by JoAnn Ross
“And this was Disneyland. I loved It’s a Small World.” She was sitting in a white boat at the front of the line, waiting to go through the ride, revealing a timeline gap from the coast trip, since her face was now beaming with a joy so bright it made Mac’s heart ache, knowing how this particular story had ended up.
“I love it, too,” Emma said, clapping her hands. “I love all those dancing and singing dolls.” Apparently forgetting she’d been on the verge of being in trouble for snooping in Annie’s dresser drawers, Emma began singing the song Mac feared would become an earworm for the rest of the night.
“I went through it three times,” Annie said, running her finger over the grinning little girl she’d once been. “And I’m still not sure I saw them all.”
“We can go back. Can’t we, Daddy?” Emma asked, looking up at Mac. “When my wrist gets all healed up, you and Annie and I can go to Disneyland and Annie can see any of the dolls she missed.”
“Good idea,” he agreed, wanting to take Annie in his arms and hold her tight, easing the pain he realized this must be causing her. Instead, he stayed leaning against the counter, his legs crossed at the ankles, looking far more casual than he felt.
Annie blinked. Twice. As if fighting back tears. Then taking a deep breath, she turned yet another page in the story that was her interrupted life.
“And this was at Christmas.”
“Oh, you look so pretty! I love your dress!” Emma sighed at the red velvet dress with the white satin collar and cuffs. Annie was, as she’d been in the other photos, included with the children. The only difference was that this time a man and a woman were in the picture as well, suggesting it had been a Christmas card photo.
What little girl, he thought, at eight years old, wouldn’t have believed that she’d found a home?
“Did you make this scrapbook all by yourself?” Emma asked, running her hands over the gilt paper.
“No. I’d never had one before. But my foster mother was a scrapbooker, and she made this for me to take with me when I moved to my next home.”
“She didn’t keep you?” Emma’s eyes widened with stunned disbelief. A disbelief Mac feared Annie had felt as well when the social worker had showed up, yet again, at the house she’d believed she had settled into.
“That wasn’t her job,” Annie said calmly. Watching her carefully, knowing her as he did, Mac saw a thin piece of glass about to shatter. “She told me that her job was to take care of children for a short time. That way she could have more than if she kept them forever.”
“I think it’s probably time to get you home so you can get ready for bed, pumpkin,” he told Emma.
Who, big surprise, ignored him.
“My mommy didn’t keep me, either,” she said with an amazing amount of empathy for a six-year-old. Mac couldn’t figure out whether to be proud of her or to start crying like a girl himself.
“But I have Daddy. And Grandpa. And Poppy.”
Before anyone could stop her, she turned the page, and what Mac saw tore at something elemental inside him. After leaving what she’d obviously believed would become her real family, Annie had continued the album.
“Emma,” he said. More firmly this time. “We need to go so you can get up early tomorrow for the parade.”
“No.” Annie shook her head again. “It’s okay.”
And so, Emma, engrossed in the process of the work, kept turning the pages, making comments on the papers Annie had used and the coloring she’d done. Even Mac, who knew nothing about crafts, could tell, from the increasing skill in the work, that the pages had been created over a period of years.
All the picture-perfect families depicted on the carefully laid-out pages were fictional ones, cut from magazines.
“So,” Annie said as Emma finally, after what seemed like hours, reached the last page, “that’s how I ended up owning a scrapbook store. So I could help other people keep their special memories. And the story of their lives.”
And their hopes and, in Annie’s case, unfulfilled dreams.
“I’m glad you did. Because now I’ll never forget all the fun adventures I had the day I broke my wrist.”
Emma looked up at Mac. “You need to take a picture,” she said. “Of the night Annie made me macaroni and cheese and I played with Pirate and we looked at her scrapbook.”
Even as he did as Emma asked, Mac knew he wouldn’t need a scrapbook to remember tonight. Because the story of Annie’s life would forever be burned into his mind.
And his heart.
55
Over the years, Annie had suffered from stress headaches. Although she’d done her best to hide it, one had struck the moment Emma came downstairs with that photo album she hadn’t looked at in years. Yet had never been able to throw away.
Because, she thought, as she sat in the dark, waiting for Mac to return from taking Emma home and putting her to bed, it had represented everything she’d ever wanted in the world.
She didn’t want to spend years in college and become a veterinarian, like Charity. Nor did she want to be a celebrity chef, like Maddy. Or even the sexiest baker on the planet, like Sedona. She didn’t want to arrest bad guys and send them up the river for life plus ten, like Kara could undoubtedly do without a blink of an eye, then go home and cook dinner for her family.
What Annie wanted, what she’d always wanted, was a family.
Seemingly everyone had them.
So why did it seem such an impossible dream for her?
As maniacs pounded away with jackhammers at her forehead, she went upstairs to the bathroom, where she turned the shower dial to hot, waiting for the water to warm in the energy-saving water heater Lucas had installed during the remodel of the house.
Although it took a little while for the water to warm up, the advantage was that, unlike an old-fashioned tank water heater, in this one the hot water never ran out. From the intensity of the headache, she feared she would need a lot tonight.
Because Annie hated taking pain medication, Kara’s mother, a neurologist who was currently traveling the world with her husband for a world health organization, had suggested hammering the spot where the headache had centered with hot water for twenty to thirty minutes.
Annie had no idea why or how it worked, but it usually did.
Until tonight.
She was about to give up when there was a knock on the bathroom door.
“You decent?” Mac’s voice called out.
“I’m in the shower. And how did you get in here?”
“You didn’t lock the door. You’re going to have to be more careful,” he said as he entered the steamy bathroom. “Because Emma must have ruined Pirate for guard duty. The minute I walked in, he rolled over onto his back and demanded that I rub his stomach.”
He casually kicked off his shoes, unfastened the metal button on his jeans, and lowered the zipper. “I think he’s got identification issues, because that seems like a dog thing to do. . . .
“And have I ever told you how gorgeous you are?”
“Yes. And I hate to fall back on clichés, but I have a headache.”
“So why are you waiting for me in the shower?”
As he pulled off his shirt, revealing the mouthwatering six-pack that could have won him the cover on that Hunks of Shelter Bay calendar the mayor kept talking about creating for promotional purposes, Annie explained the short version of the headache shower cure.
“I’m not going to knock anything that gets you naked and wet,” he said, pulling back the steamed-up shower door. “But in case I haven’t mentioned it, I’m really good at relieving stress.”
He entered the cubicle, cupped her breast, and gave her one of those slow, deep kisses as the water washed over both of them.
“Where does it hurt?” he asked when they finally came up for air.
“Here.”
She touched her forehead.
“Then that’s where we’ll start.”
He kissed his way from temple to temple, lingering in the center, where she’d touched. Then he ran his fingers over her wet skin. “You really are tense. I once interviewed a medic in Iraq who was into alternative medicine,” he told her casually, as his mouth moved down her cheek, returning to her lips, before continuing. “Since you can’t always use heavy drugs in a battle situation, he was big on using pressure points to help alleviate pain. “
He touched her everywhere, his hands heating her to an internal temperature even hotter than the water streaming over them. When he’d worked his way down to the tile floor, where he even ministered to the arches of her feet, he began his journey back up again.
“Mac.”
“Shh.” He turned her around so her breasts were flattened against the tile as his hands moved up the backs of her legs and over her butt, which had her wishing she’d spent more time doing squats with Kara at the gym. “I’m concentrating.”
Which was more than she was able to do. Her thoughts were as fogged as the warm and steamy room.
When his hand moved between her legs, a sound somewhere between a moan and a cry escaped her lips.
His mouth continued up her back, his hands massaging her shoulders, even as his erection pressed against her.
“Now here’s the key,” he said. “The trick is to get your brain concentrating on some other place.”
His hands cupped her hips. “Ready to try it?”
“If you don’t, Kara’s going to have to arrest me for justifiable homicide when I kill you,” she managed, every nerve ending in her body concentrating on that one place that was aching for fulfillment.
“Can’t have that.”
He slid into her, tight and perfect, as if they’d been made to be together in just this way.
Instead of hurrying, as they had in the car, he took his time, and as her palms pressed against the tile she’d spent weeks picking out, he moved, languidly at first. In. Out. In. Out. Deeper with each fluid, rhythmic stroke, until her lungs clogged and white spots began to float in front of her eyes.
Just when she realized that it was, indeed, possible to pass out from sheer pleasure, he went for it, diving deep, until she screamed his name, the sound of it bouncing off the tile walls like an echo. That, and her orgasm, went on. And on. And on.
He caught her as her knees buckled and lowered her to the floor of the shower, where he took her onto his lap and held her tight.
“How’s the head?”
Head? How could he ask about her head when somehow her orgasm was still rocking her from the inside out? She wondered if whatever he’d learned from that medic had done something permanent to her. Like those erections they were always talking about on the TV commercials that lasted more than four hours.
“Uh.” She closed her eyes, trying to focus on something besides that hot, pulsing place between her thighs. “Uh, it’s still there.”
“The headache?”
Headache?
“No. My head.” She lifted her fingers to make sure it was still on her shoulders where it belonged. “Are you sure that was really a medic? And not some kind of voodoo doctor?”
“U.S. Army,” he said. “But he was from Louisiana, so I suppose he could’ve learned it from some voodoo practitioner. Why?”
“Never mind.” Her headache was actually gone, she realized. And those intense contractions were beginning to calm down enough for her to notice her surroundings. How long had he been in here with her?
“We steamed the room up.”
“That’s not all we steamed up.” He shifted her on his lap and she realized that once again he’d managed to hold back, letting her take what she needed. Wondering if that was another trick the possible voodoo medic had taught him, she said, “I’m not a doctor. Or even a medic. But just maybe, if you got into bed, I could help you with that problem.”
“You’re on.”
As she climbed off him and they both got out of the shower, turning off the still-hot water that had Annie thinking she really ought to consider writing Lucas a thank-you note for having suggested the tankless heater in the first place, he asked, “I don’t suppose you’ve got one of those little nurse outfits. With the short, skintight white uniform and thigh-high white nylons?”
“Sorry.”
“That’s okay.” He caught her hand as she began to dry the part of his body still needing attention. “You’re perfect, Annie.” Although his tone had been teasing, his eyes were as serious as she’d ever seen them. “Just the way you are.”
And the wonderful thing was, as they spent another night exploring yet more ways they could be perfect together, Annie believed him.
56
Charlie was already dressed in his uniform when Mac and Annie arrived at Still Waters.
“Ha! You owe me fifty clams, boy,” he greeted Mac.
“Clams?” Annie looked momentarily concerned that his grandfather was having another reality lapse.
“It’s a bet,” Mac said, trying to shrug the subject off. “Ready to go?”
“Not until you pay up.”
Mac cursed under his breath, pulled out his wallet, and handed Charlie two twenties and a ten. “Happy?”
“Am now,” he said. “How about you?”
“Yeah.” Mac took hold of Annie’s hand. “I am.”
“I told you she was a keeper,” he said. Then he turned to Annie. “His first wife was a nice girl. Pretty, too. Miss California, or Rose Bowl Princess, or something like that.”
“Miss San Diego,” Matt said between clenched teeth. Charlie may be living in reality today, but Alzheimer’s had definitely taken away any conversational filters.
“That’s it. Anyway, like I said, she was a nice girl. With a daddy who was in the Navy, like me, so that was a plus. But she was never right for Mackenzie. And he was never right for her. I could tell that right off from the day of their wedding.”
“Pops,” Mac warned. It wasn’t that he hadn’t already told Annie much the same thing. But she didn’t need to have his former wife thrown in her face.
“Not every marriage is meant to be,” she said mildly. “And even when they start out right, some just take a wrong turn along the way.”
“Not me and my Annie,” Charlie said, crossing his arms. He swept a look over them. “And not you two. I told you”—he turned back to Mac—“this one’s a keeper.”
• • •
“I’m sorry if Gramps embarrassed you,” Mac said later, as they sat on the curb of Harborview Drive, watching the Shelter Bay High School marching band strut by while blasting out John Philip Sousa.
“Don’t worry about it. You know I’m a little in love with Charlie.”
“I didn’t realize I had competition.”
“I wouldn’t stand a chance. Because I’m the wrong Annie.” Her gaze drifted to Adèle and Maureen Douchett, seated across the street, waiting for their husbands to march past. “I envy people who can stay in love for so many years.”
“I suspect it’s not as easy as it looks,” Mac said. “But if my mom hadn’t died, I think she and Boyd would’ve been like Charlie and Annie. Charlie’s parents were married eighty years.”
“That’s a wonderful family history.”
“Yeah. Another reason I felt bad when I screwed up the record.”
She looked as if she was going to respond to that, but just then Emma, who was seated beside him, began jumping up and down. “There’s the float,” she shouted.
She pulled the cards she’d made out of the pink backpack she’d brought with her, and along with the other children, went running up, handing them out to the marching military men and women. One Marine lifted Emma up so she could hand a card to her poppy, who, for a guy in his nineties, looked damn fine, Mac th
ought. The second card went to her grandfather.
“Why aren’t you in the parade?” Annie asked. “And don’t say because you were just the guy on the radio.” She ran a hand down his leg. “Don’t forget, I’ve seen the scars.”
“Easy.” He put his arm around her waist. Instead of her usual sundress, she was wearing a red-and-white-striped T-shirt, white capris, and red sandals. While she might have left the stilettos and diamonds at home, she was still the sexiest woman in Shelter Bay and he couldn’t wait to get her alone for a few hours of highly inappropriate sex. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”
“Did you see?” Emma asked as she ran back to them. “I gave away all my cards. But I saved my most special for Poppy and Grandpa. “
“We saw,” Annie said. “And you did great.”
“I know. Poppy said it was the best card ever.” Her grin took up most of her face. “I knew Peggy was wrong about no one wanting pink ink.”
“I brought you something,” Annie said, reaching into her bag and pulling out the package tied with pink and purple ribbon.
Emma’s eyes widened. “You got me a present?” she asked as she excitedly tore away the pink-flowered paper.
“For your scrapbooking,” Annie said.
“Oh!” Emma drew in a sharp, pleased breath, then held the pink Disney Princess digital camera out to show Mac. “It’s my very own camera!”
“Wow. That’s pretty cool,” he said.
“It’s better than cool.” Emma hugged it to her chest. “It’s amazing!” She flung her arms around Annie’s neck. “Thank you!”
As she hugged Mac’s daughter back, Annie felt a mental camera click, preserving this moment, and the day, forever.
The bidding for the lunch baskets began and Annie realized, when everyone seemed to wind up with the basket made by the person they’d come with, that although the rules stated it would be a blind auction, no one was paying any attention.
