudia feigned a ladylike shudder.
"One day they'll learn how to warm up their instruments," Claudia said, "although probably not in my lifetime."
"Ellen's pretty good about that," Annie said as she slipped on her jacket and grabbed her purse from the hook. "I think she's been on the receiving end of cold metal a few times herself."
"You take your time, dear," Claudia said. "I'll watch the shop. In fact, it's been slow today. Why don't you take the afternoon off? You must have a lot to do for your seminar."
Annie looked almost embarrassingly relieved. She kissed Claudia on the cheek, grabbed her jacket from the hook behind the door, then flew from the store with wings on her heels.
"Bless you, Annie," Claudia whispered as the door swung shut behind her daughter-in-law. "Bless you and your baby."
#
The waiting room was empty when Annie arrived. She hung up her jacket then let Janna, the receptionist, know she was there.
"Good timing," said Janna, grabbing Annie's chart. "We had a cancellation. Dr. Markowitz can see you right now. Leave us a specimen and we'll get started."
Annie followed her down the pale blue hallway to Room #2. Janna stuck the file folder in the plastic holder and gestured toward the screen.
"Change, put on the robe, you know the drill. The doctor will be with you before you get out of your pantyhose." Janna winked and hurried back to her desk.
How many times had gathered up all of her hopes and dreams and brought them into this cold impersonal room to be inspected? She could see herself as a bride of eighteen, a wife of twenty-three, an exhausted and scared woman of thirty, sitting there on the edge of the paper-covered table with her feet dangling and her hands folded in her lap, waiting for the doctor to tell her what she already knew. I'm sorry, Annie, but you're not pregnant.
She had no reason to believe this time would be any different.
"Good to see you, Annie." Ellen Markowitz knocked twice as she opened the door. "How're you doing?"
"Pretty well," Annie said, noticing the goose bumps racing up and down her bare legs. "New hair style?"
Ellen wrinkled her nose. "Hope springs eternal. Saranne at Hair Today swears she understands curly hair but I'm not convinced. I think I look like the love child of Bernadette Peters and Don King."
Annie laughed out loud. "I think it looks terrific," she said. "I should pay Saranne a visit myself."
Ellen slipped her glasses on and scanned Annie's chart. "So you're here for your annual pap and checkup." She scribbled a note. "When was your last period?"
Annie scrambled for a date. Her periods, her finances, her life – everything had been screwed up since Kevin died. "I don't know exactly," she said. "Late August, maybe."
Ellen looked up. "You're sure."
"Fairly so."
Ellen flipped some pages. "Your cycle ranges anywhere from 26 days to 45 so we're still in the ballpark."
See, Galloway? You're late. You've been late before. You'll be late again.
"Any symptoms I should know about?"
Annie hesitated. "I've been tired a great deal during the day then I have a burst of energy at night."
"I hear you're working on some statuary for Warren's museum. That must keep you pretty busy."
"It does," she said. "I'll admit to being more than a little obsessed with the project."
"Well, that could certainly explain the fatigue." She met Annie's eyes. "Anything else I should know about?"
Annie took a deep breath. "Morning sickness." She forced a laugh. "Or maybe I should say sickness in the morning."
Ellen nodded and scribbled another note. "One second." She lifted the wall phone and pushed two buttons. "Janna, did you run the Galloway specimen yet . . . okay . . . great . . . add a number three, please . . . thanks."
This isn't really happening. I'm almost forty years old . . . I've just managed to pull my life back together . . . I've found a wonderful man who has never once said a word about kids . . . .
"Lie back and relax," said Ellen as she went over to the sink to wash her hands, "and we'll see what's happening."
The paper crinkled loudly as Annie settled herself in position. Men h
adn't a clue how awkward the whole thing was. Did any of them realize the way women obsessed about proper footwear in the stirrups? Bare feet? Socks? Shoes? Silly thoughts designed to take her mind off why she was lying there on that table with her heart even more exposed than her body.
Ellen positioned herself at the foot of the table. "Scoot down a little more . . . good . . . let's see . . . there are some cervical changes in keeping with early first trimester . . . tender here?"
"Yes."
"Here too?"
"Ouch! Yes."
"Your uterus is slightly enlarged which may or may not mean anything." She pulled off her surgical gloves and tossed them in the receptacle. "You can sit up, Annie."
Easy for you to say, Ellen. "So what do you think?" she asked, wishing her voice didn't sound so vulnerable. "Am I --?" She couldn't say the word. It held way too much power.
The intercom buzzed before Ellen could answer. The doctor lifted up the receiver, listened, asked a question, then hung up. "Congratulations," she said to Annie. "You're going to have a baby."
#
Ellen Markowitz had seen many reactions to a positive pregnancy test during her six years as an ob-gyn. Some women cried with joy. Some cried from sorrow. Some women cursed their husbands or boyfriends or birth control method of choice. Some women had no reaction at all beyond a stolid acceptance of the will of God. She had seen young couples embrace each other with such abandon that she wondered if they were trying to conceive a second child on the spot. She had seen older couples start fighting over a peri-menopausal surprise.
But she had never seen the look of almost holy wonder that she had seen in Annie Galloway's eyes.
Annie's joy was so deeply felt, so deeply private, that Ellen's eyes teared up and she turned away and pretended to scribble some notes on her chart. It wasn't often that she envied one of her patients, but that afternoon she envied Annie Galloway from the bottom of her heart.
#
Hall had just parked his Rover in the reserved spot near the door to the Medical Arts building when he saw Annie dash down the steps. Her hair was loose, a long tangle of waves and curls that glinted gold and red in the fierce autumn sunshine. The look on her face – Jesus, he could live to be two hundred and never forget the look on her face as she darted past him. She glowed from within. There was no other way to say it. She had always been beautiful to him but now she was radiant. Her hair, her skin, the ripe lushness of her body. But now there was something else added to the mix, a sense of wonder and magic that could only mean one thing.
A Soft Place to Fall (Shelter Rock Cove) Page 25
