“What . . . what if he wanted you back?”
“Blake’s not that kind of man. It would mean admitting that he’d been wrong in the first place. In all our years together, I’ve never once heard him say he was sorry. To anyone.”
He heard sorrow in the quietly spoken words.
She smiled weakly and looked away from him, staring beyond his shoulder to a spot on the wall.
He gathered her into his arms, turning her so that he could lose himself in the green of her eyes. “I remember a story you wrote in Senior English. It was about a dog who helped a lost boy find his home. I always thought you’d be a famous writer.”
“That was ‘Finding Joey.’ I can’t believe you remembered it.”
“It was a good story.”
She was silent for a long time, and when finally she spoke, her voice was thick. “I should have trusted myself, but Blake . . . he thought writing was a silly little hobby, and so I put it away. It’s not his fault, it’s mine. I gave in too easily. After that I tried everything—calligraphy, judo, painting, sculpting, floral arranging, interior design.” She snorted derisively. “No wonder Blake made fun of me. I was a poster child for a missing soul.”
“I can’t imagine that.”
“It’s true. I wrapped up my two unfinished novels in pretty pink boxes and tucked them under my lingerie chest. I let Blake’s acid comments about ‘Mom’s current hobby’ derail me. After a few years, I forgot I’d even had a dream in the first place. I became Mrs. Blake Colwater, and without him, I felt like nobody. Until now. You and Izzy gave me my self back.”
He touched her face. “No, Annie. You took it back yourself. Hell, you fought for it.”
She stared at him. “I lost myself once, Nick. I’m terrified of doing it again.”
There was no point in asking what she meant. He knew. Somehow, she’d seen the secret he was trying so hard to keep from her. He’d fallen in love with her, and they didn’t have much time together; that was the truth he’d understood at the outset, the truth that came from sleeping with a married woman, even if she was headed for divorce. She still had Natalie, and a whole life that didn’t include Nick. “Okay, Annie,” he said quietly. “Okay for now.”
But it wasn’t okay. He knew it, and now she was beginning to know it as well.
Annie stood on the porch of her father’s house, staring out at the sinuous silver ribbon of the salmon stream. Bright blue harebells danced nimbly through the high grass at the river’s edge. Somewhere, a woodpecker was drilling through a tree trunk; the ra-ta-ta-tat echoed through the forest.
She heard the door squeak open behind her, then the banging of the screen door.
“Okay, what’s going on, Annie Virginia?”
She knew by the quiet tone of his voice that it was the question he’d followed her out here to ask. “What do you mean?” She played dumb.
“You know what I mean. You blush like a teenager every time you say Nick’s name, and I’ve hardly seen you in the past two weeks. You’re doing a hell of a lot more than baby-sitting up there. Last night I heard you talking on the phone. You were telling Terri that Nick was just a friend. So, I guess I’m not the only one who has noticed.”
“It isn’t love,” she answered quietly, but even as she spoke the words, she wondered. When she was with Nick, she felt young, full to bursting with adrenaline. Dreams seemed tangible to her again, as close as tomorrow; it wasn’t how she’d felt in her marriage. Then, she’d thought dreams were the toys of childhood, to be put away when real life came to call.
“Are you doing it to get back at Blake?”
“No. For once, I’m not thinking about Blake or Natalie. I’m doing this for me.”
“Is that fair?”
She turned to him. “Why is it that only women have to be fair?”
“It’s Nick I’m thinking of. I’ve known that boy for a long time. Even as a kid, he had eyes that had seen a dozen miles of bad road. When he started dating Kathy, I thanked God it wasn’t you. But then he settled down and became the best cop this town has ever had. We all saw how he loved Kathy; and that little daughter of his was the apple of his eye. Then, that . . . thing happened with Kathy, and he . . . disintegrated. His hair turned that weird color, and every time I saw him, I remembered what had happened. It was like a physical badge of sorrow. No one blamed him, of course; but he blamed himself, you could tell. It was damned hard to watch.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“You’re a fighter, Annie, and—”
“Ha! Come on, Dad, I’m a doormat of the first order.”
“No. You never have seen yourself clearly. You’ve got a steel core inside you, Annie—you always did. And you see the world in positive terms. Your glass is always half full.”
“When Blake left me, I fell apart,” she reminded him.
“For what—a month?” He made a tsking sound. “That’s nothing. When your mom died, I didn’t hide out for a couple of weeks and then emerge stronger than I’d started.” He paused, shaking his head. “I’m not good at saying what I mean. What I’m trying to say, honey, is that you don’t understand despair or weakness, not really. You can’t get your mind wrapped around hopelessness.”
She stared out at the river. “I guess that’s true.”
“You’re still a married woman, and if you think Blake is really going to leave you for a bimbo, you’re crazy. He’ll be back. When he comes to his senses, Blake will come home to you.”
“I don’t feel married.”
“Yes, you do.”
She had no answer to that; it was true and it wasn’t. As much as she’d grown and changed in the last months, Hank was right: Annie did still feel married to Blake. She’d been his wife for almost twenty years . . . that kind of emotional commitment didn’t evaporate on account of a few hastily thrown words, even if those words were I want a divorce.
Hank came up beside her, touched her cheek. “You’re going to hurt Nick. And he’s not a man who rolls easily with life’s punches. I don’t mean to tell you what to do. I never have and I’m sure as hell not going to start now. But . . . this thing . . . it’s going to end badly, Annie. For all of you.”
The next night, long after the dinner dishes were washed and put away and Izzy had gone to bed, Annie sat in the rocker on the front porch. She watched a tiny black spider spin an iridescent web on a rhododendron bush. The scratchy creak-creak-creak of the rocker kept her company in the quiet. She knew she should go inside; Nick would be waiting for her upstairs. But it was so quiet and peaceful out here, and the lingering echo of her father’s words seemed softer and more distant when she was alone. When she actually went inside and looked into Nick’s blue, blue eyes, she knew her dad’s advice would return, louder and too insistent to ignore.
Nick and Izzy had already been hurt so badly. She didn’t want to do anything that would cause them more pain, and yet she knew, as certainly as she was sitting here, that she was going to do just that. She had another life in another town, another child that was going to need a mother as desperately as Izzy had only a few months ago. Her real life was out there, waiting for Annie, circling in the hot, smoggy air of Southern California, readying itself for the confrontation that was only a few short weeks away. It would test Annie, that reunion; test everything that she was and everything she’d decided up here that she wanted to be.
Behind her, the screen door creaked open. “Annie?”
She closed her eyes for a second, gathering strength. “Hey, Nick,” she said softly, staring down at the hands clasped in her lap.
The door banged shut and he came up beside her. Placing a hand gently on her shoulder, he crouched down. “What are you doing out here all by yourself?”
She looked at him and, for a second, felt a flash of panic. The thought of giving him up was terrifying.
But it was Nick she had to think of, not herself. She gazed at him. “I don’t want to hurt you, Nick.”
He took hold of her
left hand, tracing the white tan line with the tip of his finger. “Give me some credit, Annie. I know it’s not as simple as taking off a ring.”
She stared at him for a long time. The urge rose in her to make impossible promises, to tell him she loved him, but she couldn’t be that cruel. She would be leaving in two weeks. It would be infinitely better to take the words with her.
“We don’t have forever, Annie. I know that.”
She heard something in his voice, a little crack in the word forever, but he was smiling at her, and she didn’t want to think about what he was feeling. “Yes,” she whispered.
He swept her into his arms and carried her up to his bed. And as always, once she was in his arms, she stopped thinking about the future and let the present consume her.
On Tuesday morning, they planned a trip to the beach. Annie glanced down at the picnic basket beside her, checking the food supplies for the tenth time, then she checked her watch. It was already ten-thirty. She went to the bottom of the stairs and yelled up at Nick and Izzy to get a move on. Then, humming to herself, she headed back toward the kitchen.
The phone rang as she walked past it. She bent down and picked it up on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Hold for Blake Colwater, please.”
For a disorienting moment, Annie couldn’t connect the name to her own life. Nick came down the stairs. She threw him a confused look. “It’s Blake.”
Nick froze in mid-step. “I’ll . . . leave you your privacy.”
“No. Come here. Please.”
Nick crossed the room and came up beside her. Turning slightly, she took hold of his hand.
Blake’s authoritative voice came on at last. “Annie—is that you?”
At the sound of his voice, it all came rushing back. She stood perfectly still. “Hello, Blake.”
“How are you, Annalise?”
“I’m fine.” She paused, trolling for what came next. “And you?”
“I’m . . . okay. I got your number from Hank. You know Natalie will be getting home soon.”
“The fifteenth of June. She wants us to meet her at the airport.” She put the slightest emphasis on us.
“Of course. Her plane lands at . . .”
She hated that he didn’t know. “Five-ten in the afternoon.”
“I knew that.”
An uncomfortable silence followed the apparent lie. Blake laughed easily, as if it had been three hours since they’d spoken instead of almost three months. “We need to talk, obviously, before we meet Natalie. I want you to come down to Los Angeles this weekend.”
“Do you?” It was so like Blake. He wanted to talk, so she had to get on an airplane.
“I’ll FedEx a ticket.”
She drew in a sharp breath. “I’m not ready to see you yet.”
“What? I thought—”
“I doubt it. We don’t have anything to talk about now.”
“I do.”
“Funny words, coming from you.”
“Annalise.” He sighed. “I want you to come home this weekend. We need to talk.”
“I’m sorry, Blake. I have no intention of coming home this weekend. I know we agreed to discuss our separation in June. Let’s leave it at that, okay? I’ll come home on the thirteenth.”
“Goddamn it, Annalise. I want—”
“Good-bye, Blake. See you in two weeks.” She hung up the phone and stared down at it.
“Are you okay, Annie?”
Nick’s voice pulled her back from the dark edge gathering on her horizon. Forcing a smile, she turned into his arms. “I’m fine.”
He stared down at her a long, long time. For a second, she thought he was going to kiss her, and she pushed onto her toes to meet his lips. But he just stood there, gazing down at her face as if he were memorizing everything about this moment. “It’s not going to be long enough.”
Chapter 21
As Blake drove down the rutted pavement of Mystic’s main street, he remembered how much he’d always disliked this shabby little logging town. It reminded him of the town he’d grown up in, a dingy, forgotten farming community in Iowa—a place he’d worked hard to forget.
He pulled the rented Cadillac into a gas station and parked. Flipping up the collar of his overcoat—who in the hell wanted to live in a place where you needed an overcoat in late May?—he strode through the pouring rain toward the phone booth. Rain thumped overhead, so loud he could barely hear himself think.
It took him a minute to remember Hank’s number. He hadn’t dialed his own calls in years. Dropping a quarter in the slot, he punched out the number and listened to the ring.
On the third ring, Hank answered. “Hello?”
“Hi, Hank. It’s me, Blake . . . again. I wanted to speak to my wi—to Annie.”
“Did you? That wasn’t my understanding.”
Blake sighed. “Just put her on the line, Hank.”
“She isn’t here. She’s never here during the day.”
“What do you mean?”
“I gave you a number the other day. You can reach her there.”
“Where is she, Hank?”
“She’s out visiting . . . friends at the old Beauregard place.”
“The old Beauregard place. Now, that certainly pinpoints it for me.”
“You remember the old house at the end of the lake road? An old friend of hers lives out there now.”
Blake got a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. “What’s going on, Hank?”
There was a pause, then Hank said, “You’ll have to figure things out for yourself, Blake. Good luck.”
Good luck. What the hell did that mean?
By the time Blake had asked directions to the lake road and got back in his car, he was irritated as hell. Something was not right here.
But then, things hadn’t been right in a long time.
He’d first realized that something was wrong about a month ago; he’d stopped being able to concentrate. His work had begun to suffer.
And it was little things, nothing really. Like the tie he was wearing today. It was wrong.
It was a stupid, nonsensical thing, and certainly no one would notice, but he knew. When Annie had bought him the two-thousand-dollar black Armani suit, she’d chosen a monogrammed white shirt and a silk tie of tiny gray and white and red stripes to go with it. It was a set, and he always wore them together. He’d realized a few weeks ago that he couldn’t find the tie. He’d torn the bedroom apart looking for it.
“I hope you’re going to pick all that shit up” was what Suzannah had said when she’d seen the mess.
“I can’t find the tie that goes with this suit.”
She’d eyed him over the rim of her coffee cup. “I’ll alert the press corps.”
She thought it was funny that the tie was missing, and that he needed it so much. It had occurred to him that maybe it was at the cleaner’s somewhere, his favorite tie, his necessary tie.
Annie would know where it is.
That had been the beginning.
He flicked on the car’s Bose stereo, wincing as some hick country song blasted through the speakers. He flipped through the channels, but nothing else came through clearly. Disgusted, he turned off the radio.
The road unfurled in front of him, steeped in shadows in the middle of the day and battered by silver rain. After a few miles, he began to see flashes of the lake through the trees. The pavement gave out to a gravel road that turned and twisted and finally led him to a huge clearing. A bright yellow house sat primly amid a front yard awash in brightly colored flowers. A red Mustang and a police car were parked beneath an old maple tree.
He parked the car and got out. Flipping his collar up again, he strode across the yard and bounded up the stairs, knocking hard on the front door. It opened almost instantly, and a little girl stood in the opening. She was wearing a pair of Gortex overalls and a baseball cap. In her arms, she held a raggedy old doll.
Blake smiled down at her. “Hello. I’
m—”
A man appeared suddenly behind the child. His hands rested protectively on the girl’s shoulders and drew her back slightly into the house. “Hello?”
Blake stared at the tall, silver-haired man, then craned his neck to look inside the house. “Hi. I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m looking for Annalise Colwater. Her father, Hank, told me she’d be here.”
The man tensed visibly. His eerie blue eyes narrowed and swept Blake from head to toe in a single glance. Blake was somehow certain that the man’s eyes missed nothing, not the expense of his Armani suit nor even the oddness of his tie. “You’re Blake.”
Blake frowned. “Yes, and you are . . .”
From somewhere inside the house, Blake heard the clattering of someone running down stairs. “I’m ready, you guys.”
Blake recognized Annie’s voice. He sidled past the silent man and child and slipped into the house.
Annie saw him and skidded to a stop.
He almost didn’t recognize her. She was wearing yellow rain gear and a big floppy hat that covered most of her face. The boots on her feet had to be four sizes too big. He forced a big smile and opened his arms. “Surprise.”
She threw an odd glance at the silver-haired man, then slowly her gaze returned to Blake. “What are you doing here?”
He looked at the two strangers; both were watching him. Slowly, he let his arms fall to his sides. “I’d rather not discuss it in public.”
Annie bit on her lower lip, then sighed heavily. “Okay, Blake. We can talk. But not here.”
The girl whined and stomped her foot. “But Annie—we were gonna get ice cream.”
Annie smiled at the child. “I’m sorry, Izzy. I need to talk to this man for a while. I’ll make it up to you, okay?”
This man. Blake’s stomach tightened. What in the hell was going on here?
“Don’t make this hard on Annie, okay, Sunshine? She has to go for a minute.” It was the man’s voice.
“But she’ll be comin’ back . . . won’t she, Daddy?”
Kristin Hannah Page 23
