by Laura Abbot
“Son of a bitch,” she heard Kyle mutter, but he didn’t take his eyes off her. “Go on. Let it out, Annie.”
As if she could help herself. “After the graduation party, I came home. Everything was quiet. Pete had kissed me good-night and left me at the door. I was so happy, yet sad, too, because he was leaving for Guard camp. I brushed my teeth, put on my pajamas and went to bed, all the while thinking of my Pete. I must’ve dozed, because suddenly I felt a hand rubbing my breasts and then fumbling with my pajama bottoms. I could smell him before I saw him. The bourbon breath, the cigar smoke clinging to his robe. When I opened my eyes, he grinned, all the while slipping his hand inside my pants, fumbling my crotch. I started to scream, but he clamped a hand over my mouth. ‘There, there, my beautiful one. Just lie still. Be good to Georgie. This won’t hurt a bit.’”
Kyle wrapped his arm around her and hugged her to his chest. But still she couldn’t stop. “Then he untied the belt of his robe and in the moonlight I could see his hairy chest, and then that…that thing. Big. I tried to get away, I really did.” In her mind’s eye she pictured the struggle. But he was too strong. With one hand he spread her legs and with the other he aroused himself. Her screams brought no one. “He was out of his mind, nothing was going to stop him, not my begging, my prayers or my screams.” She paused, took a deep breath, and then her tone turned cold. “When he finished, he fell on top of me. ‘There’s more where that came from, princess,’ he said.”
“Annie, honey, my God, I’m so sorry. If he wasn’t already dead, I’d kill the son of a bitch.” Kyle’s face was pale, grim, his jaw working.
Like an eruption, the tears came then, convulsing Annie. Kyle’s words were echoes of Pete’s promise. But no one could have stopped George. In a moment of awful revelation, Annie acknowledged that she was damaged goods, not just because she’d been raped, but because she now recoiled from any man’s touch, even Kyle’s. A heavy, heavy price. Through her sobs, she managed to say brokenly, “Oh, no, Kyle, I’m the one who’s sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for. It wasn’t your fault, Annie. You have to believe that.”
But could she? Had she subconsciously done something to lead George on? Was she partly to blame? Maybe she should have bought a lock for her bedroom door. Run away sooner. Called Auntie G. no matter how many miles separated them. Yet at the time, she remembered thinking she was totally dependent upon her stepfather. She couldn’t afford to alienate him. He was paying for college—her only means of escape.
“You didn’t tell Pete he raped you?”
She straightened up. Kyle handed her his handkerchief and she blew her nose. “I couldn’t. He knew I was having trouble with George. He…he said he’d kill him if he touched me.”
“And he would have.”
“I know. That’s why I couldn’t say anything. That’s why I ran away from Eden Bay so suddenly the morning before you and Pete left for Guard camp. Besides, I was damaged goods. Who would’ve wanted me after what happened?”
“Christ.” Kyle raked a hand across his head in frustration, then bundled Annie even closer. “It’s over, Annie. A long time ago. Let me help you heal.”
“You’d do that?” She could hardly trust herself to look at him. The love in his eyes was blinding.
“In a heartbeat.”
They sat entwined for a very long time, Kyle soothing her with gentle kisses and caresses, the kind a loving parent would bestow on an injured child. Finally she sat up and glanced around as if getting her bearings. “Please. Don’t leave.”
His fingers grazed her cheek tenderly. “I won’t. Not until you ask me to.”
That was the day they spent hours walking on the beach, uttering only an occasional word. Because everything had been said. All they needed now was the shared silence of friendship.
Before Kyle left late that afternoon at Annie’s request, he stood close to her, holding both of her hands. After staring intently into her eyes, he said, “Please, Annie, stay in Eden Bay.”
IT WAS ONLY when Kyle got into the truck that he gave full vent to his pent-up fury. Bubba shrank against the passenger door as curse after curse reverberated through the cab. Kyle had never felt so damn helpless in his entire life. The hell of it was he didn’t even have a target for his rage—that son of a bitch George had died before anyone could punish him. Hell, folks in Eden Bay still regarded the former bank president with respect. The irony of it made him pound the steering wheel in frustration. For anyone, anyone, to lay a finger on Annie was unthinkable. It was a heinous crime done under the shadow of darkness by a cowardly monster. Shit! Shit! Shit!
He had calmed down only slightly by the time he pulled into his own driveway. No wonder Annie had fled Eden Bay. If only she had told Pete. The two of them would have hauled George’s ass straight to the police station, if they hadn’t killed him first. Kyle sat staring into the distance, idly scratching Bubba between the ears. “Sorry for the outburst, fella. But that creep hurt our Annie badly.” Bubba growled in response. “I know, boy. You’d have sunk your teeth into the jerk.”
As he and Annie had strolled the beach this afternoon, he’d been nearly overcome by the sacrifices she had made to save Pete from doing something rash and to help him realize his dream of serving in the Guard. He shook his head in disbelief. She must’ve loved him very much.
She had, for all intents and purposes, buried herself in Arizona, terrified of George and convinced the scandal of her disappearance was unforgivable. What courage it must have taken for her to return to Eden Bay to care for her great-aunt. And what love.
All Kyle wanted to do was protect and heal her, love her back to her outgoing, sunny self. But he was unsure how to do that. She was as skittish as a fawn, and as much as he craved a physical relationship with her, she was nowhere near ready. Just as with a frightened animal, he first had to win her trust—and hope that somewhere down the line she would welcome his touch and respond to his intense need of her.
Finally, he got out of his truck and headed for the house where, he remembered guiltily, Pete’s letter waited to be delivered.
A letter that could change so much.
When he entered his house, the flashing red light on the answering machine drew his attention. He debated about listening to the message. But it could be Annie.
Reluctantly he pressed Play. Margaret’s voice filled the room. There was no question about her frame of mind. “It wasn’t enough for you to break my sister’s heart. No other woman? Explain then why Rosemary saw you walking on the beach today with Annie Greer. Holding hands, no less. Kyle, you could have chosen anyone else in the whole world. But Annie? Some friend of Pete’s you are!”
At that point she had hung up.
He sank onto the sofa. He had no defense. Margaret was right. There was another woman, the last one the Nemecs would ever accept. And one he knew he could never give up.
Pete, buddy, what am I supposed to do?
CHAPTER TEN
AT THE END of the second week following Geneva’s death, the boutique in Scottsdale called requesting additional handmade purses. Although the timing couldn’t have been worse, Annie seized the opportunity. Work was the only thing that kept grief and looming decisions at bay. Nothing, however, had kept her time with Kyle from intruding into her thoughts. Since the day when she’d spewed out her awful story, he had called twice, but she had declined to see him. First she had to sort herself out and come to some decisions about what she really wanted.
On this unseasonably warm Sunday morning, she had opened the windows, letting fresh air blow through the house. Now, sitting at her worktable fingering a pale green satin, a lush midnight-blue velvet and a sturdy brocade, she closed her eyes, trying to picture how she could reproduce the colors of a seascape in fabric. As if they had minds of their own, her hands began shifting the pieces, rearranging, pulling other swatches from the pile until she could see exactly how to begin. In the act of creating, she lost track of time until she gla
nced at the clock. Two hours had passed since she’d given conscious thought to anything but the piece in front of her. That wasn’t much, but it was her first indication that, in jerks and tugs, healing might eventually be possible.
Despite invitations from Carolee and Geneva’s friend Frances, she’d spent last week by herself in the cottage, continuing to sort through Geneva’s things and giving in to periodic bouts of grief. Annie had been alone for so many years that to come back to Eden Bay and feel such a family connection with Auntie G.…She couldn’t indulge that train of thought. These last weeks here with Geneva were too immediate, and her emotions were all over the place.
Before Nina returned to Bisbee after the service, she had cautioned Annie. “You’re in no condition right now to make major decisions. You have the house and your inheritance, so there is no urgency. Please take all the time you need. Meanwhile, I will keep your apartment in Bisbee until you decide what the future holds.”
Thoughts of the future were never far away. Pounding in her brain with maddening insistence were Kyle’s final words to her last weekend: “Stay in Eden Bay.”
But how could she? The cottage was one thing, but Eden Bay was a different matter. Other than Carolee and Kyle, and a nodding acquaintance with Frances, she had no friends. The Nemecs had no use for her. Familiar scenes around town were painfully reminiscent either of wonderful, carefree times with Pete or the nightmare of George. Carolee could talk all she wanted about the past being the past, but memories were long and gossip lurked at every turn. It should be easy to make the first, most obvious decision—to leave Eden Bay. But it wasn’t.
Outside the window gulls circled and cried. In the distance she could faintly hear the tolling of a church bell. In truth, though, the only familiar, safe world she knew was in this house. The cottage was the one place where she had always felt loved. How could she sell out, never to return to this haven?
And how could she say goodbye to Kyle? Her heart sank. She knew she was fighting the attraction she felt for him. It would be all too easy to give in, to let him coddle and protect her. But any man would want more than that. Much more. Given all that had happened to her, she didn’t think she could give it, didn’t think her body would cooperate even if her mind desired greater intimacy.
Then there was Pete. Was she using Kyle as a surrogate for him? A convenient fill-in, and because of their shared past, a particularly comfortable one?
She buried her head in her hands. Thanks to George, since Pete, she had not felt attracted to a man. After the rape she had considered herself dead in that regard. Cold, unresponsive, neutered. Then, out of the blue, had come Kyle’s one kiss and the sparks that had electrified her, even as she simultaneously shrank from the gentle brush of his fingers on her breast. In that one touch, she had been immediately transported to her darkened bedroom where she had huddled, recoiling from George. Would the image of her stepfather always be there, intruding into her life? Rendering her incapable of giving love? She shoved back her chair and stood, raging at George. How dare he ruin her life? Control her future?
Moving to the window, she let the breeze cool her flushed face. She didn’t know if she had the patience or the will to fight the past. But she wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to.
KYLE FIRED UP the lawn mower Sunday afternoon and attacked his small, neglected yard. As he made monotonous trips back and forth across the lawn, he arrived at a conclusion: the time had come for honesty—with Annie and with the Nemecs. In the office Rosemary spoke to him only when necessary. He was clearly persona non grata with the female branch of the family. How could he continue accepting Bruce’s generosity, knowing he’d hurt Rosemary and, worse yet, without acknowledging his vigilance might have prevented Pete’s death? For six years, he’d buried the truth—that he was as culpable as anyone. That he’d let his own need for family and security sway his judgment. Until the Nemecs, he had never had a frame of reference for either family or home.
During Kyle’s childhood, his father had taken every opportunity to remind him that his “no-good hot pants of a mother” had run off with another man, abandoning them when Kyle was three. As a boy, Kyle would sit on the stoop waiting for the mailman, hoping that this time the letter would come—the one from his mother, saying that she’d made a mistake, missed her son and loved him very much. Of course, that letter never arrived.
To Rosemary and Margaret now, it must seem as if he were as heartless as his mother, a thought that sickened him. Margaret’s most recent phone message had corroborated that image of him. Sometimes he wondered if he was even capable of love.
Finished with the mowing, he set the machine aside and picked up the edger. Sweat dampened his shirt as he attacked the tall grass around the trees and abutting the mobile home. He’d tried to respect Annie’s need for space, even though being rebuffed when he’d phoned was tough to take. Yet she couldn’t hide forever in that cottage. He knew she was scared. If he wanted to move their relationship to the next level, he would have to be patient and take his signals from her.
But before any of that could happen, he would have to show her Pete’s letter. It was not his place to keep it from her, not if he had any integrity at all. Pete had never shared the contents with him, so he had no idea what the consequences would be—whether or not Pete’s words would deep-six any hopes Kyle had for a future with Annie. He was long accustomed to rejection, but this time the prospect terrified him.
He put the lawn tools in the storage shed and went into the house. Bubba followed as he stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower. He stayed there a long time, letting the hot water pummel him. Finally he made a decision.
Stepping out of the shower, he pulled on his briefs, then spoke. “Bubba, we’re men of action, right? It’s time I paid a call on Miss Annie Greer. You with me?”
A thump of the dog’s tail on the floor was all the encouragement Kyle needed.
WHEN KYLE TURNED into the driveway, he spotted Annie sitting on the porch swing, her legs drawn up and a large sweatshirt pulled over her knees. She looked up, her body tensing. Maybe he should’ve called. Great idea, Becker. And risk rejection again?
As he ambled up the walk and mounted the porch steps, she didn’t move. “The phone calls weren’t working for me,” he said, lounging against the porch rail opposite her.
“I didn’t intend to be so abrupt when you called,” Annie said, touching her toe to the porch floor to set the swing in motion. “It was thoughtful of you to concern yourself.”
“You aren’t a ‘concern,’ Annie. I care about you.”
“You’ve always been a good friend. First to Pete, now to me.”
He wanted to cry out that he wanted more, but if friendship was the starting point, then so be it. “I’m wondering if you’re spending too much time alone.”
“That’s kind of a habit of mine.”
“It didn’t used to be.”
She stilled the swing. “No, I suppose not. But so much has changed.”
“Bad things have happened, Annie, but inside of you is still the girl Pete fell in love with.” That I fell in love with. “Don’t go through this all by yourself. Let me be here for you.”
She stretched out her arms and closed her eyes. Kyle knew she was buying time before answering. Then, in a complete non sequitur, she asked him if he played gin rummy. He nodded. He couldn’t count the hours whiled away at cards in Afghanistan. She rose to her feet. “Great. Let’s see if you’re any good.”
WHEN TWILIGHT CAME, they finally gave up gin rummy. “Would you like to join me for supper?” Annie asked as she scooped up the cards.
“Sure I wouldn’t be intruding?”
She reached for his hand. “Please.”
In the dim light, he studied her face, then seemed to come to a conclusion. “If you’re certain…”
The tentativeness of their conversation and the sub-text of longing weren’t lost on her. “I’m sure.”
He stood. “Good. I’ll let Bubba o
ut of the truck for a run.” He placed a warm hand on her shoulder. “Don’t go anyplace. I’ll be back soon.”
Annie moved to the kitchen, mentally planning a simple menu of grilled cheese sandwiches, pasta salad and sliced tomatoes. As she set a pot of water to boil for the bow tie pasta, she realized how few meals she’d eaten in the past several days. It had been easier to snack on cereal and fruit.
Kyle came in as she was readying the sandwiches for the grill. “Can I help?”
She handed him a knife. “Thanks. You could slice the tomatoes.”
Neither of them said anything, working in companionable silence. He sliced tomatoes with the same ease he drove a nail. When he moved behind her to rinse the knife at the sink, she could smell the Irish Spring smell of him, sense the heat radiating from his body. She experienced the same involuntary rush she had when he’d first kissed her. If only she could welcome her body’s natural reaction instead of anticipating the physical withdrawal she knew lay ahead.
Kyle was rummaging in one of the drawers. “Aha!” he said, pulling out three candles. “I spotted some candlesticks earlier. What do you say we dine alfresco, as they say on the cooking shows?”
“You watch cooking shows?”
“If there’s no game I’m interested in, sure.” He cocked his head. “So? Do you think it’s too cool outside?”
“By all means, alfresco it is.”
While he set the table on the porch, she drained the pasta, tossed it with tuna, mayonnaise and pickle relish and then began grilling the sandwiches.
He had arranged the candles in the center of the table and located a bottle of red wine in Auntie G.’s liquor cabinet. Before eating, she held up her goblet for him to fill. After he’d helped himself, she raised her glass in a toast. “To better tomorrows.”
