You Don't Know Me (12 page)

The nausea had nothing to do with the greasy hot dog Annalise had eaten between the second and third games. Or the nachos
she’d split with Henry. Or her mother-in-law’s gooey peanut butter popcorn.

No, Annalise would attribute it to watching Helen glance now and again at Frank, almost as if—no, she couldn’t actually like him, could she? It was one thing for her mother-in-law to get out, have some fun. Completely another for her to fall in love with Frank, a man who would only break her heart. Even if he was trying to keep the family intact, Helen was headed for heartbreak.

Oh, who was she kidding? Frank had a sort of scoundrel charm to him. And he could be terribly kind when he tried. Like when he’d taken her out of police custody and to his home in Portland—breaking protocol—to feed her. She well remembered Margaret, his wife, the way the woman helped Annalise dye her hair close to her real color and restyle it more softly around her face. How Margaret let her sleep for days, it seemed, and twice Annalise found Margaret holding her hand, asleep in the chair beside her, as if she’d come in the middle of the night to quell a nightmare.

Not unlike Nathan in those early years. He’d endured enough of the scars of her mysterious past to earn him a bye for the way he’d acted today.

Sometimes I wish I could start over too.

Probably she could blame her nausea on the fact that with one word, she could make Nathan’s wish come true. She wasn’t sure how Frank might do it—a nasty car crash, perhaps a fire in the house. But they’d disappear in the night like bandits, taking nothing with them.

Not a picture. Not a journal. Not a book. Not a memento. Maybe not even their wedding rings.

She turned hers around her finger.

Frank would find them new names. Like Kirsten or Gretchen,
Neil or Thomas. Names designed to blend in, although not too much. No John Smiths or that too would raise suspicion.

“C’mon, Colleen!” Jason sat beside her, digging into his bag of popcorn. He’d been away most of the day reading through his script with members of the cast. Like Harper Jacobsen. She sat one aisle over and three rows down with her friends, and Annalise didn’t miss his occasional glances that direction.

Jason would have to start his acting career over, playing bit parts again until he worked up to the lead.

And Henry—she glanced toward the opposite bleachers, where he sat with the other skater hoodlums. Maybe it would do her younger son some good. He could find new friends. Maybe jump into a different sport, one he liked, just in time for adolescence.

“Point for the Huskies!”

She heard the announcer and focused again on the game. Huskies in the lead, 20–13, in the third game. Five more points and they’d advance to the semifinals. Colleen had landed eight decisive kills tonight and at least four digs. She’d even aced a serve.

Colleen would find a new team. Maybe if Frank moved them to a bigger town, she could play in the bigger conferences, with better competition. She was that good, wasn’t she?

Or maybe this was the better competition. Maybe all this playing time on the tiny Husky team meant that she would excel in the big schools.

But a move would mean Annalise could get her daughter away from Tucker Newman, troublemaker. The kid had even raised his hand to her tonight from his spot in the bleachers, waving as she walked in. Weird. He should be skulking away in shame.

Annalise pressed a hand against her stomach. She shouldn’t have had that cotton candy.

At least Nathan had decided to come to the game. He sat with John Christiansen on the far end of the bleachers. He’d made a point, however, of finding her as he walked in and smiling.

Offering forgiveness.

She had too many of her own sins to stay legitimately angry at Nathan. Instead his words had dragged a lethal trail through her heart.

Not enough. Trapped.

She couldn’t believe she’d embarrassed him like that in front of the entire town. But maybe they
weren’t
supposed to be together. Maybe they’d never had that spark because she’d been broken and afraid and he’d been safe and reliable. And handsome, yes. And kind.

And Nathan Decker, the most trustworthy man she knew.

But did that constitute love?

What if she’d never
really
loved her husband?

Maybe she’d had no business getting married, ever.

Yes, she just might be ill. She got up, moved past Jason.

“Are you okay, Mom?”

“I have to use the ladies’ room—”

“There’s only three points left!”

But she ignored him, heading down the bleachers, along the edge of the court, past Nathan, who grabbed her hand. “Lise?”

She didn’t slow, feeling green.

She marched past the ticket table and into the hallway, past the concession stand—the odors of greasy hot dogs didn’t help—and nearly broke into a run to the bathroom.

Annalise dove into the first stall just in time.

Nice. Oh, so nice.

She tore off toilet paper and wiped her mouth. Leaning back against the wall of the stall, she closed her eyes.

And saw the Nathan of her youth. A summer tan still embedded in his skin, tousled brown hair, those green eyes—he stood in the vestibule of his church in a pair of khakis and a white oxford shirt. He had never dazzled her like Blake had, but she would still call him handsome. Especially when he smiled—her entire body turned warm, like a summer day, when he smiled at her.

Are you new in town?
His first words to her before he handed her a bulletin and showed her where to sit.

After the service, he took her out for coffee and spent the afternoon showing her around Deep Haven before teaching her how to skip rocks into the lake. She could still remember how he’d hunted for the perfect rock, then stepped behind her to help angle her wrist. She let him because he had strong arms, and she needed to be in someone’s embrace. A month in Deep Haven by herself had hollowed her out. She hadn’t slept a night all the way through.

She had no idea how Frank expected her to build a life here.

Annalise got three skips on the first try. Five on the second. She could have stayed on that beach all day listening to Nathan cheer for her.

Later they’d watched the sunset dip into the horizon, and for the first time in longer than she could remember, listening to him tell her about his life, this town, she inhaled peace.

No wonder she said yes when he asked her out, standing on the doorstep to the yellow house on Fifth Avenue.

No wonder she lied to him—the lie Frank had constructed, but the first time she used it—when he took her to dinner and over candlelight asked about her family.

No wonder she let him take her into his arms after he walked her to the door.

His kiss had been gentle and ministered to her soul in its
tenderness. He wasn’t Blake. And frankly that’s what made her say yes when, four dates later, he asked her to marry him.

Annalise scrubbed her hands over her face.

She loved Nathan; of course she did. She’d given him three children. She supported him. Just because he never ignited the dangerous, reckless pulse inside her didn’t mean they didn’t belong together.

They had a family. A life. And she couldn’t take any of them away from it.

“Annalise?”

Oh no, Helen had found her. The woman had the tenacity of a bull. “I’m okay.”

“Really? Because you didn’t look okay.”

“Too much concession food.”

Annalise heard the towel dispenser rolling out, then water running.

“I’ve always said that no one should eat dinner at the concession stand. It’s why I bring popcorn. It keeps temptation away.” Wet towels appeared under the door.

“Thank you.”

“There’s more where that came from.”

Through the crack in the stall, she saw her mother-in-law hunker down against the wall.

“You don’t have to stay. I feel much better.”

“Oh, darling. Maybe I need to catch my breath too.”

Annalise unlocked the door. And stared at her mother-in-law.

Helen looked . . . younger somehow. She wore a cute white scarf at her neck, like a pinup girl from the fifties. And—“Are you wearing makeup?”

Helen pressed her hands to her cheeks. Nodded. “I . . . I don’t know what came over me.”

Annalise washed her hands in the sink, debated a moment, then slid down beside her.

“He’s an awfully nice man, your uncle is.”

Oh, Helen. “He is nice.” When he wasn’t destroying lives. Okay, he’d saved them too.

“I am just a silly woman.” Helen clasped her hands between her knees. “I realize he’s leaving.”

She did? Had Frank told her—?

“He
is
leaving, right?”

“I . . . Yes. When he’s finished with his visit . . .”

Helen drew in a breath. “See, I keep thinking about Dylan. Nathan’s father.”

Yes, Annalise knew who he was. Hard to forget a man who haunted Nathan’s every decision.

“I fell so hard for him, so quickly. Although I went to high school with him, I hardly knew him.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to make that same mistake. But a woman my age . . . Well, this sort of thing doesn’t come around often.”

Oh no. She’d been hoping she was wrong about the way Helen looked at Frank.

“And I . . . He’s just such a nice man.”

Annalise tried not to wince. “Helen, Frank is . . . complicated.”

Helen looked at her, a bit of mother in her eyes. “I know about his wife—your aunt, Annalise. You don’t have to shield me. He told me how she died of cancer and how he wished he’d been around more. How his job consumed him. But he’s nearing retirement age, and it would be nice to have someone—”

“No, Helen, uh—” Shoot. Annalise hadn’t quite meant to cut her off like that, but—“Frank isn’t exactly who he seems.”

Helen frowned. “What?”

Oh! Her lies were like soup around her, filling her pores, dragging her under.

“He’s just . . . he’s got a bit of a checkered past.”

“You mean his military experience? He told me how he was involved in . . . something
off the books
.”

She said it like he might be James Bond or something, not enough fear in her voice.
Way to go, Uncle Frank.

“I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

Helen smiled. “You’re so sweet, Annalise. The perfect daughter-in-law. I’m so thankful you came into our lives.” She leaned over, popped her a kiss on the cheek, then wiped off the lipstick. “I promise to be careful.”

She made to get up, but Annalise caught her hand. “Helen, can I ask you a question?”

Helen sat back down on the hard tile. “Of course, honey.”

“Would you ever want to leave Deep Haven?”

Helen frowned, then gave a quick laugh. “Why? This is my home.”

“But—well, Nathan said he sometimes wishes that he could start over, and . . . it got me wondering.”

“Oh, sweetie, I’m too old to start over. No. We belong in Deep Haven. I can’t imagine living anywhere else. Sure, we’ve had our troubles here, but you don’t quit on your life, don’t leave it all behind. Hard times make you stronger. More compassionate.” She covered Annalise’s hand with hers. “Nathan struggled with that, I know. He bore so much of the scandal on his shoulders. But he belongs here too. And when he becomes mayor, he might finally believe it.”

Annalise leaned her head back against the cold tile. “What if your mistakes are so big they could destroy you?”

She didn’t really mean for that to slip out. But sitting here with a woman who had been everything of a mother to her, she had to ask.

To her surprise, Helen didn’t startle, didn’t even flinch. She just squeezed Annalise’s hand. “Then you press on and pray that those mistakes don’t come back to find you.”

Annalise drew in a breath, held it.

The door opened. “Mom!” Colleen danced into the bathroom. “What are you and Grandma doing in here? We won!” She hovered above both of them, holding out her hands, palms up.

Annalise slapped one. Helen high-fived the other.

“We’re going to the sectional semifinals on Tuesday!” Behind Colleen, two more players pushed into the bathroom, cheering, high-fiving, hugging.

No. By Tuesday they might have vanished from Deep Haven completely.

They were right for each other, and they did want the same things. Nathan just had to fix this, tell Annalise the truth, and everything would go back to normal.

His marriage wasn’t in trouble.

He had to face the fact that he’d made a mess of things. John’s words just wouldn’t let him go:
Secrets sabotage a marriage. Doesn’t matter how big they are.

Indeed, how many times had he heard Pastor Dan say it— a marriage filled with lies was a leaky ship.

He tugged his bathrobe tight around him and stepped into the leather slippers Annalise had given him for Christmas last year.

Stopping by Jason’s room as he walked down the hall to the kitchen, he knocked, then stuck his head in.

Jason sat on his bed, his computer on his lap, typing.

“What are you doing?”

Jason turned the computer screen. Facebook. “Chatting with the cast of the show. We’re talking about costumes. We’re thinking of doing
Romeo and Juliet
as steampunk.”

Whatever that was. But, “Hey, Son, congratulations on getting that role.” Nathan wrapped his hand around the doorframe. “You know, you could talk to me about it next time. I don’t like you hiding things from me.”

Jason closed the computer lid. “I know. I’m sorry, Dad. I just thought . . . I thought you’d be angry.”

“That’s fair. How about I try not to be angry and you give it to me straight, like a man?”

Jason smiled.

Maybe he should take his own advice. He closed his son’s door.

Annalise sat at the kitchen table, only the glow of the computer lighting her face. The outside light illuminated their front porch, the street, all the way over to his mother’s stoop. The light glowed through the curtains at her window.

He’d become accustomed to Annalise’s addiction to having their house lit up like it was high noon outside.

Annalise still wore her Husky fan attire. The woman knew how to deck out for a volleyball game. She had taken her earrings off, however, and the two volleyballs lay on the table, where she played with them as she stared at her computer.

He slid onto a chair beside her. “Hey.”

She glanced up, and if he didn’t know better, he’d think she was looking at something, well, illicit. Wide eyes, drawn breath.

He couldn’t help leaning over and checking her screen. “You’re reading a blog?” He read the top. “Kylie’s Korner. Cute.”

Nathan scooted his chair over to study the picture. The woman looked familiar, but he couldn’t place her. She held a pretty baby—big blue eyes, dark hair. “Who is she?”

He glanced at Annalise.
Did she just wipe her cheek?

“No one. I just follow certain blogs. This woman posts pictures of her daughter. Lives in St. Louis.”

“Cute kid.” He touched the screen. “Reminds me of Colleen. The same chubby cheeks.”

Annalise closed the notebook. Palmed the top of it. Gave him a smile in the semidarkness. It didn’t meet her eyes.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded. “Great game tonight, huh?”

He didn’t want to talk about the game. “Lise, I have to talk to you about something.”

Another fake smile. So maybe he should start with an apology. Again. Better than the one he’d given her in the coffee shop.

“Honey, I’m so sorry for . . . for hurting you.” He took a breath, finding solace in how her eyes softened. “I’m not cut out to be mayor.”

“Oh, Nathan.” Her hand closed over his. “If anyone should be mayor, it’s you. You know this town and what it needs more than anyone. And you’re not just aware of the issues, but you care about the people in this town. You’re practically on staff down at the senior center. They love you. I know you’ll be the best mayor this town has ever had.”

Her words could slake his thirst, keep him sane. He touched his forehead to her soft hand.

They
were
meant to be together. She confirmed it in her quiet words. “I’m sorry I embarrassed you at the coffee shop.”

He waited for her to take back what she’d said about their marriage too, but she didn’t speak.

Okay. Fine. “It’s okay.”

Looking up, Nathan found her gaze on him, her eyes watery. He ran his thumb across her cheek, catching a tear. “We’re supposed to be together, Lise.”

She gave him a smile. Nodded.

The tension eased out of his chest. John was wrong: Nathan knew his wife, knew she hadn’t meant it. They had a great marriage. It wasn’t going down in the storm.

Still, he had to do the hard part.

“I need to tell you something. . . . I charged over ten thousand dollars to our credit card.”

This did get an eyebrow raise. A swallow. “Oh.”

“I know; I’m so sorry. I was buying these lawn signs and the banner and the radio spots, and then I had to put down a deposit on the luncheon space, and the food cost more than what the donors gave, and . . . I’m sorry. I should have told you.”

She just watched him, waiting. See, this was why he loved her. Because no matter what he did, what he said, what mistakes he made, nothing seemed to rattle her. She was solid. Unflappable. A rock to his crazy shifting sand.

She made him believe that, yes, everything would work out fine.

“But listen, I just acquired the old McIntyre place, and . . . well, the commission on that might be tidy. We’ll get the card paid off, no problem.”

She reached up to touch his cheek. “I’m not worried. You’re the most responsible man I know, Nathan. And the most honorable.” Her eyes glistened. “I don’t deserve you.”

He frowned at that. “Of course you do.”

“No.” She shook her head. “No, I don’t. There are things . . .”
Her hand slid away from his face, back to the laptop. “Things you don’t know about me. Things I didn’t tell you.”

Oh, Annalise.
He took her hands. “Honey, I know there are things you haven’t told me. Sometimes I think there’s a line in your past, and I just can’t cross it, no matter how hard I try. And with Uncle Frank here, you’ve been acting . . . Well, it’s made me realize that perhaps I should pay more attention to you. But I’ve decided that if you don’t want to tell me, I don’t need to know. You’re an amazing woman, an amazing wife. Your past is behind you—it’s not a part of our lives. And I promise, there is nothing you could tell me that would change the way I feel about you.”

She looked stripped. Not quite the expression he’d thought to evoke from her.

“Really?”

The way she said it, almost a whisper, caused that eerie feeling to creep up his spine, settle in his chest. But he nodded.

“Nathan, I—I’m not who—”

“What is your uncle doing at my mother’s house?” Nathan stood up so fast that his chair dumped over, clattering on the floor.

Frank was on his mother’s front porch, one hand braced on the frame, leaning in like . . . like . . .

“Stop!” He’d reached the door before he could stop himself. Flung it open. Barely heard Annalise.

“Nathan, stop—”

But he was already outside and charging across the lawn. “Don’t you dare kiss her!”

It occurred to him that he might have simply stood on the porch. Or stayed in his driveway. But he’d lost a good part of his head seeing the way his mother—his mother!—smiled at the man. As if she
wanted
him to kiss her.

Halfway across the road Nathan began to slip. Frost already slicked the street, and his leather slippers skidded like skis, first one foot, then the other. With a shout, he felt himself pitch forward. He overcorrected and spilled back. Then his arms flailed as he flew into the air and landed with a spark of heat and stars on the pavement.

He lay there, just breathing, dressed in his drawers, his robe, and nothing else. His slippers had abandoned him, and perhaps even the stars laughed, winking as they were.

“Nathan!”

And now he felt about five years old as his mother jogged toward him. He sat up in time to see Frank’s hand extended to him.

He wanted to slap it away. But Nathan was going to be mayor, after all, and his training kicked in.

You never knew who was watching.

Frank helped him up. “You okay? That was a pretty spectacular spill.”

Nathan glanced at his mother, still coming toward him, then stepped close to Frank, cutting his voice low while he still had the chance. It took everything inside him not to grab him by the neck. “You watch yourself, Uncle Frank. That’s my mother you were . . . leaning toward.”

Frank’s eyes searched Nathan’s, something of sadness in them. “I know,” he said softly. Then he turned to Helen.

She stood in the street, her mouth open.

Apparently Nathan hadn’t been as quiet as he’d hoped.

“I’ll see you in the morning?” Frank said to her.

Helen directed her words to Nathan. “Yes. Church starts at ten.” Then she tightened her mouth into a tiny bud of fury and strode into her house, not looking back.

So he’d end the day as a twelve-year-old also. Nice.

Nathan followed Frank inside and stood like a gladiator at the top of the stairs, making sure the man descended into the basement. Then he sat in the kitchen, watching his mother’s light until it finally flickered off.

When he returned to his room, Annalise lay on her side of the bed, bundled for Siberia, asleep.

Tucker just wanted to apologize. Colleen’s words as she’d slammed her way out of his car had eaten at him all day. Sure, he’d had girls yell at him—one even slapped him—but . . . what had gotten into her head?

Maybe she’d been feeling angry or lonely. He’d done crazy, stupid things that first year after his parents split. Ditched school, some vandalism—though, c’mon, everyone wanted to spray-paint the giant bear statue in the park. And yes, he’d even ended up in foster care for a while.

But then he’d started snowboarding, and that funneled his energy into something useful and good.

He’d started lifting to feel stronger. Healthier. As if he might belong in the weight room with the other jocks, even if he could lift only a fraction of the weight the arrogant football players could.

He probably shouldn’t tell Colleen that he also hung around with the gymnastics team sometimes, using their trampoline to work on his slope style and half-pipe techniques.

And he’d started running. Saturday mornings, usually, before he went to work. It helped his endurance and his ability to recover his energy between events.

Maybe he should have explained some of that to Colleen when
she wanted to smoke dope. Didn’t she want to play college volleyball? She’d worked so hard to do something with her life. Her behavior last night made no sense. He just wanted to make things right between them, start over. Fix it.

Which could explain why the smart part of his brain clicked off. Why he found himself parked at the Laundromat after the volleyball game, then heading to her house. Inside, the windows were dark, even if the outside glowed like a giant Christmas light. He felt like a burglar as he snuck up to her window in the back of the house, just outside the glow.

He climbed onto an overturned tin bucket, probably covering one of the rosebushes Mrs. Decker tended. Then he rapped on the window. Waited. Knocked again.

They’d done this once before, a few weeks back when Colleen called him at 1 a.m. He’d been home alone and yes, sure, he’d come over. He didn’t expect her to want to sneak out, but she had—trundled right out of her window and into his arms.

They’d made out under the stars. It scared him a little how far she’d let him go, and he’d been the one to stop.

He’d gotten her back to her room by 3 a.m., skulking away like a bandit.

Now he just wanted her to look in his eyes and tell him that she still wanted him in her life.

He tried not to admit the entire thing felt desperate. He knocked again.

The curtain moved away, and there she stood, wearing blue pajamas, her long blonde hair loose. She stared at him with a frown as he held his breath.

Then she slid open the window. “What are you doing here?” But she didn’t sound angry—only curious. And oh, she was so
pretty, even with her makeup off—especially with her makeup off. Fresh and pure and sweet. Like the first time he saw her, smiling at him after he’d come off the half-pipe.

He liked her just like this.