A Letter for Annie Read online

  What a mess. And so typical of Kyle’s life. The chance to work on a gem of a house like he’d always wanted tainted by seeing her every day. Every time he saw her—still beautiful, damn it, despite the lack of makeup and the too-big clothes—he could remember how close he came to betraying Pete.

  Kyle sighed. The least he could do was protect the Nemecs from her. The last thing they needed was her stirring up their grief. Man, she was trouble. He had hoped never to see her again because he was afraid of what he’d say to her, do to her.

  Yet when she’d opened the door this morning, his breath had stopped. A part of him was glad to see her. And that’s the part of himself he damned to hell.

  PROPPED UP on three bed pillows, Geneva stared at the ceiling, wide-awake. When she was younger, she’d hated such sleepless nights. Now they were a blessing. They meant more time to remember, to plan, to be. She’d asked Annie to crack the window so she could hear the waves lapping the rocky beach in a soothing lullaby. And smell the tangy salt air that transported her to so many of the places she’d visited—the Greek Islands, Australia, Tahiti. It had been a good life, full of adventure and fascinating people. And no small measure of success. For most people enough satisfaction for a lifetime.

  But not for her until this one last thing was done—helping Annie live.

  Geneva rued the fact she’d been halfway around the world when Annie had needed her all those years ago. Annie had fled Eden Bay in a panic, for reasons she had never shared. Geneva had been unable to help. The best she’d been able to do from so far away was direct Annie to Nina Valdez in Bisbee, Arizona.

  Geneva had first met Nina at a women’s consciousness-raising retreat in Mexico where they’d struck up an enduring friendship. Nina owned a small café and herb shop, and under Nina’s wing, Annie had found sanctuary, but not the happy, fulfilling life Geneva wished for her. The way Nina described it in a letter, Annie was simply doing what people expected of her. Making no waves. Forming no close friendships. Calmly and dispassionately existing. Annie deserved more. Needed more. Needed to live.

  For a brief time this morning, Geneva had thought the appearance of Kyle might offer Annie a connection to the town. But Annie had made it perfectly clear that she wanted no part of him or anyone else she had once known.

  Something continued to eat at Annie. Something that had happened here. And until she faced it directly, she was doomed to a half-life.

  Geneva closed her eyes. Give me time, please, to help this lost girl. Then, lulled by the wash of the ocean, she drifted to sleep.

  WEDNESDAY MORNING Kyle parked his pickup beside Annie’s well-used Honda, wishing he had not let the old lady get to him. She had skillfully used both flattery and her failing health as inducements for him to take on this work. Ever since, he’d been cursing his gullibility and stupidity. He did not need this job. He did not want this job. And, especially, he did not want to be on the same planet with Annie Greer, much less in the same house.

  He let Bubba out for a brief run, then had him hop into the truck bed. “Stay. Be a good boy, fella. Stay.” As if sensing the undercurrent in his master’s voice, Bubba’s ears perked up. “Yeah, I know. I’m not the happiest camper.” Kyle grinned wryly, then picked up his tool chest and plodded toward the cottage, noting, without conscious effort, the loose guttering on the ocean side. Hopefully there wouldn’t be that much on the repair list. But the sagging front door, the weatherworn shingles and the loose shutters were not good omens. He set down the chest, took a deep breath and rapped on the door.

  When Annie answered his knock, she stood aside and directed him to the living room. He nodded coolly, then brushed past her. Geneva sat before the bay window. Two chairs faced her and on the table between them was a typed list. Without a word, Annie indicated he should take the chair closer to the window. Then she perched on the other, as if poised for a quick getaway.

  To Kyle’s relief, Geneva broke the tension. “Well, young man, I’m delighted you’re here. My niece has gone over the house thoroughly and prepared a list.”

  As he read, the silence was broken only by the melodic tinkling of an outdoor wind chime and Geneva Greer’s oxygen tank. Beside him, Annie sat primly, back straight, fingers laced, jaw rigid. Yeah, well, she wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to be here.

  Still, the house lured him. He took in the crafted mantel and staircase, the patina of the hardwood floors, the high ceilings, the beveled glass in the built-in break-front. This house was a woodworker’s paradise.

  “Well?” Geneva studied him with alert blue eyes.

  “It looks like a complete list, although I’ll have to inspect everything myself.”

  “I would expect that. I’m prepared to pay well for you to complete this job quickly. As you know—” she paused, as if summoning strength “—I have little time left to enjoy your handiwork. And it is your handiwork I want.”

  He heard Annie’s quick intake of breath, but still she said nothing.

  “I’ll have to leave occasionally to check on my men. Yours isn’t the only project we’ve got going.”

  “Understandable, but I want the best, so I’d prefer that you do the bulk of the work.”

  “I’ll try.” He rose to his feet, wondering if he’d lost his senses. “Perhaps Annie will give me a tour and point out what needs to be done.”

  When Annie stood, a fragrance like summer roses engulfed him, taking him back to senior prom and the two dances he’d had with her. The two dances Pete had grudgingly relinquished to him. And if Pete had known what was going through Kyle’s head, he would have never let Annie within ten miles of him.

  “We’ll start outside,” she said, as she led the way to the front door.

  OUT ON THE PORCH, her turtleneck sweater offering little protection against the raw wind, Annie wanted to push Kyle away, avoid the man who represented her demons. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, somehow release the panic welling in her. Yet her loyalty to Geneva took precedence. “This is on the list,” she said, indicating the rickety porch railing.

  Hugging herself against the chill, she waited while he tested each post. When he finished, she walked around the side of the house and pointed at the guttering.

  “I saw that earlier,” he said.

  She was grateful when the tour continued in this manner: him carefully appraising each flaw, her accommodating him only so far as was necessary. When they came to her bedroom, though, she stopped in the doorway, blocking his entry. She didn’t want him in her space, violating her privacy. Just thinking of his having personal knowledge of her worktable, her bed, her toiletries laid out on the dresser made her feel exposed.

  He came up beside her, crowding her with his hard, toned body. “Excuse me,” he said, “but isn’t this where the ceiling leak is?”

  More in an effort to get away from him than to allow him entrance, she stepped away. He strode into the room, dwarfing the dainty rocker by the door. She pointed to the northwest corner. “Over there.”

  As he studied the telltale signs of water damage, she watched for any change in his expression. Any time now he would ask her the question hanging between them: Why did you treat Pete so heartlessly?

  FOR DINNER THAT EVENING Kyle fixed a frozen pizza, then grabbed a bottle of beer and settled on his dilapidated couch to watch the Mariners game. Bubba, quite a pepperoni fan, made a pass at his plate. “No way, buddy. You had your supper. Alpo. Yummy.”

  Bubba gave up and settled, head on his paws, under the small kitchen table.

  Kyle took a swig of beer and fixed his gaze on the screen. Bottom of the seventh inning. Two outs, two men on base. He let his mind wander to the upcoming weekend. Friday night’s company softball game. Then the party at the Nemecs’ to celebrate Rosemary’s birthday. His Saturday fishing date with Buzz Royer, the company electrician.

  Then, diabolically, his thoughts turned to Annie. Her aloof behavior. The way she’d looked at him in her bedroom, as if he were an intruder bent
on no good. Her whole snow-queen routine would get old. Because the hell of it was he was going to be spending considerably more time than he liked at the Greer cottage, which had been neglected too long and needed a great deal of work. He didn’t appreciate her treating him like the bad guy. He wasn’t the one who’d run away. He wasn’t the one who’d devastated Pete. Sure, Kyle had his own sins to atone for, but he’d stuck by Pete to the end.

  Still, one thing was for damn sure. Before Kyle finished with the house, he’d get some answers from her. She owed him. More important, she owed Pete and the Nemecs.

  He tossed back the rest of the beer, then glanced at the TV. Bottom of the eighth? Hell, he’d missed more than half an inning. He swung to his feet and snagged a second brew from the fridge. Enough about Annie, he told himself. You don’t need this aggravation in your life. Tomorrow, weather permitting, he was working outside. He would concentrate on the job. Put her out of his mind. Exactly where she belonged. Where she always should have belonged.

  AFTER SUPPER Annie undertook the task she’d been putting off—making an inventory of food supplies. Although Carmen had left a well-stocked pantry and some frozen casseroles, Annie would have to make a trip to the supermarket, even if a raging case of cabin fever was preferable. For a change of scene and to work off tension, she’d been walking on the beach each afternoon while Geneva napped.

  Annie was compiling a grocery list when the phone rang. The warmth of Nina Valdez’s voice was a balm. “Your friends are missing you. So am I. And the customers? They’re always asking after you.”

  Annie doubted she had left such a void in the lives of Bisbee residents. Maybe in Nina’s, though. “I miss everyone. I wish I were there.”

  “How is she, honey?” Nina’s voice registered concern.

  “I’m not really sure.” As she talked, Annie carried the phone onto the front porch and curled up in the swing. “She isn’t giving me all the details and for now, she’s holding her own. But I can see it’s a struggle for her, and one day she’ll have to give in.”

  “Do you have help?”

  An onslaught of loneliness blindsided her. “Mmm, not really. Not now. But Carmen will be back soon.”

  “Have you considered hospice care?”

  Nina might as well have socked her in the stomach. Hospice. The word floated in her awareness like a circling vulture.

  “Annie?”

  “I’m here,” she whispered.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you. But I don’t want you facing this on your own.”

  “She’s really dying, isn’t she?” Annie had known that intellectually, but she’d avoided saying it aloud. Somehow verbalizing made it real.

  “Yes, honey, she is. You know that’s why I encouraged you to go home to Oregon.”

  Tears rolled down Annie’s cheeks. “She’s…she’s…” Her voice caught. “My family.” My only family was left unsaid.

  From that point, she couldn’t focus on the conversation, but she did hear the empathy and love in Nina’s voice.

  After Annie hung up, she stayed on the porch to pull herself together. Then she went into the living room, where she and Geneva played two games of gin rummy. At nine, after a fit of coughing, Geneva declared she was ready for bed. Annie helped her undress. When Geneva was finally tucked in for the night, she reached up and grabbed Annie’s hand. “Thank you for making the list for Kyle Becker. I can’t wait to see how the renovation turns out.”

  Hearing the delight in her aunt’s voice, Annie realized this house project had given Geneva a purpose. But when it was completed…?

  As she gently squeezed her aunt’s hand and leaned over to kiss her, she wished she could ask Kyle to take all the time in the world to finish his work.

  Oddly, when she was finally in her own bedroom, it seemed as if the man himself were there. His scent lingered in the air and the memory of his presence made her pulse race. She found herself remembering the fun-loving eighteen-year-old jock who had been Pete’s best friend. Her friend, too, teasing her unmercifully about her studious ways, about the glints of red in her hair, and, of course, about how gaga she was over Pete. Most of the time Kyle had been full of laughter and jokes, but every now and then she had sensed that beneath his cheerful facade lay a serious side, even a vulnerable one, possibly a result of his troubled home life.

  Today she’d seen only the serious Kyle. It was the hurt she saw. Unexpectedly, that made her feel sad—and guilty. Pete’s death clearly haunted them both.

  CHAPTER THREE

  BY FRIDAY AFTERNOON Kyle and Annie had settled into a kind of compromise. So long as he worked outside, she stayed inside. The two times he’d had to work in the house, Annie had pulled on a shapeless gray crewneck sweater and headed for the beach. They only communicated when necessary.

  By contrast, the more he was around Geneva, the greater his respect for her. So few home owners really knew what they wanted, and he often spent as much time undoing their decisions as he did on the actual work. No such problem with Geneva. Insofar as was possible, she wanted the house restored to its original splendor, and she knew exactly what that would look like. Best of all, she was willing to pay.

  This morning she had shown him photos of the exterior, circa 1936. Built to withstand the coastal weather, the cottage was functional yet beautiful in its New England simplicity. The design had been lovingly executed, and Kyle wanted it to be lovingly preserved. Some jobs were merely that—jobs. The rare few, like this one, stirred something deep in his soul.

  As he was leaving for the day, he met Annie returning from the beach. He couldn’t just ignore her, but what came out of his mouth was sarcastic. “Got big plans for the weekend?”

  She looked straight through him. “I’m not here for fun,” she said, and continued to the house.

  No, in a real sense, she wasn’t here for fun. But the way she frowned and kept to herself suggested she didn’t know much about fun anymore. Not that it was any of his business.

  Bubba gave a short bark of greeting, happy to run around for a few minutes before hopping into the cab. Kyle watched him, but his thoughts were on his senior year in high school. They’d all had fun then. Pete the quarterback, him the running back. Annie, in her short-skirted cheerleading outfit, her shining hair caught up in a big blue bow. Postgame parties on the beach, sparks from a bonfire spiraling into the starry sky, beer flowing freely. Sometimes Pete brought his guitar and, accompanied by the rat-a-tat of makeshift driftwood bongos and the cadence of the surf, they would all sing along until gradually, one by one, the couples slipped off into the darkness.

  Almost as a self-protective device, he realized now, he’d cultivated a devil-may-care, bad-boy image, and there had been no shortage of willing girls climbing all over him. But none of them had been Annie.

  A burning sensation filled Kyle’s throat. He fought the disturbing images.

  And what about his own weekends these days? Compared to Annie, he had only minimal bragging rights. How many alcohol-buzzed evenings could a person spend at the Yacht Club playing pool and flirting with the barmaids? Or, big deal, watching ESPN until his eyes glazed over?

  At least tonight he had the softball game to look forward to. That was the good news. The bad news? Rosemary’s birthday party, where subtly and not so subtly the matchmakers would be zeroing in on him.

  “Bubba, I swear to God, I’m gonna die a bachelor.”

  ANNIE PULLED a deck of cards from the pocket of her overalls and sat down across from her aunt. “Gin rummy tonight, Auntie G.?”

  “No, petunia. I want to start on the family history.” From the chest, which had remained by her chair, she reached for a stack of photographs. “We’ll begin with my father and mother.” She drew out a picture of a handsome, dark-haired young man, wearing a World War I uniform and looking directly into the camera. “This is my father. He went over to France with the first wave of Yanks. In all the years I knew him, he never once talked about his war experiences. Only about the fin
e friends he’d made, many lost in the trenches.” She paused, thinking of all those soldiers who never returned home. “One of those friends gave my father a wonderful piece of advice in early 1929. ‘Sell your stock,’ he said. Because of my father’s respect for the man, he did exactly that, only a few short months before the October crash.”

  “I’ve always wondered how he managed to build this house during the Depression.” Annie fingered the faded photograph. “What about your mother?”

  “Lucy Windsor was from a wealthy Connecticut family that summered in Maine. Shortly after the war, she fell madly in love with William Greer and, despite her parents’ objections that he didn’t come from the ‘proper’ stock, she defied them by marrying him and, in essence, living happily ever after.”

  The ghost of a smile teased Annie’s lips. “I’m beginning to see where your independent streak may have originated.”

  “You come from a strong line, my dear.” Geneva pointed to a photo of a blond beauty with bobbed hair, clad in a fringed flapper-style evening gown. “My mother. People always loved being around her. My father built the cottage for her. She longed for the sea of her childhood, and he gave her the next best thing. Even though we lived in Portland, we spent every summer here. Happy times.”

  “I’ve always thought this house had ghosts, the good kind.”

  Geneva nodded. “That’s why it’s so important to me to preserve this place.”

  In her great-aunt’s words Annie heard the plaintive melody of nostalgia. “I hope new owners love and honor the cottage the way you do.”

  “New owners? I’m not fixing up the house to sell it.” Geneva smiled, then picked up Annie’s hand and held it in her own. “Oh, my little petunia, this place will be yours.”

  Annie’s mind reeled. Hers? That would mean staying in Eden Bay. “Auntie G., I’m not sure—”