“Of course.” They strolled through the garden, arm in arm, like schoolgirls might, or sisters, perhaps. The day was fading into evening now, sunlight like arms reaching out between the trees. The roses were in full bloom, red and yellow and soft pink, some with tightly closed buds, others in open cascades of soft petals. They stopped near the white and pink rosebushes, and Bella withdrew her arm from Annie's to hold a bud between her fingers. “Such a strange thing,” she said, her voice soft and sad.
“What's that?” asked Annie.
“That Drake grows these roses. It's odd for a man who never gardened, never showed any interest in it.”
“He's out here every morning, tending to them.” Annie paused, looking towards the house. “Sometimes I see his lips moving, like he's talking to them.”
“Really? I wonder if he's talking to the roses or someone else?” Her small forehead wrinkled as she gazed at her hands. “Our mother loved roses. We had this little crap apartment with a tiny balcony and she planted a couple of roses in these pots out there and used to baby those things. One was red and one white. She always told us you couldn't have white roses unless your mother was dead.” She pointed towards the white rosebush at the end of the second row. “That one there is for our mother.”
“Bella, what is it? Did something happen?”
“He called.”
“Oh crap.”
Linking arms once again, they walked out to the edge of the yard where the grass ended and the steep decline began, their gaze directed at the exact point of the river's sharp bend. “I look at that every morning since I've been here,” said Bella. “And I think how my life's like that bend—you know, how coming here was like a sharp redirect in another direction.” She stopped, her voice catching. “You have no idea how many times I tell myself to start over but then there he is, always, drawing me back in.” She paused, pulling on her bottom lip, absent now of the red lipstick. “He's on his way here, driving up from California.”
“What? Here? Drake won't have it.”
“I know. I told him that. But I don't know if he heard me.” Bella looked over at her. “I feel stronger. Every day I've thought of him a little less. It's the river maybe, the way it teaches you your name. Or the stars at night or maybe the way the air feels on my skin when I'm running in the mornings. It's making me forget my other life. And him. I didn't think it was possible.” She smiled, glancing at the house, where the men were gathered on the porch smoking cigars, the scent of their indulgence just a hint in the twilight's soft breeze. “And this Ben. He's so, alive.”
“Yes,” said Annie. “He certainly is.”
“It could be something. Don't you think?” Bella rested her head on Annie's shoulder as they continued to look at the river. The water moved there in a steady flow towards the Pacific Ocean, currents below the surface they could not see but were there nonetheless. “I haven't thought that about anyone but Graham for as long as I can remember.”
“Surely there have been others? Given where you live and what you do for a living?” asked Annie.
“There were. But I never allowed myself to go there. Always ridiculously devoted to Graham.”
Annie put her arm around Bella's small shoulders, holding her tight like she might Alder. “Forget him, once and for all. Give Ben a chance. See where it might go.”
“I think I just might.” Bella slipped her arm around Annie's waist. “You know all my sassy bravado stuff is all fake, right?”
“Yes, I know.”
“I've been lonely. I never knew that until I came here. Coming into this house every morning where you and Alder are, with hot breakfast and people laughing and you making a fuss over me and making things I like to eat. It's made me remember what it was like when my mother was alive. It's family.” She hesitated, with another glance towards the house, where Drake was sitting with the other men. “Drake and I haven't had that for a long time. It's brought him back from the dead. You do realize that, don't you?”
“No, I'm not sure I do.”
Bella brushed back several locks of brown hair that had fallen close to her eyes. “You and Alder being here matters very much.”
“I'm falling in love with him.” This utterance, this confession, came out soft, no louder than a whisper.
“I know you are.” Bella squeezed Annie's arm tight against her tiny waist. “I see the way he looks at you. It's not just you falling. I'm sure of it. But he might be the saddest of all men in a world of sad men.”
“I know. I tell myself that a thousand times a day. He's too good for me anyway. What would a man like him want with a woman like me?”
Bella put her hands on Annie's shoulders. “Let me tell you something. Listen carefully to this. You're a great person who had some shitty things happen to you and you fought back and made a good life for yourself and your son. There's no shame in that. Ever. Do you hear me?”
“I guess,” said Annie, fighting tears.
“You remind me of our mother. Drake said the same thing.”
This surprised her. “Really?”
“Yes. You're so gentle and sweet, always taking care of everyone else, feeding us and worrying about us with no concern for yourself. And yet, under all that you're as strong as they come. Drake would be a lucky man to have you. This sounds trite, but it's him, not you.” Bella paused, tousling her hair with her fingertips. “It's important to me you understand this. All right?”
Annie smiled. “All right.” Then, like the nightmares that plagued her, she remembered Marco. “I feel hunted.”
“Dammit, I know you do. I'd give anything to find him and string him up by his balls.”
“All 110 pounds of you stringing him up by the balls would be a sight.” And despite the seriousness of both their situations and the man they both loved sitting on his porch, tortured by the past, they laughed. And this was it, Annie thought, the only thing that could keep you from giving into the darkness—the love of other people and a moment of humor in the stillness of dusk under an expansive sky.
They turned towards the house, the scent of the men's cigars stronger now and yet as they passed the roses, their sweetness was there in the dimming day like the lingering scent of a woman's perfume long after she's left the room.
Mike built the fire, using pieces of neatly chopped wood stored in the small shed just off the deck. There was no detail of this home that had not been thought out in perfect detail, Annie thought as she watched the wood spark and come to life.
They all gathered on the deck. Sharon and Mike sat together on one end of the built-in benches that made a semi-circle in front of the fireplace; Bella and Ben sat on the other end. Annie and Drake were in the Adirondack chairs closest to the fireplace. Lee sat on the porch swing near the window, rocking a tired Ellie-Rose in her arms. Behind them at the table, Linus and Ellen were playing Scrabble, arguing occasionally about a word. Someone convinced Tommy to get his guitar, and while Drake helped Alder roast marshmallows on metal sticks and passed them around to whoever wanted one, Tommy sat on the side of the fireplace, tuning his guitar, the pluck of the strings ringing in the twilight. “Any requests?”
“Something romantic,” said Mike, nudging the fire with the steel poker. Sparks flamed in the dark. The fire grew taller and brighter.
“Yes,” said Sharon, never taking her eyes from Mike. “Something slow we can dance to.”
Mike turned from the fire, looking at her, smiling. “Yes, something we can dance to.”
Ben pulled a lock of Bella's hair. “See, I told you there'd be dancing.”
“Doesn't mean I'm dancing with you.”
“Oh, yeah, you are.” And with that, he pulled her to her feet. She squealed as they moved to the middle of the deck. Ben held her close and whispered something in her ear that made her laugh.
Mike offered his hand to Sharon and they did the same, dancing close as Tommy began to play.
Tommy played song after song, slow country ballads and folk songs, some of his
own work and covers of others. The evening grew darker. The stars appeared, first one in the northern horizon, and then one after another, until Annie, gazing upwards, saw they were close now, almost touchable, shards of light against the purple sky. Drake turned on a lantern for Ellen and Linus so they might continue their game. Ellie-Rose slept soundly now in Lee's arms. And Lee watched Tommy, the look on her face that could be read no other way than this is my man and I love him. Alder, having gorged himself on s'mores, wandered inside and fell asleep on the couch, the copy of Huck Finn open on his chest.
Annie let Tommy's voice wash over her and she stared into the fire, trying hard not to wish. To want. Just for this. For someone to offer his hand and want her to dance with him. Life would not offer her this kind of love. She was not someone destined to find her person, her love. The love of her life was Alder. And she had these friends, this gang of misfits that ran together in a pack now. But still, there it was, so familiar, this gap that was an empty space longing for love, longing to be chosen. Stealing a glance at Drake as he added another log to the fire, she could not help but wonder what it would feel like to dance with him, to have his arms around her. But it was not to be. It must be accepted, this fate. She was not chosen. No one had chosen her and no one probably ever would. She must have sighed, because Drake looked over at her as he sat back down in his chair.
“What's wrong?” He leaned close to her ear, perhaps knowing that whatever the answer, it would be for his ears only.
She shrugged. “Nothing.”
He didn't say anything for a moment, his gaze on the fire. “Annie, I'm sorry I can't dance with you.”
“How did you know I wanted to?”
“Because I want it, too. I just can't.” He put his hand on the arm of his chair, with his palm down, moving it back and forth like someone petting a cat. “And I'm sorry.”
“It doesn't matter.”
He shifted slightly towards her, resting his chin in the palm of his hand, watching her with those eyes that held nothing but regret and sorrow. “It matters to me that you're hurting. I just can't do anything about it.”
She watched the fire. It was burning hot, the embers red. A log collapsed, sparking and crackling.
“There will be someone. When you least expect it,” he said.
“I don't think so.”
“Please, Annie, look at me.”
She shifted her eyes back to his face that she knew now almost as well as she knew her son's: the way his whiskers were dark by this time of night, the dark blue circles under his eyes, the crows’ feet that spread to his hairline. And there was the square line of his jaw, the slight gray at his temples, the one dark curl that fell over his forehead until he brushed it back with the tips of his fingers.
“You're special. Sweet and smart and funny. If I weren't half a man, I would come after you. Trust me on this.”
Half a man.
Tommy ended his current song, looking up at the sky as if conjuring his next offering. The fire crackled. A breeze rustled the branches of the fir trees. And then, between those other hints of a wild country so near to the markings of civilization, came the sound of the coyote, howling woefully in the summer night.
Chapter Nineteen
BY ELEVEN, everyone gathered their belongings and headed home. Annie and Drake waved goodbye as the cars made their way down the long driveway. Except for Ben and Bella. Ben's car was still there and neither Annie nor Drake had seen them leave the deck, but apparently at some point they had. Now, glancing towards Bella's quarters, she saw a dim light on in the bedroom above the gym, and then two shadows intertwined in an embrace before the shade was pulled down and it went dark. Had Drake seen? She stole a glance at him. His hands were stuck in his pockets and his foot kicked at the rock walkway, as if he were trying to uncover something underneath. He'd seen.
“He's a good man,” she said. “This could be something.”
“They met tonight, Annie. And she's sleeping with him?”
“You don't know that.”
He snickered. “I'm out of it but not that out of it.”
“This might just be the romantic in me, but sometimes things work out between people. Look at Tommy and Lee. And the odds were stacked against them big time.”
“Bella's not the smartest when it comes to men.”
She touched the sleeve of his shirt, holding the fabric between her fingers. “It'll be all right.”
He turned to her. “Annie.” That was it. Just her name. And a bolt of desire ran through her, swift and hard. She moved her hand away from his sleeve and looked into the yard, the stars twinkling low on the horizon between the branches of the large fir at the end of the driveway. Just reach for me and I'll fall into you.
“Let's get your boy to bed,” he said.
“Yes.”
Once inside, Drake picked Alder up in his strong arms, carrying him to the boy's room. There, Annie took off his shorts and T-shirt and put him in his pajamas, despite his limbs that were dead weight. “Nothing wakes him up once he's asleep.”
Drake stood in the doorway, watching her. “Must be nice.”
“Yeah,” she said with a sigh as she tucked a blanket around Alder. “He didn't brush his teeth,” she said, fretting, thinking of all the sugar he'd had earlier.
“One night won't be the end of him.” He moved out of the doorway so she could pass by. He smelled of the outside and wood smoke and of the remnants of his cologne. What does his neck smell like?
“I suppose.” She yawned, turning off the light and shutting the bedroom door. “I'm so happy I don't have to work again tomorrow. I'm beat. Well, good night then.”
“Good night.” He turned towards the front room as she opened the door to her room.
“Annie,” he said, moving closer to her.
“Yeah?” She paused, resting her forehead on the doorframe.
“If you need me, just come find me.” He paused. “I mean, if the dreams are bad.”
“I will.”
In her bedroom, she shed her clothes and dressed in a pair of light pajamas. Her cell phone was blinking on the dresser. What was this? Who would call her that hadn't been there tonight? Picking it up, she saw there were a dozen missed calls. She went cold. She clicked on the phone application. And there it was. A dozen calls from a private number. It had to be him.
Shaking, she left her room, walking blindly to the front room, hoping Drake would still be awake. He was, sitting in one of the soft chairs, reading, the lamplight throwing shadows across his face. He looked up when she came in. “What happened?”
She held up her phone, as if he needed evidence. “A dozen calls. From a private number.”
He stood, tossing his book on the coffee table. “Crap.”
She held up the phone to him again. “And there are voicemails. I haven't listened to them. I'm too afraid.”
“Do you want me to do it?”
She was shaking hard now, so much so that her teeth were chattering. “Will you listen to them with me? I should hear them.”
“Why? It'll only frighten you worse.”
“I don't know. I just do.”
“Come here then. Sit with me on the couch.” He picked up a throw blanket from the back of his chair and wrapped it around her shoulders. “This will warm you up a little.”
He sat close, taking the phone and pushing the first voicemail. It was nothing but a hang-up, as were the next six calls. But on the seventh, Marco's voice came over the speaker. “Bitch, it's such a turn-on to hear your voice I just keep playing it over and over. Too bad you'll be dead before the month's out.” His voice was low and mean. She started to cry.
Drake shut the phone off with force and tossed it onto the coffee table as he scooted closer to her. “Please, sweetheart, don't listen to any of the rest. I'll listen to them for you and see if it gives us any clues to where he is. Please.” His eyes were pleading. “This does no one any good. It'll just make your nightmares that much worse.”
She nodded and whispered, “You're right.”
He reached for her hands that were clasped in her lap, covering them with his own. “Can I put you to bed? I know you're exhausted.” He turned to gaze at her face, then, with his index finger, brushed the skin just underneath her eyes. “Dark circles. No good for a woman as pretty as you.”
“You've touched me three times today.”
His mouth softened and lifted slightly at the corners. Almost a smile. “I know. It's not so hard.”
“I'm glad.”
“It's something about you.”
“What does that mean?”
“All the time I'm worried about when I'm going to get another anxiety attack. That's almost the worst part, wondering when it will come. But when I'm with you I don't think about it. I just think about you, about making sure you're all right.”
Her throat ached with unshed tears. “That might be the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me.”
He stood, holding out his hand. “Come to bed.”
She followed behind him, still holding onto his hand, until they arrived at her room. He held the door open for her. Would he leave her alone? The thought of it was almost too much to bear. Please stay.
As if he read her thoughts, he shut the door behind them. “I'm not going anywhere. I'll stay with you until you fall asleep.”
And like the other night he'd put her to bed, he drew back the covers and she climbed in as he took his place next to her.
“Tell me something no one else knows,” she said.
He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. “When I was ten, I saw a man killed on his bicycle while crossing a busy intersection.” He said it matter-of-factly, like someone reporting the news.
She shifted so she might see him better, might be able to read his features. “How awful.”
“It was, but not as you might imagine. There was no blood or open wounds that I could see. It was merely that at one moment there was this young man on his bicycle, speeding by me, his calf muscles bulging like regular cyclists have, you know?”
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