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“I suppose you’ve got somebody in mind?” The minute the words left his mouth, he wished them unsaid.
Rita nodded imperceptibly toward the office area behind the glass divider at her back.
Kyle followed her gaze, then shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. Rosemary. It figured. “Wouldn’t that be a cliché? Dating the boss’s daughter?”
Rita tapped a pen impatiently. “Nonsense. You know darn well you’re practically like one of the family already. You could at least try to make it official.”
Kyle sighed. He’d had this conversation more than once and usually offered a litany of excuses. Rosemary was younger. He couldn’t date the bratty little sister of his best friend. He might be accused of currying favor with the boss. She was a nice girl, but nice girls weren’t his type. None of it had deterred Rita.
Nor Rosemary, who continued to flirt and look at him with hope. Rosemary, who had Pete’s eyes. In a way, Kyle wished he could be attracted to her. Rita was right about one thing. It did get damn lonely in that mobile home of his. And he was sick to death of his own cooking. Even so, he was better off not encouraging Rosemary. He needed to keep his relationships with the Nemecs on as businesslike a basis as possible, to know he’d earned every responsibility Bruce Nemec had given him.
“Here.” He thrust his notes into Rita’s hands. “Can you write up the bid for the Brady place and mail it to them?”
“Sure.” Rita tucked the paper into a folder and stood. “Got big plans for tonight? After all, it’s Friday.”
“I figure I’ll treat myself to an evening at the Yacht Club,” he said, referring to a local bar near the fishing pier.
“That’ll be a novelty. Do you ever go anyplace else?”
“Nah, why change my routine?”
Rita picked up her sweater from the back of her chair and shrugged into it. “You’re impossible.”
“That’s why you love me, right?” He threw Rita a roguish grin. “See you Monday.” Then he called Bubba and they headed for the truck.
On the way home, Kyle drove slowly, pondering Rita’s comments. The rut he was in, though comfortable, was also paralyzing. Bruce had made no secret of the fact he was grooming Kyle to take over Nemec Construction someday. Putting him in charge of their home repair and remodeling division, AAA Builders, was a tacit step toward that end. But the company should have been Pete’s. Damned if Kyle would worm his way further into the family by marrying Rosemary. Besides, she deserved more than he could give.
He didn’t want to think about any of this. Especially not about Pete. Remembering was too painful. More than anything, he missed the friendship they’d shared ever since they were happy-go-lucky kids riding their bikes all over Eden Bay.
But that was then. Kyle was far from happy-go-lucky now. He survived one day at a time. Nose to the grindstone. Minding his own business. Expecting nothing.
A fog rolling in from the ocean forced him to concentrate on driving. Beside him, Bubba licked his chops, then pressed his nose to the passenger-window glass.
A man and his dog. It was enough.
THE MORNING AFTER her arrival Annie stood at the window facing the sea, watching rivulets of water smear the panes. The rain had started late last night shortly after she’d moved all her belongings to this upstairs front bedroom, the one that had always been Geneva’s. Now, because of her weakened condition, Auntie G. stayed in the downstairs bedroom. The damp Pacific coast was a far cry from the dry desert air. No welcoming sun greeted Annie here. But what had she expected? In memory, she’d always pictured Eden Bay through a scrim of gray mist.
Pulling the oversize plaid flannel shirt closer around her, she turned to study the room. Although most of her aunt’s belongings had been moved, the double bed with the inlaid wood headboard and its matching dresser were still here, as were several of Geneva’s oil paintings, including the one Annie had always liked best—a rocky beach scene with white-tipped, emerald waves crashing against the shore.
A wide, six-foot-long table stood against the north wall. Annie didn’t know where it had come from, but Geneva’s thoughtfulness of providing a worktable made Annie feel at home in a way little else could have.
Moving to the first box, she unpacked multicolored scraps of upholstery material and stacked them beneath the table. In a second carton she located shears, scissors, spools of thread, braiding and her large button box. She arranged these items neatly on the left, then pulled a piece of cranberry floral material from the fabric pile and spread it across the surface, visualizing the exact way she wanted to cut it to transform it into a satin-lined tote. For the first time since Carmen’s call, she felt the coils of tension ease.
Keeping busy was the answer. Between caring for Geneva and burying herself in work, there would be no time to think, to remember.
At the sound of a light tap on the door, she said, “Come in.”
Carmen waited with a tray. “Breakfast, Annie? Your tia, she is still sleeping.”
With the first whiff of blueberry scones and coffee, Annie realized she was ravenous. “Thank you, Carmen.” She moved across the room and took the tray. “But I don’t need to be waited on.”
“Maybe just for today.” In the woman’s eyes, Annie read understanding.
Annie set down the tray. “Will you call me when Geneva is awake?”
“Sí. Your visit, it is bringing her joy.”
“What have her doctors said?”
Carmen shook her head. “Better to ask her. It is not for me to tell.”
“I need the truth.”
“She is strong. She is not afraid of that truth.” Carmen nodded at the tray. “If you want more, come to the kitchen.”
“Thank you.” Annie closed the door behind Carmen, then sat with her breakfast in a chintz-covered armchair. The scone was buttery and delicious and the coffee strong and hot. Neither, however, filled the empty place within her.
LATER THAT MORNING when Annie entered the living room, Geneva looked up and smiled. “Good morning, petunia.” She gestured toward the bay window. “Nice day for ducks.”
“Typical Oregon.” Taking the chair across from her aunt’s, she noticed that Geneva was wearing a colorful Moroccan-style caftan. “How are you? Did you eat your breakfast?”
Geneva gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “I’d rather not dwell on my health, but I did eat a poached egg.”
Annie tried to match her aunt’s bantering tone. “And that’s a cause for celebration?”
“Bells, whistles and firecrackers.” Geneva cocked her head, studying Annie. “Did you sleep well?”
“Fine,” Annie lied. No point mentioning the hours she’d lain awake listening to the wind and wishing Geneva still felt like trotting around the globe gathering information and anecdotes for her travel books.
“I don’t believe you.” Her aunt hesitated. “Everything must seem strange to you. The town, the cottage—” she gestured airily “—and me. No wonder. I feel strange to myself. I keep thinking I can run upstairs, walk on the beach, drive a car.” She sighed. “I guess I should be thankful I’m still breathing, because we have work to do.”
“Work?”
“See that chest over there by the piano? Bring it to me.”
Annie pushed the heavy container across the floor to Geneva, who leaned over and, with effort, opened the lid. Inside were sheafs of paper, along with photo albums.
“This, my dear niece, is Greer family memorabilia. You are my only descendant, and I don’t want our history to die with me.”
Annie picked up a packet of letters tied with binding twine. “You’re the only Greer I really know. I have sketchy memories of my father, but I was only five when he died. It’s as if he’s the star of a long-ago movie that I can scarcely remember, no matter how hard I try to rewind.”
“We can’t bring him back, but we can certainly flesh out some of those memories and more. If nothing else, Greers have always been unique individuals. Look at me. I’ve been to six continents, had lovers on three—”
“Auntie G.!”
“Don’t look so shocked. Just because I never married doesn’t mean I didn’t have good times. But more about that later.” She paused to cough wetly into a tissue. “I thought each day we might make some headway with what’s in the chest. You can work in the afternoon while I rest.”
“I’d like that,” Annie said quietly.
“You know, this house is falling apart. The porch railings are loose and there are water spots upstairs. I don’t want to even think about dry rot around the doors and windows. Would you mind going through the place to check for problem areas?”
“Not at all.”
“I’ll phone my neighbor Frances Gardner for recommendations for a repairman—it’s been so long since I lived here. I want to get this done.”
Annie recognized the steel in Geneva’s voice and the implied message: before I die. “I’ll get right on it.”
“Good. Then after my nap, I’m challenging you to a game of gin rummy. Winner gets an extra glass of wine.” Her eyes glinted mischievously.
“Are you even supposed to drink?”
“One glass. But that’s if I lose. Which I won’t.”
Annie wanted to argue, to implore her aunt to do exactly what the doctor had ordered. Yet, if her days were numbered, what harm could a second glass of wine do in the big scheme of things?
The phone rang and Annie heard Carmen answer it in the kitchen. After a few moments, she appeared in the doorway, her expressive eyes filled with tears.
Geneva stretched out her hand. “Carmen, what is it, dear?”
“My daughter. She’s had her baby. A niño, a boy. Too soon. Three months soon. I…She needs help with my granddaughter.”
“Of course, you must go.” Geneva’s tone brooked no argument. “As soon as you can.”
“But you are sick and—”
“Annie is here and she will take care of me.”
Carmen wiped her eyes. “Gracias, señorita. I go now and pack. Annie, you come and I tell you about caring for your tia.”
The rest of the day passed in a blur of instructions and arrangements. At Geneva’s insistence that she could be left alone, Annie drove Carmen to catch a shuttle at the nearby beach resort.
When Annie returned to the cottage in the late afternoon, she noticed there were no lights shining from the house. She found Geneva asleep in her chair, her skin ashen and her breath labored, despite the oxygen tank.
Annie panicked. What did she know about caring for a dying woman? With Carmen away, Annie would be forced into the community—to the grocery, the pharmacy, the gas station. There would be no avoiding people. People who would not welcome her presence. People who would blame her.
MONDAY MORNING Kyle dragged himself into consciousness, battling images of his recurring nightmare. Drenched in sweat, he sat on the side of the bed cradling his aching head in his hands. Damn it, damn it, damn it! The dream always started so innocently, luring him into the vortex of horror. The details might change, but the ending never did. Dressed in period costume, he stood on a scaffolding, holding in his hand a long-handled ax, dripping with blood. And staring up at him with a gentle but distorted smile was Pete, his head severed from his neck.
It didn’t take a shrink to get the symbolism. The hell of it was, he lived it every day, with or without the dream. Each time he passed the field where he and Pete had played American Legion baseball, reported to the National Guard Armory or shook hands with Bruce.
Why couldn’t it have been him? What did he have to live for compared to Pete? A mother who’d abandoned him and a father who beat the crap out of him on a regular basis? Certainly not a beautiful girl he loved with every fiber of his being. Nor a future full of promise.
Kyle shut his eyes to the photo on his dresser of him and Pete, arms around each other’s shoulders, caps tilted cockily, on their last day of leave before deployment to Afghanistan.
Slowly the sensation of Bubba licking his toes pulled him from his thoughts.
After a long, hot shower and a bowl of instant oatmeal, he felt minimally better. It would be a relief to go to work. There he wouldn’t have time to brood.
Rita eyed him speculatively when he arrived at the office. “You’re late.”
“So?”
“Just commenting because you’re almost never late.”
He shrugged, disinclined to engage in their usual banter.
“Well,” she drawled, “maybe you’re excused just this once. Besides, if you’d already been on the job, you’d have missed this.” She handed him a phone memo.
“Huh? The Greer place?” He studied the message requesting an estimate on repairs. “I thought I saw a car there last week.”
“Frankly, Geneva didn’t sound good. Told me she wants to get her place fixed up ASAP. Before she dies, she said. Talk about a conversation stopper. I didn’t know what to say to that, so I told her we’d have someone out today.”
The Greer cottage had always had a special charm. He was sorry about the old lady, but he’d love to get his hands on that house.
CHAPTER TWO
THE MORNING HAD NOT gone well. Figuring out Auntie G.’s medications and dressing her had taken longer than Annie had predicted. Then she’d burned the toast and undercooked the eggs. Geneva had waved off her apology, daintily dipping a corner of her toast in the runny yolk, but beyond that, eating nothing.
After breakfast, even though she seemed tired, Geneva insisted that Annie help her into her living room chair. Managing the walker and the oxygen tank at the same time was difficult, but finally she had her aunt settled, the afghan over her knees, a book in her lap.
“I’ll be fine here. Go, get the kitchen cleaned up, take a shower. Don’t worry about me.”
After loading the dishwasher and wiping down the counter, Annie checked on Geneva, who sat staring out the window with her open book facedown. Annie bathed quickly, worried that she wouldn’t hear Geneva if she called. Or fell. Annie toweled her hair, then threw on a shapeless blue T-shirt over gray sweatpants and was slipping on her Crocs when she heard Geneva ring the bell she’d given her to use as a summons. Annie raced down the stairs. “What is it?”
“Calm down. The repairman I’ve been expecting is coming up the walk.”
Through the bay window Annie saw a white pickup with red lettering on the door. AAA Builders Home Repair and Remodeling. “That was fast.”
“I told you I wanted the cottage fixed. And I want it done properly. This company came with high recommendations.” A heavy knock sounded on the door.
Running her fingers through her damp hair, Annie walked to the front hall and threw open the door.
The world fell away. She couldn’t breathe, much less utter a sound. She leaned against the doorjamb, a wave of dizziness threatening her balance.
“Annie?” The blond-haired man hovered over her, his strong, broad-shouldered body blocking the sun, his chiseled facial features pale beneath his tan. Then he turned away, swiped the ball cap from his head and paced to one end of the porch and back, stopping in front of her, his gray eyes icy. “You’ve got some nerve showing up in Eden Bay.”
Annie gripped the door, focusing on his chest, on the forest-green of his chamois shirt, on anything but those accusing eyes. If she could focus there, she could stop the memories—Pete, Kyle…her reasons for leaving town. “I…I…” She faltered, realizing there was absolutely nothing she could say to Kyle.
“Don’t even try to explain.” He placed the cap back on his head. “Find someone else for this job.”
“Annie?” Geneva’s imperious voice pierced the silence. “I want to see that young man.”
Kyle hesitated.
“Look,” Annie said in a low enough tone that Geneva couldn’t hear, “my aunt’s sick and wants this place fixed up.”
“There are plenty of guys who can do it.”
“You were recommended.”
