by Luanne Rice
“What’s this?” he asked dumbly, staring at the picture. The images blurred, but he tried to focus.
“Karen drew that,” Anne said.
Of course. He had never seen it before, but he should have known. How many pictures had she drawn him of herself, Matt, and Anne? She had been so proud when she would visit his office with Anne and see her own drawings taped to his walls.
He stared at each element of the picture. The family, the park, the beach, the birds she had loved so much, two strange concrete blocks.
“It’s a picture of her life,” Matt said.
“All the things she loved,” Anne said, her voice breaking. “She called it Paradise.”
“Poor little girl,” Matt said. “Poor little girl.”
“She did it that day,” Anne said, sitting closer to Matt, taking one side of Karen’s picture in her hand. She stared with frowning intensity, her chin trembling. A tear from Matt’s eye plopped onto the manila paper, and Anne immediately dabbed it dry with her finger. As if afraid he might do serious damage to the picture, Anne eased it away from him.
“Please,” he said. “Let me look. Why didn’t you show it to me before?”
“I don’t know,” Anne said. “You were both gone. The picture was all I had.”
Matt slid his arm around Anne’s shoulders, and she cried into his chest, her tears soaking through his shirt to his skin. He closed his eyes, smelling her hair. He wanted to freeze the moment forever. He wanted never to leave this spot. He wanted to grow old and die with Anne in his arms, Karen’s drawing resting between them on their knees.
After a few minutes her sobs subsided. She wiped her cheeks and drew away from him. She looked at him with clear gray eyes. He knew immediately what she was going to say.
“I do,” she said. “I want a divorce.”
“We have so much,” he said.
“We did,” she said. “But it’s gone now.”
“It would hurt Karen,” he said.
“Matt—” Anne raised her hands to her ears, then dropped them.
“No one else can understand what we’ve gone through,” Matt said. “We lost our only child, Anne. That binds us together forever. Whether we like it or not, that’s our fate.”
“Yes,” Anne said. “It is. And if we had come together last August, right after she died, if we had stared at her picture like we’ve done tonight, and tried to survive together, maybe …”
“There’s still a chance. There is. In this entire world you couldn’t find someone who loves you like I do. Someone who knows what you’ve been through.”
“There is,” Anne said softly. “And I have found him.”
Matt’s blood went cold. The man Gabrielle had told him about.
“Have you slept with him?” Matt asked, feeling fearful. But the words came out sounding harsh, like an attack.
“Don’t be a fool,” Anne said, tearing herself off the couch. She tucked Karen’s picture away in a folder and carried it to a table across the room.
“Have you?”
“Try to keep your dignity,” Anne said. “This, coming from you? Have you forgotten what started this whole thing?”
How could he forget? Matt reddened, picturing himself and Tisa in bed together, Anne standing in the door.
“That’s over,” Matt said, knowing it was. He hadn’t exactly broken up with Tisa yet, but he hadn’t cared for her in a long time.
“I don’t care,” Anne said. “I hope you’re happy. I truly do. Writing the word ‘divorce,’ I felt like my heart would break. But it’s the right thing. I know that. I love someone, Matt.”
“That will pass,” Matt said impatiently. “Trust me.”
“No,” Anne said, shaking her head. “It won’t. And I’d like you to leave now.”
Matt stood his ground, trying to stare her down. But it was he who looked away first. He wished he had brought in his suitcase and briefcase instead of leaving them in the hall. If he had to walk out, he wanted to do it with a flourish.
“I’ll be at the big house,” he said. “Until Sunday night. I want to see you again.”
Anne shook her head. “No,” she said.
She unlatched the door and held it open, not looking at him. Footsteps sounded in the stairwell, and they both glanced over the handrail. Here came one of the biggest men Matt had ever seen. A good ten years older than Matt, with a massive frame and gnarled hands.
“Leave,” Anne said under her breath.
Matt ignored her. He stood beside her, watching the man mount the stairs. When he reached Anne’s landing, an expression of puzzlement clouded his grotesque eyes.
“You must be Thomas Devlin,” Matt said in his best boardroom voice. He reached out a hand. “Matthew Davis,” he said.
The giant looked at Anne, as if to ask her permission. Then he shook Matt’s hand. Not a bad handshake, Matt had to admit.
“Mr. Davis,” the man said steadily.
“Matt, leave,” Anne said.
“She’s a married woman,” Matt said pleasantly, grabbing his suitcase and briefcase. “Keep that in mind.”
Bounding down the stairs, as if he weren’t jet-lagged beyond exhaustion and cracking in half with grief, Matt expected to hear Anne or the man call after him. When they didn’t, he glanced up, over his shoulder. And saw the door close softly behind them.
IF Anne Davis were his wife, if another man showed up and tried to take her away, Thomas Devlin would throw him against a wall. He would take his punch. He would hunt him down and make him hurt. He would not shake his hand and offer a sarcastic warning in a friendly tone of voice.
Holding Anne tight, he felt her entire body quivering.
“Shh,” he whispered into her ear. “Shhh. It’s okay. You’ll be fine.”
“I asked him for a divorce,” Anne said.
“That must have been hard,” Thomas Devlin said, his heart soaring.
“Very,” she said, in a high, thin voice.
“I love you,” he said.
“And I love you,” she said, “but I can’t tonight. I couldn’t wait to see you, but I can’t be with you now.”
“I understand,” Thomas said. He felt disappointed, and a little hurt, but not rejected.
She pushed herself away, her eyes blank.
“Tomorrow?” she asked, worry lines in her forehead. “I need to be alone right now. I didn’t expect to see him, and I’m upset.”
“You must be confused,” he said.
At that she smiled, and she gazed up at him with enormous eyes. She caressed his cheek with her hand, and he held it there.
“Oh, no,” she said. “I’m not confused. I’m not confused at all.”
“Tomorrow, then,” Thomas said.
“I’ll make us a picnic,” Anne said. “After work?”
“I’ll pick you up then,” Thomas said, giving her one more long kiss before yielding to her wish and leaving her alone.
THE next morning, when Gabrielle walked into the dining room with a pot of fresh-brewed house-blend coffee and a basket full of blueberry muffins straight from the oven, she couldn’t believe her eyes.
There, sitting at his usual place at the table, was Matt.
“Hello, stranger,” he said, grinning. He wore tennis whites, and he was reading the morning paper.
“What in the world are you doing here?” she asked, momentarily stunned. She put the scalding coffee pot right down on the pine table and hurried over to give him a crushing hug.
“I missed you,” he said.
“My ass,” she snorted. “You miss Anne.”
“That is so,” he said, bowing with his classic, courtly charm.
“You need to call her right away. She’ll kill me when she finds out about this.”
“I saw her last night. She knows you had nothing to do with it. She called me sneaky.”
“What happened?”
“Her boyfriend showed up. After she asked me for a divorce.”
“Oh, Matt.
I’m sorry,” Gabrielle said, trying to gauge his tone. He might have been telling her about a movie he had seen, a book he had read. He spoke with his usual pleasant flair, with no signs of distress.
Matt held up a crossing-guard “stop” hand, that crinkled smile on his face. “I’ll wear her down,” he said. “I don’t take no for an answer.”
“We’re talking about Anne,” Gabrielle said dubiously, thinking of her sister’s amazing powers of refusal.
“And we’re talking about me. I know a thing or two about determination.”
God, the man did a good job of masking his feelings, Gabrielle thought. He had frown lines a mile deep in his forehead, and he looked as if he hadn’t had a decent rest since last August. But he was damned if he’d let anyone know.
Outside, car doors slammed. The girls were arriving for work. Gabrielle steeled herself for the moment when Maggie would come looking for her. She didn’t have to wait long.
The dining-room door swung open, and Gabrielle heard Maggie gasp.
“Hey there, Maggs,” Matt said, opening his arms. “Give your uncle Matt a hug.”
Maggie just stared at him.
“You don’t belong here,” she said.
“Maggie! Remember your manners,” Gabrielle admonished, embarrassed and not knowing what to do.
“I’m here to set things right,” Matt said evenly. Was it Gabrielle’s imagination, or was that coldness glazing over his eyes?
“Anne told me what you did,” Maggie said darkly.
“She did? I’m surprised.”
Gabrielle just listened with amazement to this exchange that excluded her totally.
“Yeah, she did. So don’t expect me to be thrilled to see you. You hurt her.”
“That’s between me and Anne,” Matt said, with definite iciness.
Although Gabrielle had no idea of what he and Maggie were talking about, she felt her opinion of him beginning to shift. Very slowly but definitely, she found herself regarding him with distaste. She wished that he had found somewhere else to stay.
“What do you want us to do first today?” Maggie asked, turning her back on Matt, facing Gabrielle.
“Let’s go into the kitchen,” Gabrielle said, nudging her daughter’s shoulder.
“I’m looking for a tennis partner, Gaby,” Matt said. “Can I convince you to play hooky?”
“I’m sorry,” she said, turning on a little glacier of her own. “We have lots of work to do.”
Together, Gabrielle and Maggie left Matt alone at the dining-room table. Gabrielle glanced back at him once. He sat still, gazing out the window. He looked lost and a little crazed, sitting in his old spot at the table. As if the house were still the family’s own and he was just waiting for Anne and Karen to come walking through the door. Gabrielle felt a tug of pity. She nearly went to him with a comforting hug. But there had been something cruel in his coldness, and she didn’t want to explore further.
Chapter 20
Matt’s presence in the house threw everything off-kilter and put Maggie in a terrible mood. All the guests had left the inn, for the beach or wherever, and Maggie was standing at the dining-room table, trying to polish up the spot where her mother had put the coffeepot. No hot plate, no nothing: when stove-hot wet glass meets bare wood, you get ugly rings that don’t come out.
Her mother had obviously been curious about the exchange between Maggie and Matt, but Maggie had to hand it to her: her mom had been cool, asking no direct questions, probably figuring that if Anne wanted her to know, Anne would tell her herself.
Maggie had heard her mother’s van pull out about ten minutes ago, so she made her way to the phone. Anne answered on the first ring, as if she’d been sitting on it.
“Prepare yourself,” Maggie said. “Matt’s here.”
“I know. I saw him.”
“You’re not taking him back, are you?” Maggie asked. God, what if she was? Just three hours ago Maggie had stood at this very table, defending Anne and cutting Matt down to size. She would feel extremely stupid.
“No,” Anne said, and Maggie blinked with relief.
“I’m sorry I missed whale watching last Monday,” Maggie said.
“You are?” Anne asked, a big smile entering her voice. “Will it hurt your feelings if I tell you I’m not?”
“He’s nice, isn’t he?” Maggie asked.
“Yes, very. You gave us a push, and we needed it. Thank you.”
“Anytime,” Maggie said, grinning with shy pride.
“How’s Ned?”
“Oh, he’s great. We should double-date sometime. He wants to.”
“He does?” Anne asked, and Maggie could hear that she’d gotten Anne’s hopes way up.
“Well, he wants to want to. That’s a step in the right direction, you know?”
“Yes, it is. All in good time,” Anne said.
Just then Maggie caught a whiff of sweet, acrid smoke. Pot? She sniffed again. Yes, definitely.
“I’d better go,” she said to Anne.
“Okay. Thanks again for what you did for me and Thomas. And, Maggie?”
“Yeah?”
“You’ve come a long way. I want you to know that I’ve noticed. You’re a different Maggie than the girl I found at the Quality Inn. Keep it up, okay?”
“Okay,” Maggie said.
In some ways, Anne was right. Maggie was entirely changed. She had different goals—shit, she had goals. That in itself was new. She didn’t need to desecrate herself just to prove something to her friends. No more holes in her body, no more tattoos, no more waking up every morning with cottonmouth and a pounding headache.
On the other hand, the old Maggie was still in there. The smell of pot was luring her, just the way a flute calls a snake. But smoking it was just an evil habit, a way to avoid feeling bad. What did she have to feel bad about? Nothing. It was a gorgeous summer day, and after work she and Ned were going to sail with Josh out to Sandymount Island.
Outside, behind the hedge by Karen’s herb garden, she found Vanessa sharing a joint with Céline, a summer girl from Montreal.
Céline had bored, languorous eyes and a pouty mouth, with very blond hair teased up and long bangs combed in a slant across her face. Maggie wondered whether she spent hours in front of the mirror practicing that sex-crazed look.
At the sight of Maggie, Vanessa took a hit and passed the joint.
“Don’t do that here,” Maggie said.
“Shut up and take it.” Vanessa giggled.
“Vanessa—”
“You are getting stoned, and you are coming out with us tonight. So don’t even think you’re not.”
Maggie felt really strange, watching her friend smoke grass in Karen’s herb garden. It seemed disrespectful to Karen’s spirit. Maggie knew this didn’t make sense, but she didn’t want to set Karen a bad example. She put her hands on Vanessa’s shoulders and began gently pushing her into the backyard.
“Are we playing choo-choo?” Vanessa asked. “Come on aboard, Céline.”
Now Maggie felt Céline’s hands on her waist, and the three girls wove toward the kitchen door. By the time they got there, all three were laughing, and Vanessa had finished the joint.
“That’s better,” Vanessa said. “Making beds and cleaning toilets with a buzz is the only way to go.”
Céline said something in French; not comprehending, Maggie laughed along, relieved. She had withstood the temptation, and she’d gotten them out of the herb garden. Best of all, in just a few hours she and Ned would be sailing the open water.
Maggie couldn’t wait.
AT the vegetable stand during her lunch hour, shopping for tonight’s picnic, Anne bumped into Gabrielle. They’d been standing under the same daffodil-yellow-and-white-striped tent, oblivious to each other. Choosing tomatoes, Anne was lost in the white noise of bumblebees cruising the plums and cars whizzing by on Billow Road. Suddenly someone standing right next to her reached out to fondle a tomato, and Anne recognized Gabrielle�
�s hand.
The sisters jumped at once.
Startled, Anne slapped her own chest.
“God, you gave me a start,” Gabrielle said.
“What are you doing here?” Anne asked. “You have your own vegetable garden.”
“My tomatoes aren’t coming in yet. They’ve been slightly neglected in favor of the inn this year.”
“I understand you have a prize guest staying with you.”
“I swear, on my own husband, that I didn’t know Matt was coming. Vanessa Adamson took the reservation, and he booked it under a phony name.”
“Well, it’s over,” Anne said, lowering her voice as a sunburned couple sauntered by. “I told him I want a divorce.”
“You know,” Gabrielle began, making sure the couple was out of earshot, “that I totally disapproved of that?”
“Don’t start,” Anne said sharply.
“Just listen, you. I’ve changed my mind. I think. Something went on between him and Maggie this morning, about something he did to you … ?” The question in Gabrielle’s voice went unanswered, and she continued. “Anyway, I saw a cold side of him that I didn’t like. I just want you to know.”
“He’s sad,” Anne said. “He screwed up, that’s for sure. But now he knows he has to give up.”
“He must have done something awful to hurt you,” Gabrielle said, gently probing.
“Mmmm,” Anne said, examining a tomato.
“Why won’t anyone tell me what he did?” Gabrielle asked, suddenly wound up like a top. Her fists clenched, she was pure nervous tension. Her wide mouth froze in a grimace, and Anne could tell Gabrielle had attracted the attention of other shoppers.
“What happened was humiliating,” Anne said under her breath.
“Here I am, trying to be supportive of you, and you’re still shutting me out. You and Maggie are closer to each other than you are to me. Don’t think that doesn’t sting.”
“Gabrielle,” Anne said, shocked by her sister’s display of raw pain.
“I know. I know all about it. That rapist, that lunatic in the truck, he was probably a serial killer. And does she call me? She does not. Instead of her own mother, my daughter calls you for help.”
