You Don't Know Me (16 page)

Frank didn’t even blink. “Nathan, I promise you that I’ll be out of your life as soon as possible.”

“Awesome. And until then, I’d like you to stay as far away from my mother as a town the size of Deep Haven allows. Got me?”

Frank nodded. “I’m sorry—”

“While you’re apologizing, maybe you could tell me what you said to my wife that has her so upset. What were you two talking about?”

When Frank pursed his lips, Nathan wanted to wrap his hands around the man’s throat and squeeze it out of him.

“Ask her,” Frank finally said. Then he went downstairs.

Nathan stood in the kitchen a moment, shaking, resisting the urge to go downstairs and throw Frank into the street.

He finished his water.

Set the glass in the sink.

Drew in a breath.

Yes, he’d ask his wife.

But Annalise lay curled under the covers in their bed, the blanket up to her ears. Her eyes were fiercely closed, as if she were already at battle in her dreams.

Shoot. But she’d slept so poorly the night before . . .

Nathan went into the bathroom and stared at himself in the mirror. He looked old. Even angry. He almost didn’t recognize himself.

Annalise had left her body cream jar open on the counter, and he reached to close it, taking a whiff first. Lilies. So that’s why she always smelled so good.

He replaced the lid, then brushed his teeth, changed into his pajamas, and crawled in beside her, listening to her breathe.

They hadn’t made up since their fight. Not really. Not like he wanted to.

I’m not leaving my husband!
Her words ricocheted inside his brain. Again. And again.

Please, God, don’t let her leave me.

Nathan turned to her, closed his eyes, smelled the skin of her neck. Then, because he didn’t want to wake her, he gently tucked his arm around her.

It took him a second, but he realized she wasn’t asleep.

“Lise, are you crying?” He rolled her to her back.

She covered her face with her hand.

“Lise, honey. What’s the matter?”

She didn’t answer him, just shook with her tears. Her grief had claws that dug into him as he lay there, helpless, swallowing his frustration.

She possessed the power to dismantle him when she cried.

He rested his forehead against her shoulder. “Please, Lise. Tell me.”

She shook her head, but he gently pulled her hand away and kissed her cheek, salty with tears.

“I . . .” She pressed a trembling hand to her mouth. “I miss my mother.”

Oh. Of course.

That’s what all this was about. What kind of idiot had he been not to figure it out? Maybe Frank was here to ask her to participate in some memorial or something. Something that bubbled the grief to the surface and trapped her inside the trauma of losing so much.

He’d been a jerk, caught in his own world, this stupid election. “Lise, I’m so sorry. Of course you do.”

“And my sister and brother. And my father. I really miss them.”

He resolved to be a better man, one without such a thick head, as he leaned back and drew her into his arms. He ran a hand through her soft, beautiful hair. “I know you do. I’m so, so sorry. I would have liked to meet them.”

Her breath hiccuped as she curled her hand into his pajama top. “You would like my father. He was a lot like you. Sensible. Kind. He . . . he helped people.”

She rarely talked about her family, so he didn’t interrupt. Just held her and ran one hand down her arm and felt a little bit like a heel for trying to remember the last time he’d had her in his arms like this.

“He was on the police force.”

Her father had been a cop?

“My mother loved to eat ice cream in the winter. She used to take my sister and me over to this Ferris wheel near our house. Once, Kylie got too close to the edge, and my mother went crazy. She was so overprotective.”

Kylie. She’d never told him her sister’s name, either. Or the story, but it did account for the way she had to ride the Ferris wheel at every amusement park they visited.

See, it was the little things that he longed to know about her. The little things that seemed to pain her too much to share.

“I’m so sorry about your family, honey. I can’t imagine losing my mother, and so suddenly. One day they’re with you, the next gone.” He kissed her hair. “I know it’s been hard. And having Frank here—I’ll bet he churns up all sorts of memories.”

She mumbled something. It sounded like
You have no idea.

Then she sighed and lifted her head.

Oh, she had beautiful eyes. Like the lake on a hot summer day, inviting and freeing, and in them he could forget who he was and just be. Just enjoy.

“He reminds me of all I have here. All I love. All I would never give up.”

Never give up.
It almost felt like relief, the way her words settled into his chest and allowed him to breathe again.

“You are so beautiful.”

Probably not the right moment to say that, with her face reddened, her hair stringy . . . but she’d never looked more beautiful to him. In fact, she might have grown more beautiful every day.

“I’m sorry we fought, Annalise. I promise I’ll be a better man for you.”

Her smile dimmed, and for a moment he thought he’d blown it. But then she gave him a look he’d never quite seen before.

And she kissed him.

She tasted like salt and the toothpaste she’d used before bed and the sweetness of the wife of his youth. She sank into him. He rolled over, cradling her in his arms, deepening his kiss.

Oh, how he loved her. The day she had walked into his life, everything turned bright and crisp and colorful. How he’d missed her these last few days—or maybe weeks. Months?

Now, in the dim light, her smile in her eyes as he leaned back and ran his thumb down her face, it felt like eternity.

“I love you, Lise. We belong together, always.”

She only nodded and clung to him.

But her words on the porch returned to him.

Nathan had the eerie feeling that she was saying good-bye.

“If I have cancer, I’m not telling Nathan, and you can’t either, Paula.”

Dr. Paula Walgren sat on a rolling stool at the exam room desk, wearing a lab coat over her black sweater, matching pants, and felt clogs. With her short blonde hair and hazel eyes, she could be Helen’s younger sister. She’d been a young woman out of medical school, doing her residency at the local hospital, when Helen came in the first time. Paula had walked with her through chemo, her bone marrow transplant, and every year she held her breath with Helen as they waited for test results.

Now she looked up from the chart at Helen, who sat on the exam table, nearly frozen in her flimsy cotton gown. Outside, the air smelled of rain, chilly as a mist drifted off the lake.

“Helen, if your cancer is back, you’ll need your family around you.”

“Of course. After the holiday season.” She gave Paula a smile, hoping it looked real.

She couldn’t do this to Nathan again. Not now, when he was going to win the mayoral race. He had his own life to live—he couldn’t drop everything to nurse his mother to health again. And Annalise had a full life too, taking care of the children, volunteering in town.

Helen understood exactly why Frank’s wife had kept her secret from him. Frank might blame himself, but no one wanted to be treated like an invalid. No one wanted pity.

No, she definitely wouldn’t tell Frank. Not after last night.

Not after that kiss.

Her hand nearly went to her lips when she remembered his touch, brief and whisper sweet. She still had a difficult time believing it.

Life doesn’t have to be perfect to be happy. And sometimes you have to find those happy places in between the pain.
Her own words echoed back to her.

Last night had been a happy place.

She intended to stay there as long as possible. Selfish, perhaps, but she couldn’t bear to have her family drop their lives for her, knowing that this time, well . . . “And no chemotherapy. I’ll take a vacation to Italy, enjoy my days.”

Her own words made her chuckle. Italy. Right. But Frank’s questions had stirred a curiosity inside her. Why didn’t she travel, see the world? Now might be her only chance.

Funny how since he’d smiled her direction, second chances seemed at her fingertips.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here, Helen. Let’s get some blood, run some tests, and we’ll go from there.” Paula stood, tucked the chart under her arm, and touched Helen on the shoulder. “In the meantime, take it easy and see if you feel better. I promise to call you when we get the results.”

She left, but Helen didn’t have to wait for the results to know. The bruise on her arm had faded, but she had another on her hip where she’d banged into the counter yesterday and a third on her forearm, although she had no idea how she’d gotten that.

No more nosebleeds, but today she’d lain in her bed like a sack of potatoes, looking at the ceiling, wondering how she’d aged a year overnight. Her bones became rocks, her muscles like noodles.

If she wasn’t ill again, she would sign up for Pilates or something after the New Year. Or look for a vacation home in Florida. Something on the beach. She’d use her savings and live large. Go deep-sea fishing, catch a shark.

A knock came at the door and a nurse entered. How well Helen remembered the days when she’d been the one drawing blood, taking temperatures and blood pressures. She’d finally transferred to the hospital, working in maternity, then the ER.

She liked being needed, helping others through traumatic moments. Retirement had left her with long, empty days, and without Annalise and the children, she might have lost herself.

But perhaps even they didn’t need her as much anymore.

“Helen Decker?” the nurse asked. She wore pink scrubs and had her long brown hair pulled back into a messy ponytail.

When Helen was her age, they wore white uniforms
and
a cap. “Yes.”

The nurse rattled off Helen’s birth date and Social Security
number, which Helen confirmed. “I’m just going to take some blood,” she said as she pulled out the phlebotomy kit.

Helen watched her movements, trying not to be critical.

She found the vein in one stick.

“Good job,” Helen said as the nurse removed the tourniquet.

“Thank you.” The nurse filled the tube and labeled it. “You’re done.” She covered the wound with a cotton ball and a Band-Aid. “Have a nice day, Mrs. Decker.”

Mrs. Decker.
She’d opted to keep her name, believing it easier for Nathan. But perhaps she didn’t want to be Helen Decker anymore. What if she went back to her maiden name, Helen Gilbertson? Or even . . .

Helen Harrison.

She might indeed be a little ill . . . in the head. Still, she glanced at herself in the mirror and smiled.

Helen changed out of the gown, back into her clothing, then waved to the staff as she exited. Outside, her dress shoes sloshed through puddles, and the air smelled soggy. The sky betrayed nothing of the sun.

Soon, however, the wind would turn crisp, and maybe even before Halloween, flakes might drift from the sky. She loved the change in seasons, the anticipation of sparkling light on new-fallen snow, the harbor iced over for skaters, Christmas wreaths decking the old-fashioned lamps along Main Street. And then, just when she tired of winter, spring arrived with the buds on the mountain ash, the freshness of the pine trees sporting their new growth.

Yes, she liked change. So what had held her back from embracing it outside Deep Haven?

Helen turned up her collar. Watched her steps. She could imag
ine the spectacle of falling in the parking lot, adding another bruise to her collection.

She made it to her car, climbed in, and turned on the heat, tucking her hands in her pockets to warm them up.

What if she did have cancer? Would she really keep it to herself?

More importantly, what if she
didn’t
have cancer?

She remembered Miriam’s words:
A man couldn’t get close to you if he tried.

Not true. Okay, maybe a little true. But she’d let Frank close last night and it wasn’t terrible. Far, actually, from terrible.

Maybe she had been punishing herself for thirty years.

Whether she had cancer or not, it was time to live.

She put the car in reverse, pulled out, then drove across town to the grocery store, passing the lake, white-peaked and restless today. She needed milk, eggs, flour, and she had noticed a special on pork roasts in the paper. What if she tried one of those fancy resort recipes in the cookbook Miriam had given her for Christmas a few years ago? Maybe that roast pork with the lingonberry glaze. She could mash golden potatoes, bake homemade orange rolls. She would invite her family—and Frank, of course—for a nice dinner tonight. Pull out her unused china, the fancy cross-stitched tablecloth her aunt Audrey had given her for her wedding.

Yes, she’d start living large. First in Deep Haven and then the world.

After dinner, she could sign on to the Internet—Nathan could show her how—and look for vacation places in Florida. Or even Italy.

Maybe Frank would want to go with her.

Her thoughts stopped right there. She just might be rushing things a little with Frank.

But he
had
kissed her.

She could start living large in love too.

Helen felt a smile through her entire body as she floated through the grocery store, picking up the pork roast, the can of lingonberries, and enough potatoes to feed an army. She lifted the bag off the bottom shelf. Oh, how had she gotten so weak?

Maybe she shouldn’t wait until the New Year to join a Pilates class or one of those kettlebell classes she kept reading about in the Deep Haven paper.

She loaded the groceries onto the checkout belt, swiped her card, and watched as the bagger packed them in a couple plastic bags.

“I can carry those,” she said and lifted them, one in each hand.

Black spun before her eyes and she wobbled back, banging her hip against the counter.

“Are you sure?” the bag boy said.

Helen blinked away the blackness. “Yes, of course. I don’t need any help.”

She gritted her jaw as she walked out and piled the bags into the backseat of the car.

Thanks, but she could take care of herself, and she wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of her second chance.

If she could talk some sense into her daughter, maybe Annalise could stop panicking, think clearly.

Maybe she could talk herself into doing what was right.

She had to leave. She had to let her family keep their lives while making sure they stayed safe.

As soon as Annalise uttered the words to Frank, they’d clung to
her, rooted, taken on life. She could leave, hide, and when—okay,
if
—Frank caught Garcia, she’d return.

Maybe they’d never forgive her. But they’d be alive. And they’d have their lives intact.

That had to be better than running.

Anything had to be better than holding on to lies.

Please, let Colleen see that and confide in her. See that her mother just wanted the best for her. Take with her some nugget of truth to guide her.

Tucker wasn’t some sort of Romeo, haunting her window to win her heart. He’d take it, use it, and tear it to pieces. Nothing of romance in that picture at all. The fact that he’d snuck into her room should shout it in stereo to Colleen.

She prayed that Colleen would hear her, believe her, decide to wait.

Wait for someone like Nathan.

Annalise closed her eyes, the memory of his embrace enfolding her. Last night he’d made her feel safe and comforted, and he’d reminded her that he was exactly the man she expected him to be. And because she knew how fragile life had become, she nudged away her doubts and just loved him back.

So he wasn’t wild and reckless. So he’d never turned her to fire inside with some romantic passion.

He kissed her tears.

Told her she was beautiful.

I promise I’ll be a better man for you.

It broke her heart to think that he believed he wasn’t.

If anyone could take care of their family after she left, Nathan could. That part gave her peace.

She’d met him for lunch today—and tried to ignore Frank
sitting outside in the parking lot, watching her like a dog. After she left, she wanted Nathan to believe that it hadn’t been his fault. That he’d done everything right. So she’d glad-handed his eager constituents and eaten a dry salad and kissed him good-bye, smiling.

Aching inside.

Then she’d gone home and spent too much time packing a bag with some of her memories. Nothing that would reveal too much of her life, but things like the diamond necklace Nathan had given her on their twentieth anniversary.

And Colleen’s old blanket—she wouldn’t miss that. It had been balled in the back of her closet for at least a year. But it still smelled like her.

A poem Jason wrote in fourth grade listing his favorite things,
Mommy
written right below
Christmas
.

Henry’s favorite book, the one she read over and over—
Corduroy
, the bear without a home.

She’d packed it all up and shoved the bag in the garage for that moment when she would tell Frank she was ready. She’d have to wait until she left for her makeup, her shoes and clothes, if she didn’t want Nathan to suspect something. But she could replace all that if she had to. She couldn’t replace her memories.

Once the bag was stowed, she’d gone to the school and parked there. Watched the kids stream out. Now the other volleyball players had begun to emerge, their athletic bags swinging over their shoulders.

Annalise pressed against the swill in her stomach. She’d been dreading this all day, remembering too well a similar conversation playing out so many years ago with her own mother.

Annalise had run away that night and given her life over to a nightmare.

Colleen appeared through the double doors. Annalise found a smile for her as she climbed into the SUV. “Hey, sweetie. How was practice? I’ll bet you’re tired.” Oh, too bright, too happy.

Colleen shot her a look, wariness in it. “I’m okay.” She swung her backpack into the seat behind her.