California Dreaming: Four Contemporary Romances (20 page)

The trip back to town was silent. Annie dropped David and his backpack off at the high school and drove home. She was exhausted and her head was throbbing.

Automatically, she looked at the answering machine. The light was blinking. She hit the play button.

“I know you had David’s court appointment today and was wondering how you were doing,” John’s voice began. “It’s got to be tough and I thought you might need a friend. If you feel up to coming down to the bookstore this today, I’ll buy you a cup of coffee. I’d stop by, but I don’t want to intrude.” There was a pause and then the message continued. “I know you don’t want a relationship and I’m okay with that. I thought you could use a friend, though.”

She looked suspiciously at the answering machine. It was nice to have someone care, but she wasn’t quite sure about the “friend” part. The kiss they’d shared had definitely not been on the friend level.

She made a cup of tea and took it and her cordless phone outside to enjoy the perfect coastal day, a counterpoint to the surrealism of juvenile hall. The sun’s hot rays were buffered by the occasional breezes caressing her arms. She stared at the fountain in her garden sanctuary. Around her, irises and lilies bloomed and the climbing rose in the corner was dusted with peach-colored blossoms. The riotous noise of the morning receded from her head, and the fountain’s music soothed her mind.

She glanced at her watch. Carol would be calling soon. Annie was looking forward to talking about the day’s events and her growing realization that there might be some changes she could make.

The phone rang and she picked it up.

“How did it go?” Carol asked.

“It was okay, I guess.”

“Really?”

Annie could tell she didn’t believe her. Of course, she didn’t believe herself, either. “No, not really. It was pretty awful.”

“Do you always pretend things are better than they are?”

“That’s a good question.”

Carol’s response was the silence Annie was coming to expect from the coach.

“I suppose I do. I mean, why tell people how awful things are? They don’t really want to know, anyway.”

“What about people who are close to you — your friends?”

“They’re tired of hearing me whine.”

“Is that what you call it? Whining?”

“Well, yeah. That’s what my dad always said. ‘Quit whining, pull up your big girl panties and get on with it.’” Annie imitated her father’s scornful voice.

“How did that make you feel?”

Annie reflected on the question. How did it make her feel? “I don’t know.”

“Can you remember a time when he said that to you?”

Annie thought back to her childhood. “I had a little kitten. She was black with little white feet. I called her Mittens. Dumb name, I know. Anyway … ” Her voice became matter-of-fact. “I didn’t keep her in the house. I let her out and she got run over. My dad was really nice about it — he dug a grave for her and everything. Then it was like it had never happened. I couldn’t talk about it. I remember I said something about missing Mittens and he yelled at me, told me to quit whining and the rest of it. I was scared. I never talked about Mittens again. Until now.” Annie was surprised to find tears running down her cheeks.

“When did that conversation happen?”

“The day after Mittens was killed.”

“Oh, Annie.” The coach’s voice was soft. “When your father told you that, how did it make you feel?”

“Really bad.” Annie shrank into her chair. “I was little at the time, but I remember feeling even smaller. I wanted to hide. To become invisible.”

“And so you did. You became invisible by never telling anyone how you really feel.”

Annie pondered the insight. “I guess you’re right.” She sat there in silence. Feeling small and vulnerable, bereft of the shield of indifference she always put up. But what good was feeling anything going to do for her? She had a decision to make.

“But what’s the point? It’s done. I was a little kid. My dad was teaching me that stuff happens in life and I have to get over it.”

“Do you really think one day is enough time for a little girl to get over the loss of her pet?”

“Why not?” The question sounded harsh even to her own ears.

“Annie, is that what you’d tell your son?”

“God, no.”

“Then why was it okay for your dad to say that to you?”

“I … I guess it wasn’t.” Annie felt her defenses lower again.

Carol let the silence roll on for a little while longer. “I’m willing to bet your dad did that to you often — told you to move on when you really weren’t ready. You learned to stuff your feelings about things quickly.”

Annie wasn’t totally convinced. “How else can you function? I’m only doing what I have to do.”

“Are you?”

“Yes.” Annie slammed her fist on the table, knocking her tea to the ground.

Carol didn’t say anything.

Annie waited for her to speak.

And waited.

After she realized that the coach wasn’t going to say anything, she asked, “What is it you think I should be doing?”

“What do you want to do?”

“Do you always answer a question with a question?”

“Often.”

“I don’t have any choice. I have to move to New Jersey.”

Carol chuckled. “I agree that you don’t
see
any other choice, not that there isn’t one. If you could change anything in your life, Annie, what would it be?”

“That’s easy. I wouldn’t be laid off. I wouldn’t have to move to New Jersey.”

“So you love your job at JCN?”

“Love? No.”

“How do you feel about the job?”

“Truthfully?”

“Of course.” Annie could almost see the smile on Carol’s face.

“Truthfully … ” The silence dragged on. Once again Carol waited. “I hate my job,” Annie finally said. “I’m tired of technology. It’s like a pressure cooker. Over and over you do the same thing. There’s no change, except to learn new technology. It was fun once, but now it’s horrible … it’s not what I wanted to do at all! If Fred wasn’t a drunk, I could have spent more time at home with David. Maybe I … ”

“Maybe what?” Carol prodded.

“Maybe I could have made it as a singer-songwriter.” There. It was out. Carol could laugh now, like her parents and Fred had laughed.

But Carol didn’t laugh. She didn’t say anything either.

“It’s too late,” Annie said. “I have responsibilities.”

“How can you make it ‘not too late’?”

“What do you mean? I told you. I have responsibilities.”

“Do you like to sing?’

“Yes!”

“Do you sing?”

“In church.”

“Anywhere else?”

A few Christmases ago, she’d had a few glasses of wine at Elizabeth’s Christmas Eve party. When the rented karaoke machine was dragged out, the liquid courage had enabled her to step up and perform. Everyone had complimented her on her voice.

“Once in a while,” she admitted.

“Good. Here’s my challenge to you,” Carol said. “I want you to sing at least three times a week. I don’t care if you do it in your car or in the shower. Will you do that?”

“What good is that going to do?”

“It’ll exercise a muscle you’ve forgotten how to use — doing something you enjoy for no useful reason at all.”

“Doesn’t make sense to me.”

“It will. Give it time.”

Annie considered the idea. She didn’t see how it would help, but what could she lose by singing three times a week as long as no one was around to hear her? “Okay, I’ll do it.”

“Since coaches are never satisfied, I have one more request,” Carol said with a laugh.

“What is it?”

“Don’t sound so suspicious. I want you to get a journal. It can be a plain notebook, nothing fancy. And, before you ask, you can’t keep a computer journal. There’s a connection between our heart and our pen that can’t be duplicated on a computer. Besides, I want you to write first thing in the morning, before you get up and any other time the mood strikes you. Write a list of things that you want. Use it as a tool to unload the chatter in your mind. Then we’ll take a look at it for the nuggets of wisdom.”

“I’m not sure how wise I am.”

“Probably wiser than you think.”

Annie shrugged. What the heck? “Sure,” she said.

After scheduling another appointment the following Wednesday, Annie said goodbye. She retrieved her empty teacup from the ground. Do something she wanted? Anything she wanted? She thought about John’s message. He still wanted to see her.
And I want to see him.

When Annie walked into the bookstore three hours later, Sunshine was at the back desk.

“Oh, good. Maybe his mood will improve,” the head manager said. “He’s upstairs.” She gestured toward the bookstore office perched over the bookshop floor, the windows reflecting the glow of the florescent lights.

“Has he been grumpy?”

“Like a bear.”

“Oh.” Sunshine and Annie grinned at each other.

Annie glanced up to the second floor office windows and discovered John staring at her, a cautious smile touching his lips. He raised a finger in a “just a moment” gesture and mouthed, “I’ll be right down.” She wandered toward the magazine racks, her attention drawn to a guitar-laden cover. She picked up the latest issue of
American Songwriter
and was immediately absorbed in an article about the latest innovation in guitar strings.

“Hello,” John said from behind her. “I’m glad you came.”

She shut the magazine quickly and slotted it back on the rack before she turned around.

“It okay,” he said as if seeing her thoughts. “People read the magazines without buying them all the time. I’ve gotten used to it.”

“I didn’t mean to … ” she began as she looked up at him. She could feel her shoulders relax in his accepting presence.

“It’s fine,” he said, laughing. He reached around to pick up the magazine she’d been reading, his eyebrows rising as he glanced at the title. “An odd title for someone in the tech industry.”

She hesitated. “I used to sing occasionally. At coffeehouses,” she admitted.

“That’s right. I remember now. I want to hear more about it,” he said, taking her arm and guiding her to the little café in the front of the bookstore. He still had the magazine in his hand.

Once they had their coffees, decaf for her, regular for him, he asked about her singing. She told him of her coffeehouse gigs and the invitations for house concerts she was starting to get before she quit. He was such a good listener that she told him about the fantasy studio she dreamed of, a room of her own to create her songs and CDs. “Of course, nowadays, I’d probably simply create MP3s and put them online.”

“You are a techie.”

“Sometimes it helps to be a little of both.” A thought struck her. “Maybe I could even set up a studio and record MP3s for other singers.”

“That’s a great idea! What made you think about singing again?”

“The concert in New Jersey started me down the path.” She considered how much she wanted to tell John. Did she really want him aware of her growing uncertainty about moving? She stirred her coffee and decided to keep the answer as succinct as possible.

“I’m working with a life coach,” she began. “I don’t know if you know what they are.” She gave him a questioning look.

He gestured at the store behind him. “I read a lot.” He grinned. “Wasn’t it Rhonda Britton who had that show —
Fearless Living
or something?”

“I think so. Anyway, Carol, my life coach, suggested that I sing three times a week. She seems to think it will help me. I don’t see the point, but she’s the coach.” She shrugged.

John leaned back in his chair. “I’ve told you about the novel I’m writing,” he said.

Annie nodded.

“Every morning I get up and work on it for an hour — before breakfast. It’s my meditation. Even if it never gets published, it’s something I need to do. There are days the words simply won’t come and I feel like giving up. But even if all I do for an hour is stare at a blank page, I do it.”

“Why?” she asked softly.

He took a sip of coffee. “I think it’s because it’s something that’s uniquely mine. I’m creating it. The need to create is a primal urge. Not only did our ancestors kill the wooly mammoth, they painted its picture on cave walls. The poorest people in the world create art, music, dance, and theater. They regard it as their birthright. It’s only us westerners who think everything has to be done by specialists for profit.”

She stared at him.
Maybe I’ve been looking at this problem all wrong.

Her face must have reflected her puzzlement because he asked, “What are you thinking?”

“I’m not sure I can put it into words. But I think it’s important for me to do a bit more than singing in the shower three times a week.”

“I like that,” he said with a smile. “And when you’re ready, you can do your comeback performance right here.”

She laughed. “I think that’s a long time away.”

“You’d be surprised. Don’t sell yourself short.” He looked at her intently, his blue eyes searching her own.

She felt tears well and a lump form in her throat. No one had ever believed in her that way before. She stared back at him and felt moisture on her cheek.

He brushed it away with his thumb. “Tears of happiness, I hope.”

She nodded.

They sat in comfortable silence and sipped their coffee.

“What happened with David today?” he finally asked.

She summed up the court hearing. “Thanks for listening,” she said when she’d finished. “You do it well. I feel better, like someone is sharing the burden, even though it’s none of your worry.”

“Things that affect you are my concern. I care about you, Annie. I want to be your friend.”

“Thanks, I could use one around now.” She glanced at her watch.

“Do you have to go?”

“Yes. I need to get home for David.”
And I have a lot of thinking to do.

She got up and he immediately stood with her. “Thanks for coffee,” she said.

He picked up the issue of
American Songwriter
from the chair where he’d laid it. “We never did get to discuss this, but I thought you might like it. It’s on the house. And don’t forget what I said — your comeback performance is right here. Don’t accept any other offers.”