by Sheila Walsh
Ann put on her work clothes and added the final coat of polyurethane to each bedroom’s floor. The manufacturer recommended that furniture not be replaced for several days, and the rugs for a full week. Well, that wasn’t a problem. She didn’t plan to be back anytime soon. She needed to return to New York and get her career back on the fast track. She was even looking forward to seeing Patrick Stinson. So what if he played the field a lot? She could still go out with him and enjoy herself, right? There was something freeing about that kind of a no-strings-attached, living-for-the-moment lifestyle. It was fun. It was exciting. Why even bother looking for something different?
By lunchtime, she was inside a wholesale window treatment store that specialized in modern. That’s what the house needed, some modernizing. In fact, Ann had also decided to find a place where she could rent some furniture for the open house, after she sold most of what was currently in there. Now was the time to get rid of the old and fill up that space with something new.
After she got back to the house, she was unloading the boxes of blinds from her car just as Tammy and Keith came walking across the lawn. Those two had the uncanny ability of showing up at the most inconvenient times. “Hey, Ann, I was wondering if you could find it in your heart to be my mannequin again sometime today. I know you’re really busy, but I’ve got one more little hem to finish up and it’s such a blessing to have a live model.”
“I don’t have—”
“And while you’re there, I’ll show you my new elephant. She’s beautiful.” Keith grinned at her.
In spite of her best intentions to send them away quickly, Ann couldn’t help but ask Tammy the question. “His elephant?”
“He got a postcard from Danielle today. She’s somewhere in Kenya, I think.”
Ann tried to reconcile the Danielle she’d seen—setting tables, serving muffins and Krispy Kremes, and bossing everyone around—with a person who could spend months in Africa. Somehow she couldn’t quite do it.
“I’ll draw a picture for you too.” Keith had come beside her, smiling like it was Christmas morning.
Ann took one look at Keith’s innocent face, thought of all he lived with on a daily basis, and the excuse died somewhere in her throat. She turned toward Tammy and pretended to fan herself while batting her eyes. “Li’l ol’ me? Be a model for you? Why, I never heard anything so darlin’.”
Tammy burst out laughing. “Sarah was right about you—you are a riot.” She looked at the boxes in Ann’s hand. “Let us help you carry these things in.”
“That’s okay, I’ve got it.”
“I’ll help you, Annie.” Keith had picked up a long carton and was hauling it toward the door before Ann could stop him.
“Really, it’s okay, I can get it.”
Tammy reached into the trunk. “Of course you can, but so can we. Remember, Keith, we’re supposed to call her Ann.”
“Right. Sorry, Annie, I forgot.”
“It’s okay.”
Tammy lifted a couple of boxes and started toward the house. “What’s in here?”
“Some blinds for the windows.”
“Blinds? Oh, Ann, I wish I would have known you were thinking about doing this. I would have been happy to make some curtains for you.”
A picture flashed through Ann’s mind of petunias and paisley, and varying shades of pink, yellow, and purple. “Oh, you can’t do everything for me, Tammy. Besides, I wanted to add a little of my own touch to the place.”
“Your own touch, really? Are you thinking about staying, then?” There was no mistaking the hope in her voice.
“No, Manhattan is my home. I’m just trying to spruce things up a little bit so the place will be ready when the time comes to list it.”
By then, they had entered the house. Since the bedroom furniture was squashed into the living room, there was very little open floor space. “Just set the boxes anywhere you can find a spot. I think I’ll go ahead and try this one over the kitchen sink, just to get an idea of how it will look.”
“Oh good, I’d love to see what you picked out, but aren’t you going to repaint in here? Shouldn’t you wait until after that?”
“Yeah, I’m not actually going to hang it, just hold it up and make certain I like it.”
When she removed the semi-sheer, white, tone-on-tone roller shade from the box, she heard Tammy gasp. She didn’t turn but went ahead and held it up to the window. She pulled the shade down and admired the nice, clean lines against the window. Much better than all that lacy stuff. “What do you think?”
“They’re . . . nice.” Tammy’s face belied the truth, but she wouldn’t say anything. Ann knew she wouldn’t. “Well, are you ready to come be my southern belle for a few minutes?”
Why had she let Keith’s sweetness guilt her into agreeing to this? Best to get it over with. “Sure, let’s go.”
Keith was sitting at the kitchen table, his chin in his hand. After a big yawn, he said, “They look real pretty, Annie. I like ’em.”
That’s why. How could anyone stand against that? Before she could think better of it, she bent down and hugged him. “It sure is good to have you around here, Keith. I don’t know how I would have carried those things in by myself.”
He smiled and hugged her back. “I love you, Annie.”
In spite of every instinct inside her, she kissed him on the top of the head. “Me too.” It was as close as she could come to saying the words.
Tammy tried to keep a straight face when she looked up at Annie wearing the cream-colored, lace-lined creation. For the most part, she had to keep her focus on the hem to accomplish this. If she looked up for very long, she started to get tickled.
“Who uses all these dresses?” The tone of Annie’s voice was as funny as her expression.
“These are actually going to be sold at an auction they’re having downtown to raise money for the historic foundation.”
“It’s Wiggle time. You like the Wiggles, Annie?” Keith was standing by the television, where he’d just inserted a tape into the VCR, pointing excitedly at the four men in black pants and brightly colored shirts.
“Uh . . . I . . .” Ann looked at Tammy.
“They’re the Fab Four of the preschool set.” She nodded toward Keith. “And Keith.”
Keith had extended both pointer fingers and was moving his hands in rapid circles. “It’s Wiggle time,” he said again, bouncing in dysrhythmic time with the music. “You like them, right, Annie?”
Ann nodded. “Now that I know who they are, I sure do.” She giggled as she turned her attention back to Tammy and whispered, “Guess I know what I’m adding to my iPod next.”
“Sure you are. Now hold still.”
“So people pay money for one of these dresses. Why? It’s not like you can wear them anywhere.”
“Oh, there are the occasional historic balls, and of course Halloween.”
“Somehow I’m having trouble seeing myself at a Halloween party in Manhattan dressed like this. Unless, of course, I was supposed to be Scarlett O’Hara. I could probably do that. I’ve always kind of admired her.”
“You admire Scarlett? I hope you’re kidding.”
“I most certainly am not. I suppose it’s because she’s such a strong woman. Life dealt her a few bad hands, and she picked herself up and kept going. Saved the family plantation in the process. A woman who knew how to get things done—she would make it big in New York.”
“I’m glad I don’t live in New York, then.” Tammy pushed the next pin into place before continuing. “Think of how many people she hurt along the way.”
Ann shrugged, which pulled the hem from Tammy’s hand. “Most of them would have hurt her in the long run; she just beat them to the punch.”
Wow. How to respond to that? God, give me some right words here. This poor doll is all broken up inside, but I don’t know how to help her without offending her.
“How much do these sell for?”
“Depends on what kind of mood the
bidders are in, I guess. They usually go for a few hundred dollars, give or take. The highest one I know of fetched just over a thousand.”
“You’ve got to do the monkey.” Keith’s singing was loud and off key. “Do the monkey.”
“Darling, you’re being just a little loud. Didn’t you promise to color a picture for Ann?”
“Oh right. Sorry.” He sat back down and started coloring but continued to sing a little lower than before.
“A thousand dollars?” Annie whistled. “Who’d have thought?
You know, I don’t get why people like to dress up like the old days anyway. It’s like they’re trying to be something they’re not.”
“You’re one to talk.” The words slipped out, and Tammy immediately wished she could take them back. Her mouth was full of pins, and Keith was still singing; maybe Ann didn’t hear it. She continued her work without even looking up.
“What do you mean?”
Well, the words were out there now—may as well spit the rest of them out, she supposed. She took the pins from her mouth and laid them on the table. “Ann, you know I love you to pieces, but the truth is, you’re trying harder than anyone I know to pretend you’re not who you are. You’re running from yourself as fast as you can, but it’s still catching up with you.” She spoke in a pleading voice, begging Annie to see the truth for what it was.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Really? Take those blinds, for instance. They might look just right in a high-rise New York apartment complex, but in your grandmother’s old house, they look like you’re trying to pretend it’s something that it’s not. It doesn’t work for the house, and it doesn’t work for people either.”
“You have no idea what you are talking about.” Ann’s voice was loud enough to cause Keith to look up from his coloring.
“When it comes to the decorating, I suppose you might be right.” Tammy gestured around the living room and smiled. “In fact, I’m sure of it. But when it comes to you, I don’t think so.”
“Well, you’re wrong.”
“Honey, I wish you’d slow down. Quit running long enough to acknowledge that you’ve got some pretty big hurts, and give God the chance to take care of them for you.”
Keith stood up and walked over to them. “The angels will help. Like they do me.”
“Do your angels make you feel better, Keith?” Ann looked annoyed, but she seemed relieved for the change in conversation.
“Not on the outside, but on the inside. Like when you fall down and scrape your knee and your mommy holds you real close and kisses you. Your knee still hurts, but you feel better just the same. When they sing to me, I feel all happy inside.”
“Kind of like the Wiggles?”
Keith shook his head. “The Wiggles are just pretend. They’re actors, that’s all. The angels, they’re real.”
Ann’s face went pale. “Tammy, are you about done? I’ve really got to get back and put on the last coat of polyurethane, and I’ve got an early flight tomorrow.”
A few moments later Ann scampered out the door and back to her house like she was running from a stalker. Tammy knew the name of that stalker.
Truth.
Chapter 24
The sun’s heat reflected on the windows twenty stories up. It beat down on the sidewalks and poured itself over dozens of people emerging from the subway tunnel. The air smelled of perfume and sweat, designer coffee and grime, all mixing with the energy of adrenaline and despair. The contradictions that were New York in the summer never failed to thrill Ann. The place where anything was possible.
By the time Ann rolled her suitcase through the doors of Marston Staging, she felt energized. “Hi, Jen.”
“Margaret wants to see you in her office the moment you arrive.” The grim expression on Jen’s face told Ann more than she wanted to know about Margaret’s current mood.
“Alrighty then.” Ann dropped her suitcase in the cubicle, then walked into Margaret’s office. “You wanted to see me?”
She stood. “Yes, I do. Patrick Stinson has called me a couple of times today. He said you aren’t answering his phone calls.”
“Margaret, I’ve been on an airplane. There are rules about having your cell phone turned off. Remember?”
“Well, you should have checked your messages as soon as you landed and he should have been the first call you made.”
“I did check messages; he didn’t leave one.” Ann looked down at her phone again to confirm. “No, no messages.”
“I should think it would be enough to see his number on the missed calls to know that you needed to call him back.”
Again, Ann looked at her phone. “I’ve got four missed calls, all of the caller IDs are marked private. What, do you want me to start calling Patrick Stinson every time I get an unidentified call on my cell phone? I’m sure that would go over well.”
Margaret sat in her chair, then leaned forward on her elbows, not one hint of defeat showing on her face. “One way or the other, I want you to call him at his office right now.”
“Of course I will.” Ann stood to walk back to her cubicle.
“Ann, a lot of people’s jobs are depending on this contract. You understand that, right?” “Yes, I got it. Loud and clear.”
“Good.”
Ann returned to her desk but took a minute for deep breathing before picking up the phone. Calm, clear thinking was mandatory right now.
She punched in his number. Two secretaries and three minutes later, she heard, “Ann, you’re back. I trust your time in Charleston was fruitful.”
“Yes, it was. I found a new supplier of artwork that I thought we might want to use for a couple of your units. I’ve got samples I could e-mail over.”
“I’ve never been one who liked to work by computer. I’m more of an old-fashioned kind of guy. I like to do my work hands-on. Know what I mean?” There was just a hint of innuendo in the question.
“Of course. Would you like me to put a copy in the mail then?”
“How about in person? Over dinner tonight?”
Everything Ann wanted was right here, wrapped up in the package that was Patrick Stinson. All she had to do was take the gift that life was offering her. So why wasn’t she answering him? Why couldn’t she make even a sound in response?
“I’ll pick you up. Seven thirty.”
“No.” Wow. Patrick Stinson had done the job for her, and still she fought it. What was wrong with her? “I mean, I couldn’t let you go to all that trouble. I have several errands to run in the city; I’ll meet you at the restaurant. Where did you have in mind?”
She could hear the sound of a computer keyboard in the background, so she knew he was still on the phone. He just wasn’t responding. Finally, he said, “Well, it goes against my old-fashioned nature,” he said, his voice smooth as silk, “but if you insist, meet me at La Maison at eight.”
“All right.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” He paused, and this was where Ann knew she was supposed to express how much she was looking forward to it too. She couldn’t bring herself to say it but did finally manage, “Yes, it’s always exciting to talk about new design ideas.”
He chuckled into the phone. “Tonight.” The line went dead.
It was almost seven when Ann arrived at her apartment building. Before she went upstairs, she stopped at her mailbox, something she normally wouldn’t do when she was in a hurry. It was stupid now, she knew that, but she’d grown fond of Keith’s almost-daily drawings. But she’d left Charleston only twelve hours ago, so this was obviously a waste of time. Even if he’d mailed one today, it wouldn’t be here. She turned the key in the lock and pulled the door open to find a stack of bills and a couple of flyers. Of course there was nothing.
She rode the elevator to the eighth floor, and as she walked down the hall toward her apartment, she could see a letter leaning against her door. On a yellow sticky note attached to a blue envelope, she read:
Ann, this was in my box by mistake. Welcome home. Christine
She let herself inside as she tore open the envelope. She pulled out a drawing that showed Ann with her hand extended toward a yellow blob beside her. It looked like she was holding a flat letter m. Behind what Ann knew to be the angel of the drawing, there was something that looked like a cylinder.
Well, this one was a little harder to decipher than most. She put it on the refrigerator, thinking maybe she’d have to take this one back to Charleston next time and have Keith explain it to her. Something inside of her ached at the thought. Well, she didn’t have time to think about that right now.
Despite the fact that she was going to be late if she didn’t move fast, Ann took extra care choosing her clothes. She wanted to look nice, but not overly appealing. She would play along with Patrick Stinson’s little game, enjoy it even, but she wanted contracts signed before this relationship took any sort of a personal turn. Black slacks and a white, quarter-sleeve, silk button-up seemed to fit the bill: professional, attractive, and traditional enough that it was neither trendy nor out of fashion.
She rushed out the door, hailed a taxi, and arrived at the restaurant at three minutes before eight. La Maison was a quaint café, candlelit tables, a pianist at a grand piano playing classical music. Patrick Stinson had not yet arrived, but the maitre d’ escorted Ann back to the table. A waiter immediately came to take her drink order. She wouldn’t drink anything that might impair her judgment tonight. “Just water, thanks.”
A few moments later Patrick Stinson arrived. “Ann, I’m terribly sorry I kept you waiting. I got a last-minute call from one of the developers on our team, and well, you know, crisis averted, but not without making me late to meet my beautiful dinner companion. I do apologize.”
“Apology accepted.”
He wore a black turtleneck under an expensive gray jacket. Something about the slight curl to his hair, combined with his left-sided dimple, gave him a boyish charm. That, coupled with his confidence, born of power, was so inviting. “I could hardly wait for you to get back into town.”
