The Carson Springs Trilogy: Stranger in Paradise, Taste of Honey, and Wish Come True (147 page)

“Sweet dreams.”

“Same to you, Doc. Same to you.”

Hours later he still wasn’t sleepy. He stared fixedly at the TV, too lost in his thoughts to even know what was on. After the storm a cold front had moved in, and now he felt a chill in the air that lay pooled about his bare feet and ankles. He brought his glass to his mouth to down the rest of the tonic but it was empty, though he had no memory of having drunk from it. He knew he should go to bed but couldn’t seem to summon the strength.
You’re in mourning, Doc
, said a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Jim’s. If that was true, then it was long overdue.

A news bulletin on TV caught his attention: Monica Vincent’s mother had died. An old photo of her with Monica flashed onto the screen, but all he could think of was Anna.

Jesus. To have to cope with this on top of everything else. He was reaching for the phone when he thought better of it. Not just because of the lateness of the hour but because the prospect of hearing her voice had brought a flood of adrenaline. A cheap fix, he thought, was the last thing either of them needed.

He lowered his arm heavily into his lap, where his empty glass lay tilted on its side like something washed ashore.
If only I could get some sleep.
But his eyelids were wired open, a low buzzing in his veins like something alcohol-induced. Right now, what he could use more than anything, he thought, was a drink.

Mavis Fitzgerald was among the last to leave. After she’d helped clear up, she lingered in the kitchen, asking repeatedly if there was anything more she could do. Of all Betty’s friends, Mavis had probably been the closest. Anna remembered that she used to drop by at least once a week, though it was miles out of her way. She’d assumed it was because Mavis enjoyed the company—being widowed at such a young age—but in time she’d come to realize that it was more than that: Mavis had been keeping an eye out. She knew what Joe was like and that her mother was powerless to stand up to him. Once, in a foul mood, he’d come thundering into the kitchen to demand that Betty “get up off her ass” and make him some coffee. Wearily, she’d dragged herself to her feet, but Mavis had said firmly, “You sit, Betty.
I’ll
make it—nice and
strong
.” Joe had fixed her with a baleful, bloodshot gaze, fists flexing at his sides, but she’d looked straight back at him unflinchingly. Recalling it now, Anna was struck anew by how brave she’d been. More than that, Mavis had opened her eyes, showing Anna that her father wasn’t as invincible as he’d seemed.

Those same blue eyes, faded but still alert, studied her now across the table crowded with half-eaten platters of food. “Sure I can’t help wash up?”

“I’m sure.” Anna spoke firmly.

All she wanted was to be alone. The funeral had been an ordeal. Not in the way that Monica’s had been, but because reactions to her mother’s death had been mixed.
It’s a blessing
, a number of people had murmured, with Olive Miller voicing every old person’s fear—being robbed of your mind—in saying,
Your mother would’ve wanted it this way.
But Anna realized she didn’t have the slightest idea what her mother had thought or felt. Look at what she’d put up with all those years. Maybe in some ways it was losing her mind that had been a blessing.

“Well, all right then …” Mavis pulled her into a quick fierce hug smelling faintly of cloves. “Call me if you need anything. Promise?”

“I will.” Anna saw her to the door, waving to her as she climbed into Olive Miller’s blue Cutlass, idling in the driveway. In the living room, Laura and Finch were still tidying up.

“Enough.” She wrested the Dustbuster from Laura’s hand. “Liz and I will do the rest.”

“We’re almost done,” Laura protested—as if Anna didn’t know what this was all about: Like Mavis, Laura didn’t want her to be alone.

But it wasn’t her job to provide full-time moral support. “Go home to your baby.” Hector had left nearly an hour before with Essie slung over one shoulder, fast asleep.

Laura ignored her, stooping to pick up a crumpled napkin off the floor. “Hector’s perfectly capable of looking after her himself,” she said.

“It’s no use, Anna. We’re not leaving,” Finch said.

“You don’t have to baby-sit me. I’ll be fine. I promise.” She scooped up her cat, winding in and out between her legs, his loud purring more comforting than the condolences she’d been fielding all day. From the bathroom down the hall came the muted clink of bottles and vials as Liz cleared the medicine cabinet of their mother’s things—something Anna had been putting off doing.

Laura and Finch exchanged a look. Anna knew what they were thinking: that it wasn’t just her mother. And they weren’t wrong. Thoughts of Marc had lapped at her all day in cold little waves. But if being alone was hard, there was something even worse, she knew, and that was
fear
of loneliness, which could drive you to cling like a barnacle to familiar habits, however bad.

No, she’d get through this somehow.

“Any of that coffee left?” Laura retreated into the kitchen, returning moments later with a steaming mug and a chocolate chip cookie. She sank down on the sofa next to Finch, who sat perched on one of its arms.

Anna had no choice but to pull up a chair. “You guys.” She smiled. “You know the biggest favor you could do me? Take home the rest of those cookies.”

“Oh, I don’t know. You’ll have to twist my arm,” Laura said, biting into her cookie.

“Did Claire make these?” Finch reached over to break a piece off Laura’s.

“Actually, I think it was David.” The Rybacks had stopped by briefly. Naturally Liz had managed to stay busy in the kitchen until they left.

Anna looked out the window at a yellow Lab that had wandered into the yard, not Pearl—she seldom ventured past the front porch these days. It must be her neighbor’s from down the road; Herb Dunlop had dropped in earlier to pay his respects.

“I remember when my grandmother died,” Laura said. “She’d been sick for a long time, but I still wasn’t prepared for how hard it hit me.” She eyed Anna with concern over the rim of her mug, the one Marc favored, blue ceramic with a director’s chair and the words
RELAX, GOD’S IN CHARGE
. “Are you sure you don’t want one of us to stay the night?”

Anna mustered a smile. “I’m sure.”

“I wish I’d known your mother before she, uh …” Finch faltered, not wanting to say it:
before she went crazy.
“What was she like?”

“Sweet. Funny.” The corners of Anna’s mouth crept higher. “She loved to read, too. If she’d had to rescue one thing from a burning house, it would have been her library card. I can’t help thinking what her life would’ve been like if …” Her voice trailed off.

“I don’t think there was a mean bone in her body,” Laura put in.

“That’s because they’d all been broken at one time or another.”

They all turned toward Liz, who stood at the entrance to the hallway, a cardboard box in her arms. Anna sighed. “Please, Liz.” She didn’t have the strength for this. “Can’t you give it a rest?”

“Sorry.” Liz lowered the box onto the breakfront, looking chastened—an improvement over the old days, when she’d have countered with some caustic remark.

An awkward silence fell. Then Finch said, “And I thought I’d had it bad.”

“Nobody’s family is perfect,” Anna said.

“There’s no such thing,” Laura said. “Perfect family is an oxymoron.”

“The secret is to pick your own.” Finch cast a wry look at Laura.

“We didn’t have that luxury.” Liz wandered over to where Anna sat, dropping onto an arm of her chair. “But it wasn’t a complete wash. I got one halfway decent sister out of it, though frankly I don’t know why she puts up with me.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Anna teased. “You’re the only one left.”

Talk turned to other things. Laura told them that Hector was teaching Maude how to use the computer, and Anna voiced her suspicion that the litter of kittens down the road at the Fosters’ had been fathered by Boots. Liz regaled them with the latest misdeeds of celebrities who’d visited the spa.

When it was time for them to go, Anna hugged Laura and Finch at the door while Liz hung back, wearing a wistful look. She’d confided earlier that her own best friend, who was close to the Rybacks as well, had cooled toward her since the affair. Anna was glad her friends weren’t so quick to judge.

“Thanks for taking care of that,” Anna said when she and her sister were alone. She nodded toward the cardboard box on the breakfront.

“It was the least I could do.” Liz carried it through the kitchen, and a moment later Anna heard the clang of the lid going down on the garbage can out back. When her sister reappeared, she was holding her purse and jacket. “I should be going. I told Dylan I’d be back in time for dinner.”

Liz had wanted to spare her son the funeral, saying he was too young and that it would only upset him, but the truth was he’d scarcely known his grandmother. Somehow Anna found that to be the saddest thing of all.

She was walking Liz to her car when a familiar sight caused her to stop short: Marc’s silver Audi turning into the driveway. He must have heard about her mother on the news.

All else faded from view as she watched him climb from his car and start toward her, tall and lean and better looking than any man had a right to be. He paused halfway up the drive, lifting a hand as if to ask,
Okay? You won’t shoot me?
Anna stood rooted to the spot, unable to move or even speak, a line from
Jerry Maguire
floating into her head, when Renée Zellweger says to Tom Cruise, “You had me at hello.”

She saw when he drew near that he’d cut himself shaving; a fleck of dried blood marked the spot on his chin. “I’m sorry about your mother,” he said, nodding toward Liz before fixing his gaze on Anna. His eyes were faintly bloodshot and she thought he looked haggard. She felt herself grow weak. Had he come all this way just to offer his condolences?

“Thanks.” Anna didn’t know what else to say.

“I’ve got to run.” Liz cast her a meaningful look. “Nice seeing you, Marc. Sorry I can’t stay and chat.” She ducked into her Miata, backing out so fast she nearly finished the job Finch had started when she’d clipped the mailbox while learning to drive.

Anna brought her gaze back to Marc. “You’re a little late,” she said. “Everyone else has left.”

He regarded her gravely. “Actually, I was hoping we’d have a moment alone.”

She felt her heart climb up into her throat, but was quick to squash the hope that rose with it. Did he think he could just pick up where he’d left off? What about what
she
wanted?

Inside, he sat down on the sofa, looking more like the bearer of bad news than someone who’d come to console her. “Can I get you something to eat?” she asked. “I have enough leftovers to open a soup kitchen.”

He shook his head. “Maybe later.”

She sank into the chair opposite him. “Why is it that when someone dies, people descend on you with more food than you could eat in a year?”

“I suppose it’s because they don’t know what else to do.” He eyed a plastic cup Laura and Finch had missed. “Were there a lot of people?”

“More than I thought there’d be.” Most had been friends of hers and Liz’s, with Felicia Campbell and her husband showing up to pay their respects as well.

“I gather it was sudden.”

She nodded. “At least she didn’t suffer.”

He seemed to know she was only echoing the sentiments of others. “I remember when my mother died. People kept saying what a blessing it was that she’d gone so quickly, and maybe that’s true, but I wish I’d had a chance to say goodbye.”

Anna blinked back tears, willing herself not to cry. “It’s harder than I thought. I mean, she wasn’t even the same person at the end, but I guess that doesn’t change how you feel.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, only this time she got the feeling it wasn’t just about her mother.

“You didn’t have to come all this way to tell me that.” She forced herself to meet his gaze.” You could have just called.”

“I wanted to see you.”

Anger rose in her, as unexpected as the tears she’d shed today when pausing at her sister’s grave. Did he have any idea how this was affecting her? What good could he do when his very presence was like salt in an open wound? She’d been holding her own until he’d appeared; now it would be days, possibly weeks, before she could get back to some semblance of normal. Trembling as if with fever, she got up and walked out of the room.

She was standing at the sink, staring sightlessly out the window while the tap ran unheeded when he caught up with her. He reached around her to turn off the faucet, his arm brushing against hers, and she flinched as if scalded. Then she was reaching into her pocket, pulling out a crumpled tissue and holding it jammed against her nose the way she might have plugged a stubborn leak.

“Faith knows,” he said softly. “She asked if I was in love with you.”

Anna swiveled around to face him. “And what did you tell her?” Her heart felt as if it’d been squeezed into a too small space.

“The truth.”

She stared at him, stunned. Did this mean … ?

A wave of cold reason quickly banished the thought:
Nothing’s changed except that his wife knows.

“And that’s supposed to make it all okay?” Her voice shook.

“Anna—”

“Because things have changed.
I’ve
changed. I don’t want somebody else’s husband. I want my own. And children, if it’s not too late. If you’re not free to—”

He seized her by the shoulders, roughly almost. “It’s over. She’s filed for divorce.” She saw the pain in his face and knew that he had mixed feelings, that his love for Faith would always be there, like a taproot after the tree’s been cut down. “It wasn’t just because of you. She’d been wanting to tell me for a while, but didn’t know how.”

“I think it was incredibly brave.” Anna said the first thing that popped into her head.

“Like someone else I know.” He brought a hand to her cheek, lightly running his thumb along it. “What I’m trying to say is, I’m yours if you’ll have me.”

She felt the breath leave her body and for an instant was scarcely aware of her feet touching the floor. “Are you asking me to marry you?” Once upon a time she wouldn’t have dreamed of being so bold, but she’d learned that nothing good ever came of holding back.