Forever (26 page)

Lindsay headed straight for a store Tom had never entered before. “I’m buying you a cool new shirt. Don’t argue. Just try on the ones I pick out and let me decide which looks best on you.”

He tried on five shirts; Lindsay’s favorite was the second one, which he had to admit, was an improvement over the one he’d grabbed out of the closet this morning.

Tom had one bad moment when they passed Victoria’s Secret and a vision of Annie on the hood of his car popped unbidden into his head. He banished the image by turning to Lindsay.

“I think, as my only daughter, you deserve a gift today too.”

Lindsay replied without hesitation. “Maybe one small thing,”

After another forty minutes of shopping, that “one small thing” expanded to a few things. Tom happily paid for it all. Finally, they headed home, but as they neared Chatham Road, she announced that the day was not quite over. Tom’s heart nearly stopped when she turned the car into the Rockville Cineplex parking lot.

“Dad,” Lindsay teased, “I’m not taking you to see a
chick
movie, so get that look of horror off your face.”

He wasn’t aware he had any particular look on his face, but if he looked like he felt, horror probably described it well. Lindsay was already out of the car before he could move a muscle. He had no way of knowing if Annie was working today, but he prayed she wasn’t. If he saw her, there’d be absolutely no way he could hide his reaction from Lindsay. The way he felt right now, he could almost imagine himself breaking down and confessing all in the middle of the theater lobby. A prescription for Xanax was surely in his future.

As Lindsay bought their tickets, he experienced a wave of relief that it was a new girl in the booth—one he was grateful wouldn’t recognize him—and, miracle of miracles, the boy who took their tickets inside was new too. But Tom didn’t dare look toward the cafe.

“The movie doesn’t start for thirty minutes, so let’s have a cappuccino or something.” Lindsay smiled innocently up at him as she grabbed his arm, pulling him toward the cafe.

Tom had certainly had his share of nightmares in his life, but he was living out the worst of them right then. Annie was behind the counter! He didn’t think she’d seen him yet, so he veered toward the table farthest from the counter and took a chair facing away from her.

“Why don’t you get me a black coffee,” he said to Lindsay. “You’re still treating, right?” He’d astonished himself with the steadiness of his voice and the smile he’d managed. He barely had time to take a couple of deep breaths to steady himself before she was back empty handed. He raised his eyebrows at her questioningly.

“She said the order would take a couple of minutes. I already paid, so you can go back up and get our coffees when they’re ready.” She sat down, flashing him her most disarming smile. “You know how clumsy I can be.”

Silently, he cursed fate for directing his daughter to pick this theater on this day at this time. Short of causing a scene by insisting that Lindsay retrieve their coffees, he saw no way out of having to stand within inches of Annie. He didn’t think she’d blow their cover, but it would be awkward for both of them. And he feared that magnetic pull, the force that played games with his will. He’d have to look into her eyes and—

“Dad?” Lindsay waved her hand in front of his face. “She’s looking over here. I think our order’s ready now.”

Reluctantly, he stood and started toward the counter. He could only hope his gait appeared normal because he didn’t feel in control of his legs. Annie saw him approaching and froze. He tried desperately to interpret the look in her eyes, but it was unreadable.

“My daughter ordered a cappuccino and a black coffee.”

Without glancing down or uttering a word, she slid the cups of coffee across the counter to him.

Tom picked up the cups. Then he set them back down to rub his temples as the first wave of headache hit him. He met her gaze again. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered.

Biting her lip, she looked at him steadily for a moment before she replied, her tone frosty. “I don’t know how to respond to that, Tom, because it’s your
choice
to be missing me.”

He nodded. “I handled that badly.”

Annie stared at him in silence.

“I had no idea my daughter was bringing me here,” he said. “It’s Father’s Day—”

“Happy Father’s Day,” she deadpanned.

His face flaming, he grabbed the coffee and turned away so quickly some of the liquid sloshed over the rim, burning his thumb. He couldn’t tell if it was humiliation or anger consuming him, but as he walked stiffly back to the table where Lindsay waited, he thought maybe it was both.

If Lindsay sensed something wrong, she wisely let it go. They sipped their coffee in silence.

Ten minutes later, as they sat waiting for the previews to begin, Tom and Lindsay competed in unscrambling the movie titles and answering trivia questions flashed on the screen. She beat him, hands down. When the theater darkened and he lost the distraction of Lindsay’s conversation, he wondered if Annie was thinking of him at that moment. Why the hell had he told her he missed her?

For the second time in two weeks he found himself sitting in this theater, looking at the screen without seeing it. He shook his head sharply, dispelling thoughts of Annie, and forced himself to pay attention. The movie was an action-adventure, his kind of movie, and he appreciated Lindsay’s choice, though he knew it wasn’t a total loss for her. He’d seen the face of the young star of the movie on a poster in her room.

Two hours later, when the credits started rolling, he realized he’d been so engrossed in the story that he’d forgotten about Annie.

Maybe I’m making a little progress
.

* * *

Tom assumed Father’s Day was officially over when Lindsay tossed the car keys to him as they exited the theater. On the way home, he stopped at Baskin-Robbins where, though she moaned about the calories, Lindsay ordered a double cone. One dip was enough for him. Ice cream had never been his thing, anyway. Julie and Lindsay were the frozen dairy junkies.

Are these the little things I’ll remember, lying in my bed at night, alone, in my colorless “bachelor” apartment
?

Having completely lost his taste for it, he tossed his ice cream out the window. He pulled into their driveway a few minutes later. As he and Lindsay entered the house, he continued his self-torture, reflecting that from now on when Lindsay wasn’t away at school she’d be here with Julie . . . but he’d be living somewhere else. He heaved a sigh. It seemed there was no end to depressing thoughts this afternoon.

Lindsay seemed on the opposite end of the emotional scale. “There’s one more thing you have to do for Father’s Day.”

“What’s that?” For her sake, he’d forced enthusiasm into his voice.

She gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Go take a nap.”

In spite of his mood, he laughed. “I’m proud to be your father, baby girl. I hope you know that.”

“Oh, Daddy, don’t make me cry.” There was glimmer of tears in her eyes when she smiled and swatted at him.

He glared at her. “Just for that young lady, you’re grounded!”

Surprise sucked the tears from her eyes, and then she dissolved in giggles. She hugged him again and ran upstairs to get ready for work. Tom smiled, glad for a moment that he could still delight one female in his life.

With his old friend Major Headache for a companion, Tom climbed the stairs to his bedroom. A nap was exactly what he needed.

Every muscle in his body strained, but he was determined not to let the thing loose. If it got free, it would kill him.

He pressed all his weight against the thing and risked freeing one hand to reach for his weapon. It was too dark to see—no, not dark, just strangely lit. He could see, yet not see. They were on the ground, his fingers raking through grass and dirt. Suddenly, the weapon was in his hand and he swung with all his might.

He hit the thing in the head, the neck, the back, over and over with no effect. Just as the thing began choking him, he raised his weapon one more time and saw what is was—a folded piece of paper.

Tom sat up in bed gasping, face slick with sweat. Dream. It was a dream. He shook his head to clear it, swung his legs off the bed, and stumbled into the bathroom. Still shaken and heavy with dreaming, he splashed cold water on his face. Toweling off, he caught his reflection.

That
thing
in his dream was . . .

For several long minutes Tom stood silent, absently staring into the mirror and rubbing the birthmark on his chest. When he left the bathroom, he grabbed his shoes and cell phone and headed downstairs.

He dialed Annie’s number while he backed his truck out of the garage. When she answered on the second ring, her voice sounded both familiar and foreign.

“Seeing you today made me realize how much I’ve missed you,” he said.

“I’ve missed you too. I’m sorry I was so cold to you, I—”

“I want to see you . . . please.” At her sharp intake of breath, he held his own, anticipating her response.

“I’m here alone. Can you come over?”

* * *

Dressed only in a silky, lavender slip dress, Annie watched for Tom. He pulled into her driveway, jumping out of the truck almost before the engine died. She stepped out the door and threw herself into his arms. Her kisses were urgent, and she felt his body respond instantly. She disengaged her lips for a moment.

“Don’t you think we should go inside,” she said, “before we become the scandal of the neighborhood?”

Taking his hand, she pulled him into the house. He closed the door behind them, leaned back against it, and took her in his arms again. With a finger he tilted her chin up, and she sought to kiss him again, but he held her back. His eyes looked darker, more intense, not like Tom’s. She could see into his soul. And then she understood—this was Jacob.

“I love you,” he said.

“Love?” Her voice rose barely above a whisper. She feared shattering the illusion, risking Tom taking over, remembering his marriage, and leaving her as he had that day in the park.

“Isn’t that what we have?” His voice was tender, his eyes more so.

Though she loved him, as Annie and as Maggie, she couldn’t say the words that had brought them only pain before. She prayed he would understand her silence, that he would recognize her physical surrender as her expression of love—and trust. He pulled her to him, hugging her, kissing her sweetly on the top of her head as if he’d read her thoughts.

He stroked her hair, rocking her gently, and she melted against him, flooded with contentment. Wrapped in his arms, with his breath warm in her ear, her mouth ached for his. She lifted her face to his and their lips met in warm velvety kisses that grew more urgent as their passion flamed. Her desire for him filled her completely, driving out all doubt and fear. The scent of his heat intoxicated her. On trembling legs, she led him to her bed.

Standing close behind her, he wrapped one arm around her waist, and with the other he lifted her hair. When his lips brushed the nape of her neck in gentle kisses, a sensation like warm honey flowed down her thighs. A moan escaped her. Not able to bear his touch any longer, she slipped from his embrace and turned to face him. Kneeling on the edge of the bed, she unbuttoned his shirt.

“You’re mine.” He clasped her to him and ran his hands over her back, her hips, her breasts. Beneath his roaming hands, the silky fabric of her dress slipped over her skin deliciously. Her body warmed to his touch. His tongue explored her mouth. He eased his hands under her skirt and slid them slowly up her thighs, his rougher skin abrading the smoothness of hers just enough to make her writhe against him in delight. He buried his face in her hair.

“I love the scent of you.” His hands cupped her ass, and he crushed her to him, pressing her against the hard bulge in his jeans. “I take what’s mine.”

June 21

T
om picked up the pile of clothes beside his bed. For just a moment he thought he caught Annie’s scent and let go of the jeans and shirt as though they’d burned his hand.

“Jeezus,” he muttered. “I’m hallucinating.”

He picked up the clothes again, stuffed them in the hamper, and continued on to the shower. When he first sat up in bed, he’d expected to be assailed by an assortment of aftereffects from a night of drinking but was surprised that he had none. Not even the aching head that had become almost constant in the last few days.

“I did drink last night . . . didn’t I?” he asked his mirrored reflection. He toweled off his freshly shaved face and returned to the bedroom. He couldn’t remember the whole night. He remembered the day with Lindsay. Father’s Day. Yeah, boy, he was some father. But after that, Lindsay had gone out. He’d been alone. With the mood he’d been in, he must have started drinking—and had another blackout. That was definitely not good.

Father’s Day
. Tears welled and spilled over before he could stop them. God, he missed his dad. As he buttoned his shirt, looked up at his father’s memory box. That was the closest he could get to the real thing. He reached for the box and stopped cold. The box next to it held his father’s books, and the sight of it set off a chain of reminders from longhunters to Jacob to Annie to the proof of Jacob’s existence she’d given him—the photocopies of the court records concerning his estate. Tom had stuffed them in his pocket unread. He’d felt so weird that day. Later that night he’d shoved those papers in his bedside drawer, still unread.

Now, curious to read the account of Jacob’s possessions, he walked to the nightstand and unfolded the two sheets. He scanned down the first page looking for the entry about Jacob. He found none. On the second page he did the same. The name was not there. No Jacob Stout was named. No Stout at all, not even another Jacob. At the top of the first page was the end of the previous court entry. Then began an entry dated
April court, 1826
, but the order was for a road commission to be formed in answer to a complaint by a Mary Sanderson that she had no access to the mill road since her ex-husband had fenced off her allotment. This order continued on to the second page and ended halfway down. The rest of the page was blank.