by Robin Kaye
Annabelle checked her cream-colored dress with splashes of yellow, gray, and blue. It was a simple cap-sleeved, silk sheath—stylish without being trendy, and feminine without being slutty. Well, except for her shoes… or in this case shoe, which wasn’t stylish, trendy, feminine, or slutty. She couldn’t even claim it matched. The best she could say was it didn’t clash.
She turned away from the door, crossed herself, and prayed that the Lord would keep her mouth under control. When she was nervous, her filter tended to become rather… inadequate. She’d pretend Colleen was a rich client, since she had no problem avoiding foot-in-mouth disease when dealing with even her most difficult client and the yappy dog said client wore like an accessory.
She took a deep breath and smiled her most welcoming smile before opening the door for Colleen Flynn. “Welcome to the Ben Walsh Gallery.”
“Annabelle, thanks for agreeing to meet with me.”
Colleen pulled her into a tight hug. Shocked, she stood like one of the statues she displayed until Colleen’s hold relaxed, and she was able to extricate herself without appearing rude. In her rush to avoid further demonstrations of affection, no matter how false, she backed into one of the very statues she’d imitated. Luckily, she was fast on her feet… foot and caught it before it made the ruinous flight to the floor.
There were snickers in the background, which stopped the second Annabelle looked in the direction from which they’d come.
“Um… thanks for inviting me.” What was she supposed to say? She’d been looking forward to it? Since Mike never fell for her lies, she didn’t think she could pull one over on his mother. Especially since she was so bad at lying in the first place. She kept her mouth shut.
She really wished Mike were there.
Annabelle began the tour of the gallery, going on like a talking head, giving Colleen her canned spiel—a little about each artist, a little about the work itself, comparable artists and works—all the while wondering when Colleen’s claws would appear. Expecting the worst, only to have Colleen beam at her. She stopped and looked behind her to see who was the cause. No one was there.
“I certainly see why Michael is so taken with you. You’re not only beautiful and sweet but intelligent and talented, too. Tell me something, what can’t you do? If I find out you’re perfect, I’ll really have to hate you.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Colleen laughed. “Actually, I’m not. I bet you can even wear red lipstick.”
“Yes. Why?”
Colleen ran her hand through her short strawberry blonde hair. “If I wear red lipstick, I end up looking like Bozo the Clown.”
Annabelle relaxed marginally. “I’m far from perfect. I can’t cook to save my own life, and when I get nervous, I babble. I’m a terrible liar, even when I’m telling a kind, does-this-make-my-butt-look-big lie to a person who has such a big butt it deserves its own zip code. I’ve totally given up lying. Now I pretty much say what I think.”
“I’ll remember that.” Colleen threaded her arm through Annabelle’s and walked toward one of her favorite paintings. They stood in companionable silence while they soaked in the serenity the painting evoked.
Colleen squeezed her arm. “Do you want to tell me why you looked sick when I first got here?”
“Not especially.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“That’s not fair. I just told you I can’t lie.”
“Then don’t.”
“Fine. You know how some people are afraid of nuns?”
“Yes. I’ve heard the horror stories, however exaggerated.”
“I know for a fact that some of those are well deserved. Though, I’m sure there are some wonderful nuns who hate the stereotype. Still, there are some people out there who see a habit and break out in a cold sweat.”
“Okay.”
“I’m afraid of boyfriends’ mothers.”
“Don’t tell me you believe all those awful stories about mother-in-laws. They’ve replaced the wicked stepmother in modern fairy tales.”
“I’ve never had a mother-in-law. But if I had married either of the two men I’ve dated seriously, I’d have gotten a mother-in-law who made the psycho woman in Misery look like Glenda the Good Witch.”
Ben picked that moment to stroll out of the office, saving Annabelle from the awkward silence. An angel of mercy.
“Well, if it isn’t the good doctor’s mother. I still have a hard time believing it. She’s much too young and beautiful to have borne such a bo—”
Annabelle elbowed him in the gut. So much for the angel of mercy ID. The Prince of Darkness was more like it. “Colleen, you remember my boss, Benjamin Walsh.”
Ben rubbed his side and smiled politely. “Nice to see you again.”
Annabelle slid her arm through Colleen’s to move away from Ben. “What do you feel like for lunch? I know a great little Scottish place. All the men wear kilts.”
“Really?”
“Would I lie to you?”
By the time Annabelle and Colleen made it to the St. Andrews, they were laughing over the story of Mike and Annabelle’s first real date, when he arrived to find her in Ben’s arms. In hindsight, the fiasco with her ankle and all of Ben’s “help” was funny.
They were still giggling when they entered the St. Andrews and walked through the bar to the dining room. Gareth, the gorgeous bartender Annabelle knew, carried a large tub of ice and winked as he passed them. He was wearing his usual outfit of a tight St. Andrew’s T-shirt over highly developed muscles, a kilt, and rugged work boots. The look on Colleen’s face had Annabelle biting her cheek to keep from laughing. The woman was ready to swoon, and she hadn’t gotten a load of his accent. Gareth was the real thing, the equivalent of a male trifecta—a bad boy with drool-worthy good looks and a Scottish accent. The fact that he wore a skirt just turned up the voltage of all three. Every woman east of the Hudson wanted to find out if he went commando under that kilt. It was nice to see lust didn’t discriminate when it came to age.
They were seated at a corner booth. Once the hostess left them with their menus, Colleen leaned toward her. “I’ve always loved a man in a kilt, which explains Mike’s existence.”
Annabelle placed the napkin in her lap. “Excuse me?”
“The night Michael was conceived, his father and I went to a masquerade party on Long Island. Christopher was dressed as Rob Roy MacGregor, the Highland Rogue. He was always a very handsome man, but in a kilt, he was irresistible.”
“Christopher?”
“I’m sorry. I thought that Mike would have told you about his father, since you two seem so close. Not that I’m saying you’re not, you understand. I know it’s a sore subject—”
“No, I mean, yes. Mike’s told me that he never knew his father. He just never told me his name. I assumed—”
“Flynn is my name. Michael’s father and I never married. I found out after Michael was conceived that Christopher was engaged to be married to someone else. That certainly put a damper on my plans.” She shook her head.
“Engaged to be married?”
“I was young and gullible. I found out the truth when I saw the engagement announcement in the society pages. I didn’t want anything to do with him. Now I wonder if I made a mistake. No matter what happened between Christopher and me, it was unfair to keep Michael away from his father. The only excuse I have is that I was young and heartsick. I was so ashamed. My parents threw me out, and I ran to Ireland, stayed with my aunt, and had Michael. We didn’t come back to the States until Michael was about three years old.”
Colleen took a roll from the basket on the table and calmly buttered it, as if she dropped this bombshell every day of the week. Though to anyone other than Annabelle, it wouldn’t have been much of a bombshell.
“I thought about telling Christopher when Michael was young, but I never did. I decided not to give him the chance to hurt either of us any more than he already had. Besides, the Larsens were very wealthy.
I was afraid they’d take Michael from me.
“Larsen?”
“Yes, Christopher Larsen. The Larsens were one of those very uppity, proper Philadelphia families.”
“Christopher Larsen?”
“Yes. Now he’s a highly respected cardiologist. Then he was a lowly resident. Michael knows who his father is, but he’s never had any interest in contacting him.”
Colleen set down her knife and turned her attention to Annabelle. “Are you all right, dear? You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine. Just a little warm.” This would explain Annabelle’s sudden cold sweat. Now if only she could hide the shiver.
Chapter 12
ANNABELLE STOOD IN THE BATHROOM OF THE ST. Andrew’s rinsing her mouth and wiping her face with a cool paper towel after throwing up her entire lunch.
She hoped Colleen hadn’t noticed her shock. But at this point, it didn’t really matter. Her relationship with Mike was doomed. How could God be so cruel? How could he make her fall in love with both Chip and Mike?
Annabelle held on to the sink as another wave of nausea rolled over her. Her head ached, her heart ached, and since she’d stomped around the bathroom muttering curses, her ankle ached, too.
How was she going to tell Becca? Oh God, how was she going to tell Mike?
She dug through her purse, found blusher, and did her best to put some color back into her pasty complexion. She needed to finish her lunch with Colleen without letting on that her relationship with Mike had just been destroyed. She’d always suspected Mike and Chip were distantly related, but she’d assumed it would be in a long, long, long lost cousin kind of way, not in a brothers with different mothers way!
“Annabelle? Are you all right?”
She stuffed her blush back into her bag and smiled at Colleen. “I’m fine.”
It didn’t look as if Colleen bought that. Damn her inability to lie convincingly. “Okay, you caught me. I feel a little queasy. It’s probably from taking a megadose of ibuprofen on an empty stomach. You’d think I’d have learned my lesson after Mother’s Day.”
For once in her life, she actually got along with a boyfriend’s mother, and now she’d have to… How does one tell the man she loves that he’s the surviving brother of her first love? Sheesh, the writers of General Hospital had nothing on her life.
Colleen didn’t buy the ibuprofen bit either, but she was nice enough to let the subject drop. They returned to the table, where Colleen insisted on paying. Annabelle didn’t have the strength to argue. She wanted to go home and pretend the day never happened. Becca would insist on a blow by blow. Too bad the girl was going to get the shock of her life. Annabelle knew exactly how it felt and wasn’t looking forward to a reenactment.
Becca lazed on the couch with Dave, who, after an afternoon of quality time, snoozed beside his new best friend. Every now and then he’d awaken and give her feet or her face a swipe of his tongue. Becca regretted two things: that Dave was a dog, and that his was the only tongue, human or canine, she’d come in contact with in over a year. No offense to Dave, but she preferred a human male to Dave, who, she had to admit, was the sweetest ox she’d ever known.
The door swung open, and Annabelle stepped in. Becca took one look at Annabelle’s red-rimmed eyes and shoved Dave off her lap. “What happened to you?”
Annabelle fell into Becca’s arms and let loose a sob that seemed to come right from her soul. Becca had cried on Annabelle’s shoulder all through Chip’s illness and death, but she’d never seen her shed a tear. It was unnatural the way the girl could hold it together. Annabelle losing it now sent Becca into panic mode.
Dave barked and Henry and Wayne burst through the door like better-groomed versions of the Ghostbusters.
“What the hell happened?” Wayne turned on Becca and plucked Annabelle right out of her arms. “What did you do to her?”
“Nothing.” She tried to disengage Wayne from Annabelle. “Now damn it! Give her back to me.”
Henry pulled Becca under his arm and gave her a sideways hug. “Calm down. Wayne feels protective of Annabelle since her last crying jag.”
“She’s done this before? I’ve known her for almost five years, and I’ve never once seen her cry.”
Wayne made shushing noises and hummed something as Henry steered Becca into the kitchen and put the kettle on.
“She mentioned something about that.” He pulled a teapot from one of the upper cabinets and opened the small pantry, knowing exactly where to look for tea bags. You’d think he lived there.
“I know you mean well, but I really need to talk to Annabelle about something. Privately.”
Henry turned and looked over the top of his glasses at her. “I don’t recommend trying to get in between Wayne and Annabelle when he’s in full mother hen mode. Believe me, it will be much easier to let him calm her down. I promise to shoo him out as soon as possible. Until then, why don’t we give Annabelle a nice big dose of tea and sympathy? You look as if you could use some yourself.”
The Fairy Godfathers were both very skilled at “handling” people, though their tactics were diametrically opposed. Wayne tended to wade into the fray and get caught up in all the swirl of emotion, while Henry was the calm and supportive Rock of Gibraltar type. She was certain Henry would be able to walk through a mud pit and still come out clean, pressed, and smelling delicious. Too bad he was gay.
Becca sipped tea and ate cookies that appeared out of nowhere. When Wayne and Henry were sure the waterworks had stopped, they offered to dog-sit and leave the women alone to talk. Annabelle blew her nose and nodded.
They both watched the boys leave. When Becca turned her attention to Annabelle again, she hiccupped, trying to regain her composure.
Annabelle played with the tassels on a pillow she’d made, avoiding Becca’s eyes. The pillow reminded Becca of the old Annabelle. Bright colors mixed in a way that one thought would clash, but became something uniquely beautiful.
“I had lunch with Mike’s mother and…”
She covered her face with her hands and mumbled.
Becca pulled Annabelle’s hands away and held them. “What?”
“Mike’s father’s name is Christopher Larsen… you are Mike’s half sister.”
There, Annabelle had said it aloud, and when she got the guts to look Becca in the eye, all she saw was sympathy. Not shock, not horror—if anything she looked relieved.
“I take it this little bombshell isn’t news to you?”
Becca only shook her head, guilt dripping off her like water over Niagara Falls.
Annabelle had never felt such rage; she ripped her hands out of Becca’s and stood. “You knew and didn’t tell me? You’re my best friend, and you kept this from me?”
Becca’s face turned white. “I came here to tell you. I planned to, but I thought it would be better to tell you after we finished going through your past.” She stood and reached for Annabelle.
Annabelle pushed her away. “So you let me find out in the middle of a freaking restaurant? I had to run to the bathroom and throw up. I had to hide it from Mike’s mom, all because you didn’t want to tell me until after… Hold on. How did you find out?”
Becca seemed to shrink in stature. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong until after I did it. I had no idea…”
“What did you do?”
“I showed the pictures of Mike to my father. I asked him how he was related to us.”
“What pictures?”
“The pictures I saw on your computer. Honest to God, Annabelle, I didn’t think… I didn’t think about how this would affect you. We always shared everything. It never occurred to me to ask your permission. I just printed the pictures and took them home with me.”
“And you showed your father?”
“I asked him who Mike Flynn was to us—in the middle of the country club dining room, no less. I thought he was going to have a coronary. Once he heard Mike’s last name… well, Mike’s mother
and he were lovers way back when, and he said she just disappeared. He never knew Mike existed.”
“Until you opened your big mouth and told him.”
Becca nodded. “I’m so sorry. You can’t imagine how sorry I am that I handled this so badly. But, Annabelle, if I didn’t tell my father, it would have come out some other way.”
Annabelle paced the length of the apartment. Becca just followed behind.
“When did your father find out?” She stopped and turned to Becca. “What’s he going to do about it? Oh God, once he finds out that Mike and I—”
“Are in love? You can’t let this change anything between you and Mike.”
Annabelle threw up her hands. “How could it not change everything? Once your father gets involved with Mike, our relationship is over.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I won’t allow your father to treat me the way I was treated when Chip and I were together. Not even for love. It’s not worth it. I’m not that same insecure girl I used to be.”
Becca took the same pose but made it look stubborn instead of the way Annabelle felt, as if her arms were the only things protecting her from completely falling apart.
“And Mike isn’t Chip. No matter how you feel about my father, or how mad you are at me, you need to tell Mike. He needs to hear this from you. You two can work it out. I know you can.”
Annabelle shook her head. No way could this end in anything but disaster. If she had learned anything from her past with Chip, it was that she wasn’t cut out for a life that included Dr. Larsen. No matter how much she loved either of his sons.
“I’ll tell him Memorial Day weekend.”
“I’m so sorry, Annabelle. I’m so sorry.”
Annabelle walked back to the couch, tossed the pillows to the side, and sat. Becca was right, and she looked as sick as Annabelle felt. Mike would learn the truth eventually. “It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it. I probably would have done the same thing if I were you. It’s better that this came out now, before I got in even deeper than I already am. I’ll be all right.”
