Forever (8 page)

The light from the bay window behind him filtered through the room like smoke, softening all the edges and bathing the room in illusion. Tom felt he was a ghost haunting the silent rooms. He sat frozen by the eeriness of that thought until a white-hot surge of anger burned it away.

Why the hell should I feel like a ghost in my own house
?

Well now, there’s a laugh. He’d saved for it, customized it, and paid for it, but it wasn’t really
his
house. This was Julie’s house, and always had been. He slept and ate here. He barbecued on the patio that he’d laid brick by brick, and drank beer in this very room as he watched the games on his big-screen HDTV. But did that make him any more than a resident here? Had he ever truly
lived
here? The throb in his head increased when the thought struck him that he hadn’t been living at all—for a long time.

Tom was still sitting at the table when Julie walked in twenty minutes later.

“Oh,” she said. “I thought you would be gone already.”

“Were you trying to sneak in?”

She laughed. “Of course not. What I meant was I hoped you’d still be here, but I thought I might be too late.”

“I thought you’d still be sleeping off the wine.”

“Funny.” She poured herself a cup of coffee. “Want me to fix you some breakfast?”

“I’ll get something later.”

She sat down opposite him. “How’d it go last night?”

He stopped breathing and looked at her blankly.

“The job? Lindsay said you were having dinner with a client or something.”

“Oh. No, it was just some guys . . . from work.” He took a gulp from his cup, nearly gagging at the now cold brew. “Do you believe in reincarnation?”

“Where did
that
come from?”

“It’s something that came up last night . . . in conversation.”

“How drunk were you guys?” She started to laugh then caught herself. “Are you serious?”

He shrugged. “Just a question.”

“Okay. Well, no, I don’t. We only get one chance. Isn’t that what you believe?”

The look on Julie’s face made it plain what she expected his answer to be. He stood. “Yeah, sure. The guy was talking about a movie he saw. I’d better get to work. You should go back to sleep. You look worn out.”

He kissed her good-bye. On the way to his truck it hit him that Julie did look more tired than she should have after one late night. And if he’d been paying more attention to her, he would have noticed before now. She was right, we only get one chance. And it was time he made more of an effort not to blow his.

* * *

Annie left the house at seven o’clock to take her turn at the grocery shopping. She’d rushed through that, stowed it all at home, and drove off again. She was on her way downtown. Her destination was the central branch of the library to search out evidence of Jacob and Maggie’s existence. She’d found online sites with possible help, but you had to pay to use them. Besides, with only a couple of names for clues, she needed help to know how to search for the proof she needed.

She wasn’t stupid. Tom had tried to hide it, but he resisted that they were the reborn Jacob and Maggie. But if she could prove those two had really lived when and where he suspected, maybe he would accept the truth. “You get a second chance,” Kate had said, and Annie hoped to convince Tom of that.

He’d probably tried to call her by now, and that’s exactly why she’d left her phone at home. She didn’t want to talk to him until things were straight in her mind. Her heart, like a dry sponge, ached to soak up any love it could. She couldn’t trust it. Her heart had led her into the nightmare of her marriage. She had to listen to her head this time. Another bad choice might kill her.

The morning rush hour was over, but traffic had backed up. Road construction or accident? She tapped her nails on the steering wheel and read the bumper stickers on the car in front of her. One of them read—I’M AWESOME. DEAL WITH IT. Was that meant to be a statement of fact or just amusing? If bumper stickers described your life accurately what would hers be? The answer came to her immediately. “Unlucky in Love.”

That wasn’t the way it worked, though. It wasn’t a matter of luck, it was a matter of choice. After last night’s confession to Kate, she’d cried herself to sleep wondering if she would ever see Tom again. That she
shouldn’t
see him again crossed her mind, but she hushed that thought. She
had
to see him. The visions had brought them together for a reason.

Annie had gone to the wrong place. A librarian at Central told her the records she wanted were at the Indiana State Library. Several minutes later, Annie stood in that library’s genealogy room explaining to another librarian what information she hoped to find.

“I suggest looking for this man in the census records.” The librarian walked to a row of cabinets and pulled a small box from one of the drawers. “This is a film of the 1830 Hendricks County census book.”

“But the man I’m looking for might have died before then,” Annie said.

“Well, then your search is going to be more difficult. At least one white settlement was located in the area before 1820, but the county wasn’t formed until 1824. The records don’t start before then. I’m afraid 1830 is the earliest census taken in that county. Why don’t you check this film anyway?” The woman slid the drawer closed and walked toward a nearby doorway.

Annie followed her into the darkened room. She showed Annie how to load the reel of microfilm on the reader and gave her instructions for using the printer function of the machine.

“If you’re not familiar with it,” the librarian said, “the handwriting in these old records can be difficult to decipher. If you need help, I’ll be at the front desk.”

Within thirty seconds of viewing the film, Annie understood the warning. Not only was it a struggle to decipher the names on the pages, some of the pages were blurred or spotted, or had crumbled edges. The census taker had apparently recorded the information in the order he made his rounds, and the entries had not been rearranged alphabetically or even indexed. This particular census consisted of fifteen pages. The only Stout was listed on the thirteenth.

Only the heads of households were listed by name. The entry she found was for Charles Stout. Not Jacob. But Charles was marked in the age range of 20-30 years, so she couldn’t ignore the entry. Maybe Jacob was a middle name. Also listed in this household was a female in the same age range, and one female and three males, all under the age of ten. Annie assumed this was Charles, his wife and their five young children.

Was this couple Jacob and Maggie?

Nothing within her responded. There was no thrill of discovery, no quickening of her heart. To her, that lack of a sign was in itself a sign. Charles was not her Jacob. Annie rewound the film and returned it to the librarian.

“Where else could I look for him?”

“They’re incomplete, but we have deeds and probate records beginning in 1825. He’d almost surely be found in the dee—”

“I’ll take the probate records,” Annie said without hesitation. An odd sensation, like cold water running the length of her spine, accompanied her response, and that feeling assured her she’d chosen the right records. As she carried the film back to the machine, she reached up to touch the still cool spot at the nape of her neck.

Relieved, Annie saw that this film started with an index. She scanned to the “S” section, her heart quickening even before she consciously registered the name—Stout, Jacob p.127. Her breathing quickened and shallowed as she scrolled the film forward. In her haste, she passed the page, then backed up too far and had to start forward again. After another false stop, she slowed her winding to a crawl until she found the correct page. The entry, dated 19 April 1826, was a report to the court by the administrators of the estate of “Jacob Stout, deceased.”

Annie scanned the report. With a trembling finger, she pressed the button to print the pages.
Thank God.
Now, Tom would
have
to believe Jacob existed. And if Jacob existed, Maggie existed. Annie believed in her heart that Jacob and Maggie were revealing their story to her and Tom for only one reason—to remind them of the love they’d shared. The love they deserved to share again.

* * *

Though Tom had downed half a dozen Excedrin since morning, his head still throbbed. He pushed his half-eaten lunch away and sat with his head bowed, rubbing his temples. Annie slipped into his thoughts. She’d told him she was going to the library to look for proof of Jacob and Maggie’s existence. What if she found it? If he broke off contact with her, he’d never know. He didn’t have to
see
her. She could tell him what she found over the phone. The phone he was already picking up.

After his fourth attempt to reach her cell, he called the theater. The girl who answered checked the schedule and told him Annie wouldn’t be in until four.
Damn
.
Damn
.
Damn
. He wouldn’t have time to go by the theater. He’d already promised Julie he would be home early.

And, really, what did anything Annie found out about Jacob and Maggie concern him? He didn’t believe in reincarnation. He believed in pretty young women being a temptation. But giving in to that was not something he would do—not if he wanted to stay married. And he did.

He cleared his desk of the lunch trash and massaged his temples.
Shit
. This pain might be the beginning of a full-blown migraine. If it kept up, he’d have to take off work even earlier than he planned and go home to bed.

* * *

Tom arrived at the theater as the crowd for the next showings lined up at the refreshment counters. He waved to Annie and took a seat at a table by the windows. After she served the last of the cafe customers, she filled another cup, grabbed something from under the counter, and came to sit with him

“I couldn’t find Jacob listed in either the census or the deed records they have for Hendricks County.” She set the cup of coffee before him. “And I looked for his will. There wasn’t one, but his name was in the probate court records.”

Tom listened with one ear, still pretending he cared about Jacob and Maggie. Whoever they were—
if
they were—didn’t matter.

“I hoped the record would name Maggie and maybe even some children, but it was only a court report on his estate.”

“And you read the report?”

“I did, and guess what.”

“What?”

“Jacob did own a longrifle. The handwriting is really hard for me to read, but I deciphered some of it. They recorded every little thing the person owned . . . every item of clothing even. They listed powder horns, and lead, knives, and quite a few pelts—evidently he was a hunter, like you said. I made a copy for you too. Maybe you can make out more of the words than I could.” She handed him the two sheets of paper she’d taken from under the counter.

“Yeah, sure.” He folded the pages, and shoved them into his back pocket without a glance. What the hell was going on? Why was he here with a woman who couldn’t stop jabbering about some man who lived and died nearly two hundred years ago?

“I have more to tell you,” she said.

“Is it about Jacob?”

“Yes. I looked—”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Seeing her hurt frown, he softened. “Not right now.”

“All right.”

He said nothing else for a moment, and she sat quietly, looking down at her fingers shredding a paper napkin she’d found lying on the table.

“What’s going on, Tom? I thought we had a great time last night at—”

He shoved back his chair and shot to his feet. “I’ve got to go.”

“Tom . . . wait.”

He didn’t turn back, or even hesitate as he stalked through the lobby.

As the doors closed behind him, Annie jumped up to follow. She caught up with him as he was about to get in his truck. “Tom, please . . . don’t be angry with me. I don’t know why I . . . I’m confused.”

He turned toward her, looking as miserable as she felt. “Annie, I can’t—” His jaw snapped shut. Without warning, he pulled her into his arms and bruised her lips under a fierce kiss.

For a second, she was stunned.
Oh God. I can’t breathe
.
He’s going to crush me against this wall
. With pure primal instinct she shoved Tom back against the truck with all her strength and spun away from him.

He burst out an apology. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I—” He broke off and reached one hand toward her. “Annie?”

His voice filtered through to her and she struggled to focus on his face. This was Tom, not Gary. Tom was only trying to show his love. He wasn’t trying to attack her, to rape her, to punish her.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, “I didn’t mean to do that—I’ve scared you.”

“It’s all right . . . you didn’t know . . . you—”

“Didn’t know what?”

She waved his question away and glanced toward the theater. “I’ve got to get back to work. Could we talk . . . later? Could you call me after I get home tonight?”

Not waiting for his response, Annie turned and ran back toward the theater.

Tom stood by his truck for several minutes after Annie left, trying to figure out what the hell had happened in the last half-hour. Not until two women, getting out of the car in the parking spot opposite his, gave him curious looks did he climb into his truck and start the engine. As he drove home, he tried to make sense of his going to the theater. And then—
jeezus
—he’d grabbed Annie and kissed her. What the hell?

He had no memory of his thoughts leading up to that action. The whole meeting seemed unreal. As he drove, trying to reconstruct his afternoon, his hand went to his forehead. With a shock, he realized he was pain free. He’d started for home because of a killer headache, but then what? He could barely remember leaving the construction site. Why had he ended up at the theater? He’d driven there for—

(For what?)

To see what she’d found out about Jacob.

(Liar. You were headed there before you knew about that.)

Had he been? Yes. He’d wanted—needed—to see Annie, like a junkie jonesing for a fix. She’d become his illegal drug. Forbidden fruit. But he hadn’t found satisfaction. Instead, he’d resisted. He’d walked out. But then he’d acted like a brute and scared her. It was fear he’d seen on her face when she pushed him away, not anger or even disgust. It was terror.