by Bird, Peggy
She handed him a cup of coffee, grabbed one of her own and led the way to the living room and sat on one edge of the couch. “Don’t worry about the furniture,” she said as he waved the mug around, looking for someplace to put it. “With a teenage son, I ordered extra furniture protection; it won’t stain.”
He sat his cup and cowboy hat on the coffee table. “Annie.”
“John, it doesn’t really matter who you see or don’t see. We don’t have a relationship or the hope of having one. I’ve thought it over and it’s smart for you to move on. I’m fine with it.” Good job, said the chorus member in charge of protecting her heart.
“Where I come from,” John said, “‘fine’ is a code-word for ‘everything’s in the crapper.’”
Annie’s eyes opened wide before she started to laugh. She laughed loudly, hysterically, uncontrollably. Her body began to release the stress of the last few weeks in ever-increasing waves, waves that turned her laughter to sobs. For the second time in an as many days, tears streamed down her cheeks.
John gathered her in his arms and kissed the top of her head. “It’s okay. Let it out,” he said. She stiffened. Men in her life usually ran away when she started crying; they didn’t put their arms around her. What did he want?
Could he want what he was giving her? Simple comfort?
She was tired of asking questions that had no answers. It was time to let go and the softness of his flannel shirt seemed like the perfect place to shed her tears and fears. She relaxed into his chest and let herself cry.
He held her and caressed her back.
The sobs eventually ran out. “I’m sorry,” she choked into his chest.
“Hush,” he said. “There’ll be time for talk later. Relax.”
There was really no choice. She let her eyes close and her exhausted body slump into his. Seduced by the comfort of his body, she drifted into a light doze of exhaustion.
When she woke, she was disoriented by the closeness of a lean male body. Her neck was cramped from the angle she’d been sleeping and she was startled to see her hand draped on his thigh. She snatched back her hand, pushed herself upright and stared at John. “How long was I asleep?”
He checked his watch. “About a half an hour. You needed it.”
“And you just sat there?”
“Uh-huh.” His blue eyes inspected her. “I got used to it when Jessica was ill. She’d get angry at what was happening, cry hard like you did and then fall asleep in my arms for a time. It was a comfort to us both.”
“Thank you. No one’s ever done that for me before.”
“Then no one’s ever really loved you before.”
The words hung in the air.
She stood up abruptly. He rose as well. They stared at each other intently.
John put his hands on her upper arms and pulled her closer. His kiss was cautious at first, feathery touches that left her wanting more. She closed her eyes, and felt her lips grow soft under his. What was she doing? He still hadn’t explained the woman in the wine bar.
Her breath hitched.
Shut up, she told her chorus.
John’s lips became more demanding, his tongue caressing her lips. She parted her lips to receive his probing tongue. He tasted like strong coffee and crisp fall nights. She felt his hands moving across her back, pulling her closer to him and reached her arms around him, smoothing the flannel shirt as she caressed the lean muscles underneath.
His arms pulled her closer, his hands more urgent. Annie felt his hunger and her own heart opened in response. The hard shell that protected it began to crack. She became supple, yielding to his demands.
The kiss became deeper and Annie opened her eyes a little, turned on even more by the sight of evening stubble across a lean cheek. She moaned, leaning into him.
What the hell was she doing?
Her body stiffened again.
John pulled back, lifting his lips from hers, but still holding her in his arms. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Oh, yes, you should have. It was amazing.”
“Then why … ”
“I didn’t mean to. All of a sudden I realized that I was behaving badly. I mean, all I can give you is a one-night stand and all I want is more.”
“Why can’t you have it?”
Good question. “I don’t know, but I think I should figure it out before we do any more of … of … that.” She fluttered her hand in his direction.
“Oh, I don’t know. How about you stop thinking and find out what happens.” He closed in on her mouth again.
The muscles in his arms flexed as he drew her closer. The bulge in his jeans pressed against her, as a gush of heat and liquid rushed between her legs. What would he be like naked? She wanted to strip off his clothes and rub her hands all over his skin. She caressed his back. Desire trumped any thoughts of reticence and she moved her hands lower, where his shirt was tightly tucked into his jeans. She wanted to feel his butt, pull him closer to her, feel that bulge between her legs.
The cell phone hanging on John’s belt rang.
“Damn,” John said, “I’ll ignore it. It’ll stop in a minute.”
“Maybe it’s important. Who is it?” In her experience, unexpected calls always meant trouble.
He sighed, unclipped the cell phone from his belt, flipped it open and glanced at the number, keeping one hand on her arm. He shook his head, punched a button and flipped it closed. “Where was I?”
Suddenly, she remembered Elizabeth’s story of seeing John with another woman. She stepped back from the embrace and picked up her coffee cup. It was cool. “Anything important?”
“Deborah — remember, I told you about her — I dated her after Jessica died.”
“Oh.” Annie sat in the armchair. “Are you back together?”
“No.” He sat on the edge of the couch nearest the chair.
“Deborah must have been the woman in the wine bar,” Annie said.
“I meant to tell you about that, but I kind of got distracted.” He grinned.
She wasn’t going to let this go. “Is she here for business?”
He shook his head. “I wish. It turns out the man Deborah fell for in Bozeman was married. He went back to his wife. Deborah came down here in hopes of starting up again. I told her ‘no.’”
“Then why were you holding her hand?”
John took a deep breath. “I know what it feels like to be betrayed. She meant something to me once, not as much as she should have, but something. She looked so sad. I wanted to comfort her. That’s when Elizabeth must have walked by. It’s all that happened. Trust me.” He took her hand.
Trust him. Isn’t that what they all said? Then when they had you, the problems came out. I wonder what he’s really like?
She pulled her hand away and stood up. “I’m sorry, John, I can’t. This is happening too fast. There’s too much going on. I’m not ready.”
John stood and pulled her around to face him. “My time with Deborah is over, Annie. I’ve found what I’m looking for. Give me a chance to show you. Don’t throw it away because you’re afraid. I’ll never hurt you purposefully, Annie. I’ll treasure you and keep you safe.”
“You can’t guarantee that.”
“No, I can’t control the world around us. I can’t change the fact that you lost your job, or that David’s in trouble with the law or that Fred was a jerk. But I can control myself. I can be your partner no matter what happens and I’ll never let you down.” He looked into her eyes. “Give us a chance, Annie.”
Could she trust him? Would he still like her when he really got to know her? Or would he believe she wasn’t good enough, like every man in her life before him? Right up until his death, her dad had told her no one would ever marry her. She’d proved him wrong by marrying Fred. But Fred had turned out to be a drunk. When Fred was drunk, he got nasty. Once he’d told her the same thing her father had — she didn’t know how to make a man feel like a man.
�
��I think you’d better go,” she said.
Distress settled on John’s face; his eyes and mouth drooped. “You’re wrong, Annie. I don’t know how to prove it to you, but I’ll figure it out. I’m not giving up.”
“Just go, John,” she whispered. She picked his hat up from the table where he’d left it and handed it to him.
He held her shoulders gently and kissed her cheek. “I’ll be back.” He walked down the steps and out the front door.
Annie slumped down on the couch. Am I being a total fool? What if Carol’s right and I am good enough, lovable enough? What if I just make lousy choices in men? Maybe there’s a man out there who can love me the way I am.
Maybe that man is John.
Annie leapt up from the couch and began to roam the living room, picking up papers, glasses, and coffee cups. She straightened pillows and magazines. Her tidying travels carried her to the kitchen. Once the cups and glasses were in the dishwasher, there was nothing else to do. She’d have to find something else to distract her from questioning her entire life.
Wandering into the bedroom, she spotted the journal she’d picked up at Carol’s request. A raised painting of the face of a beautiful woman, long tresses woven with flowers and birds, adorned the cover of the still-blank pages. She’d picked it because the picture made her think of possibilities — an attitude she could use.
She stared at the blank page for a while and then began with words that Carol had suggested. “I want … ”
I want a hot chocolate.
I want a million dollars.
I want peace on earth.
I want to stay in California.
I want to love … John.
The journal fell into Annie’s lap with the last sentence she wrote. There it was — the truth. She wanted to love John. No, the truth was she was already falling in love with him.
Annie sighed and put the journal on the bed. What was the use of wanting things so badly with no way of getting them?
She picked up the book and hurled it across the bed. The pen went flying after it, carried to the far wall. Grabbing a pillow, she curled around it and once again broke into loud sobs. Would she ever stop crying? Images of her life tumbled through her mind. Her father on the good days … and the not good days. Looking him over when he walked in the door, checking to see if he was hitching up his pants in a particular way — her indication that he’d had too much to drink and she’d better remember to lock her bedroom door.
The memory of that horrible night when she’d found her father. She pushed that memory back into the dark corner of her mind where it lived.
Falling in love with Fred, escaping Michigan for California … their first few happy years together. Her joy at pregnancy, her fear as Fred began to drink more. The absolute horror when she realized she was checking his sobriety when he walked in the door, just as she had with her father. But she couldn’t lock Fred out of their bedroom.
Annie cried and cried, her pillow soaking up her tears and muffling her sobs. Finally, she lay in a fetal position around the pillow and fell asleep again, exhausted. She roused herself when David came home a few minutes before curfew.
“Did you have a nice night?” she called as she went to lock the front door, something her son could never remember to do.
“Yeah. Kerry makes the periodic table look simple. It still seems dumb to need to know it, but I think I’m ready for the test.”
“That’s good,” she said as she went into the hall to give him a hug goodnight.
“What’s the matter, Mom?” he said.
“Nothing. Why?”
“You look terrible. Like you’ve been crying or something.”
“Thanks. Must be allergies.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I’m okay. Thanks for asking.” Annie held her son close, warmed by his concern. Elizabeth was right. She’d done a good job.
Chapter 17
The next morning, Annie groaned when she saw her reddened eyes in the mirror. Cold water and make-up concealed the worst of the damage, but the bags under her eyes were a dead give-away to anyone who cared enough to look. Fortunately, no one at work cared at all.
Driving over the hill took all of her remaining patience. She’d left a little later than usual and had been stuck in the worst of the traffic as a result. It was stop and go from the summit of the range to the town of Los Gatos where the road widened out. Traffic like that took all of her concentration — a fender-bender was all too easy. After she pulled into the office parking lot, she decided she was grateful. No time to think meant no time to wonder if she was doing the right thing.
She slipped into her office and booted up her computer. Quickly she scanned her e-mail. Damn. Nothing from Jim in New Jersey. She’d gotten an e-mail from him the week before saying he still didn’t have the approval from Conrad. The director was on a business trip in Europe and not responsive. She had wondered briefly if Jim was telling the truth, but had squashed the thought like the gnat it was.
Time was running out. She needed to know if the job was hers. She dashed a note off to Jim, telling him she was still interested, and reminding him that she needed to know before her termination became official. What else could she do?
Perhaps she needed to let the universe know her intention to accept the job. That might speed the process up.
Oh, God, I’m talking to the universe. I’ve been living in Santa Cruz too long.
Still …
She grabbed a crumpled piece of paper from her purse. Her list was somewhat worse for wear. She carefully checked off the things she’d completed.
✓ Tell David
✓ Tell Fred
✓ Find out details from Randy NJ Director Jim Borzetti
✓ Connect with new boss in New Jersey
Start transfer process
Call realtor
Contact corporate housing for help to find an apartment in New Jersey
Hold a garage sale
Pack
Move
✓ Pay Parking Ticket
✓ Call Public Defender
Clean garage
Nearly half were checked off. Of course, they were no longer in any kind of order, but she should be satisfied. Why wasn’t she?
Maybe if she called a realtor, she’d feel like she was moving things along as best she could. Pushing aside her doubts about the wisdom of a move to New Jersey, she looked up real estate firms in Santa Cruz on the Internet. Recognizing a name, she called the office and left a message for her acquaintance. The woman agent called her back at noon.
“This isn’t the best time to sell,” she said.
“I don’t have a choice.”
“Will the company help? Is there someone I should be working with?”
“I don’t know. I’ll check into it.” Another item went on the list as they made an appointment for the realtor to view the property.
By three in the afternoon she’d run out of things to do in the office. Many of the employees who were scheduled for lay-off didn’t even bother to come in any more. She figured she’d get to that point eventually if the job from New Jersey didn’t come through, but she wanted to wait as long as possible. Staying home would mean admitting defeat, and she wasn’t ready to do that yet.
Besides, staying home gave her too much time to think.
Still, it would be nice to go home early — maybe stop in Costanoa and get a cheese pizza as she and David used to do in the old days. She didn’t have to pick up her son from soccer practice until seven, so there was plenty of time. She sent an e-mail to her boss, letting Randy know she was leaving, threw her briefcase together, and headed out the door.
An hour later, box in hand, she walked out of the pizza store. She headed toward “her” bench behind the concrete stone wall. Two slices of cheese pizza and a bench with an ocean view. It didn’t get much better than that.
As she passed Crystal Visions, the local mystic shop, the smell of patchouli oil snagged her atte
ntion. A sign in the crystal-filled window stated, “The psychic is in.” She shook her head and continued her purposeful stride to the ocean.
When she got to the bench, she sat and opened the pizza box, savoring the sweet aroma of oregano and crushed tomatoes. The gooey cheese almost slid off her slice, but she nabbed it with her forefinger, willing to suffer the sting of heat for the succulent combination.
She and David had always had cheese pizza when they came down here for their weekly jaunts before her son became a teenager and declared his dissatisfaction with all things Mom-organized. She’d kept a supply of plastic pails to build fragile sandcastles and a shovel so David could attempt to dig to Asia when the mood struck him.
Sighing, Annie took a bite of pizza. Letting the warm flavors fill her mouth, she thought about the sign she’d seen at the Crystal Visions. She wondered what a psychic reading would be like.
Her slices of pizza finished, she walked toward her car, aware there was still plenty of time before she had to pick up David. She passed the bookstore, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the plate glass window. Sea air had made her hair curl haphazardly around her face. She looked crazy enough to be someone who went to a psychic. Why not?
The tinkle of small chimes announced her arrival. She made her way back through the candle-cluttered shop to the cashier and paid for her session.
Instead of the henna-haired woman with flowing robes that she’d pictured, the psychic was a trim, middle-aged brunette with glasses who was dressed in neutral tailored slacks and blouse. Annie seated herself at the small round table and waited to be told what to do.
“Your first time with a psychic?” the woman asked.
Annie nodded.
“And you don’t really believe, do you?”
“Not really.”
“That’s fine. My name is Patricia. I believe I have a gift, but you don’t have to. You can use whatever I tell you however you want. Ready to begin?”
“Yes.”
“Let me hold your hands. Close your eyes and try to relax.”
Annie did as she was told. She felt a tingling in her hands, but figured it was nerves.
“You’re very troubled,” the woman began.
