Angel Song (16 page)
A deafening roar filled the room. He had reached past her and flipped the switch on the sander. “Now back to work.” The smile on his face was just a little too smug.
Ann watched him walk away. It was a good thing, really, that nothing had happened. Who needed complications down here, when New York was plenty complicated? Patrick Stinson might not be a poster boy for long-term relationships, but they at least shared some of the same interests.
The next break was early afternoon. Ann fixed turkey and cheese sandwiches while Ethan changed the sandpaper on the machines from 80 grit to 150. “We’re making progress now.”
“On two rooms.” Ann groaned the words, only half teasing. This was hard work.
“Patience, patience. Good things come to those who wait. Or, in our particular case, we could say that good floors . . . come from bad floors . . . to those who work hard for several days.”
“Hmm, I never knew you were a philosopher.”
“One of my many hidden talents.” He picked up his sandwich and came to sit beside her at the kitchen table. “You have to admit it was a stroke of genius to get two sanders so that we can do twice the work.”
“Mr. McKinney, I concede to your geniusness, and I am happy for it. I’ll be glad to get this part done.”
“Even after we’re done sanding, we’ll be far from finished. We’ll have to put on stain, then three coats of polyurethane. You’ll have to sleep in the living room for the rest of your stay.”
Ann shrugged. “Not a problem.”
“And when do you think you’ll be back?”
“After you’ve agreed to let me hire you. I’ll come back when the house is ready to list.”
“Un-uh. There you go again. If you want me to do some work while you’re gone, no problem, but I am not now, nor will I ever be, your employee, Miss Fletcher.”
“That is so unfair. You know I’m not going to let you do all that work for free without me returning the favor in kind.”
“That’s too bad.” He didn’t sound at all sorry. “So when did you say you might be coming back?”
Ann took a bite of her sandwich, simply because she wanted the time chewing to think of an answer. Finally, she shrugged, resigned to the fact that—for now, at least—he’d won this battle.
“I’m not sure. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t really planning to come back this weekend, but things just kind of happened. I would like to get this finished as soon as I can, though.”
After they finished lunch, Ethan stood and said, “Okay, now we change rooms. You take the one on the right; I take the one of the left.”
“Why?”
“Well, sometimes it’s easier to see something that someone else has missed rather than seeing your own mistakes.”
“Are you saying that I’ve missed some places?” Ann wasn’t sure whether she was teasing or offended.
“Absolutely not. I’m saying
I’ve
probably missed some places. I’m the worst. My mind goes on autopilot; I start to daydream, and soon enough I’ve messed up an entire section of floor—or whatever it is I’m working on.”
“Yeah, right.” Ann was pretty sure Ethan just wanted an excuse to double-check her work; he was the contractor, after all. But she wanted this work done right too, even though this trade would also mean that she would have to go back into her old room. Well, perhaps that was a good thing. In the full daylight, nothing seemed quite as ghostly as it did in the early morning, and as loud as the sanders were, there wasn’t much chance of hearing music.
With all the furniture piled in a heap in the living room, her old room was an empty shell. It didn’t feel as much like the place where she’d spent so much time.
Before she even started the machine, she walked around the floor, inspecting it for any patches that looked as though they’d been improperly sanded, determined to show Ethan one of his mistakes before he found one of hers. She couldn’t find even a ding in the floor that remained. She heard the whirring sound from the room next door and flipped the switch on her own machine.
She started against the far wall, then moved into the closet. Suddenly, a memory poured over her with such force she felt almost as if she’d gone back in time. Her seven-year-old self was sitting in the corner of this closet, knees pulled up to chest, arms wrapped around knees, trying to hold herself together. If she let go, surely she would explode into a million tiny pieces—just like her heart already had.
How had things gone so wrong? This day had started out like any other, a typical day at school—no, better than typical—she’d finally beat Jaci Sharitz in a race across the monkey bars. Nana had come to walk her home from school that day, as usual, except something was different. Nana was practically dancing. “Guess what? Your mama’s coming tonight.”
“Mama? Really?” Now Ann was dancing too. Maybe her mother had finally found that job she was looking for and they could be a family again. “She’s really going to be here? Tonight?”
Ann twirled in a circle, watching her sundress form a mushroom of floral cotton around her. Today was the perfect day.
“Not only that, but she’s bringing a very special surprise with her.”
“Woo hoo! A surprise!” Ann twirled again and again, the pink flowers on her dress dancing right along with her. “What is it?”
“Can’t tell. Wouldn’t be a surprise then, would it?”
“I bet I’ll figure it out.” Visions began to dance through Ann’s mind—her mother standing on the porch holding a plate of cookies she’d baked herself, maybe a sweater she’d knitted, or . . . maybe even the latest Cabbage Patch doll. She bounced up and down, trying her hardest not to squeal like a baby. She wanted Nana to tell her mother what a big girl she’d become. That goal in mind, Ann ran directly to her room as soon as she got home. She tucked a stray sock inside the dresser drawer and closed it nice and tight, straightened and re-straightened the pillows and stuffed animals on her bed, then went and found a rag and dusted every single piece of furniture at least twice. Everything needed to be just perfect when Mama arrived.
Ding dong
.
Ann ran as fast as she could, but Nana had already beat her to the front door, her wide frame blocking Ann’s view. Ann stood on tiptoes, searching for any glimpse of her mother’s beautiful face.
Nana leaned forward, like she was reaching down to pick up a suitcase or something. “Hello there, you sweet darling. Let me pick you up. Oh. I just can’t believe it.” When she straightened back up, she was holding . . . a
baby
. Nana spun round and round in circles. “Look at you, precious. You are so beautiful. Growing into a big girl, aren’t you?” She kissed the little baby on the forehead, on the hair, the arms.
Wait just a cockle-doodle minute
. Nana’s hugs belonged to
Ann
, not this
baby
. “Who’s she?”
Nana turned then, sheer joy on her face. “Oh, sweetie, come meet Sarah. Isn’t she beautiful? She’s two years old, and she’s your sister.”
“My what?” Only now did Ann see her mother in the doorway, standing sort of hunched down.
Her mother smiled in that really big way grown-ups often do when they want a kid to believe something that’s not true. “Hi, sweetie, I’ve missed you.”
Ann looked from her mother, to her dancing grandmother, to the baby. “No!” She fled to her room, locking the door tight behind her, and crawled into the back corner of this closet. She hid behind the long flannel nightgown that smelled fresh from the dryer, then just sat, rocking back and forth, back and forth, trying her best to figure out what had just happened.
Her mother, who had left her here so long ago while she “looked for a job,” had brought this baby here. Her sister—yeah, right. Ann might have been only seven, but she wasn’t stupid. Apparently her mother had enough money to raise this brat for a couple of years.
That’s when she knew the truth. It wasn’t that her mother left to get a job like they’d always told her. Truth was, she simply left to get a better daughter.
A few days later, Ann was back in this closet, curled into a ball once again. Mama had gone and taken the crybaby with her. And left Ann here. Because she wasn’t special enough.
The sander suddenly stopped working, which pulled Ann from the memory. Thank goodness for timely mechanical malfunctions. She flipped the switch to the off position and went into the other room.
Ethan turned off his sander as soon as she entered the room. “Hey, what’s going on? You already found a spot I missed?” His smile melted when he looked at her face. “Are you hurt?”
Was she hurt? Well, not in the way he was talking about. She looked back toward the other room, thankful for the excuse to turn away from his probing eyes. “Sander went dead. I’m not sure what happened.”
“Hmm, let me see.” He followed her into the other room, brought the machine out into the open, and flipped the switch.
It roared to life. He smiled and turned it off. “Are you trying to fake your way out of some work?”
“No.” She grabbed the handles. “I was working along, and it stopped. I flipped it off.”
“Easy there, I didn’t mean to cause offense.” He flipped the switch on, then off again. “Works fine now. Maybe it overheated or something.”
“Yeah, that must have been it.” Ethan was still looking at her with a worried expression, so she pointed toward the door. “Now get back in there and get back to work; we’re on a time schedule here.”
“Aren’t you a taskmaster of a boss? I think I might have to ask for a raise before it’s all over with.” He smiled as he disappeared out the door.
Ann went back to sanding, making a point of thinking only about the here and now. She thought about the Stinson project and began to envision the model apartments she would set up. She would need a few more upscale items than usual, but there was a supplier she’d worked with a few times who carried the high-end items she wanted. And they were good about a delayed pay schedule—something she would need until the contracts were signed and the payments started coming in. First thing Monday, she would have to call them and set up an appointment.
She pictured a Baccarat light fixture in the hallway, black granite in the kitchen. As she began to envision the room, the black countertops drawing her full attention, another memory attacked out of nowhere. This time, her memories found her standing outside a black door.
Nana had loaded Ann into the car, saying nothing about where they were going, but Ann had been happy to enjoy the rare ride to Summerville and didn’t push for details. She was eight years old, and after they drove for what seemed like hours, Nana pulled down a country lane. She could still remember the tiny brick house with black shutters and black door.
“Come with me, darling. I have a surprise to show you.”
“Won’t the people who live here be upset that we’re in their driveway?”
“No, no, darling, they won’t. I think you’re going to like them a whole bunch.” Nana led her up to the front porch and rang the bell.
Ann needed to go to the bathroom, really bad, and she hoped that whoever lived here would answer the door, and soon. The door swung open, and there stood the crybaby—a year older than the last time. “Annie, my sissy, my sissy is here.” The crybaby jumped up and down.
Ann’s mother came to the door then, looked right at Ann, and said, “Welcome home, sweetie.”
“Home?” Ann looked from Nana to Mama.
“Yes, darling, you’re coming to live with me. We’ll be together all the time.” Mama looked so happy.
Her mother wanted her—really, really wanted her. She wanted her to come live here all the time. The joy of the moment exploded inside Ann with an intensity she couldn’t believe.
“Ew.” The crybaby covered her mouth and pointed at Ann, who hadn’t, until that very second, felt the wetness running down her legs.
The sander went dead, and Ann ran from the room, not stopping until she was on the front porch, gulping huge deep breaths. What was going on here? Why the sudden onslaught of all these memories, and why so real? She put her hands on her knees and continued to gasp for air.
“Annie, you okay?” Ethan was beside her, although she hadn’t heard the door open.
“Don’t call me Annie. My name is Ann.” She stood up straight but didn’t look toward him. “And I’m fine. Just needed a little air.”
“Well, okay,
Ann
, there’s plenty of air out here, if that’s what you need.” He leaned against the door and waited.
Finally, she looked at him. “Didn’t mean to snap.”
“I’m just glad to see you out here. When I saw that you’d left the sander running, I thought you must have been kidnapped or something, because I knew you would never purposely leave your work.” He grinned at her.
“The sander was running?”
“Yeah. I went over to check on your progress, and I could see the sander scooting its way across the floor. I flipped it off and came out here, prepared to fight off the wild beasts that must have dragged you away.”
The sander was running
. Ann tried to shrug it off, change the subject, and pretend like it didn’t matter. But it did. Or actually, it
didn’t
. She needed to prove to herself that it didn’t, and she needed to prove it right now. “You know what? That wall, the one the sander is plugged into, it’s the same plug that my lamp was plugged into earlier and it kept going off, even after I changed the bulb. Can we check the plug for a short?”
But it wasn’t a short Ann was interested in at all. She was thinking of all the coincidences and Keith’s music and Keith’s drawing and her consistent hysteria about music that had never been there. She wanted to open up that wall and prove to herself that there was absolutely nothing there. No problems. No music. And no angels.
“Everything looks good. Connections are tight. Voltage meter looks right.” Ethan looked up from the jumble of wires now suspending the faceplate from the socket. “I don’t know what the problem is, but it doesn’t seem to be in this plug.”
Ann took the large Maglite from Ethan’s toolbox and pointed the beam into the small hole in the wall, looking for . . . what? Wings? The whole notion was ridiculous. Of course there was nothing. There had never been anything. Ever. She put the flashlight back, feeling silly. And relieved.