Annabel had been in rehab for several weeks now, speech and movement returning. She had too much time to think, though. Memories she’d kept at bay for years lurked in her mind, waiting to torment her again. Like Mother. Like the spring of 1974.
She didn’t want to remember anymore. She wanted to feel like herself again, the Annabel who’d made peace with her life, who didn’t think about the past.
I want to go home and sleep in my own bed.
Soon. She glanced at the walker. Yesterday she’d made one lap, all the way to the end of the hall and back. She could talk now, and people understood her, even if she slurred her words.
If it weren’t for the visits from her family and friends, she’d go crazy. Tess usually came by after work, easy enough since she lived in the city. Sharon drove in from Marin County in the evening, sometimes with her fiancé, Gil. Adam came when he could get away from school down at Stanford. Lindsey and Gretchen were regular visitors. Annabel was glad Lindsey had been able to get word to Lily, who’d visited yesterday afternoon and promised to return. And of all the surprising things, she’d gotten a phone call from Inspector Niebuhr.
Hal came to see her daily. On a work day, he dropped in before going to the office and again in the evening, before going home. Today he’d arrived just after noon, bringing lunch from a nearby deli. Her bed had been raised to a sitting position. Hal maneuvered the tray in front of her. He reached into a bag he’d set on the floor, took out two plastic containers, and removed the lids. “I got chicken with pesto and prosciutto with melon balls.”
Annabel smiled. Steady, reliable Hal, so considerate, so supportive. After all these years she had grown to love him. Their relationship was comfortable, without much passion. It wasn’t the way it had been with... No. She tightened her mouth. No more memories.
Annabel tucked a paper napkin into the collar of her bed jacket and clenched her hand around the plastic spoon. She scooped up salad and aimed for her mouth. Salty prosciutto contrasted with the sweet marble-sized balls of honeydew melon and cantaloupe. Juice dribbled from her mouth and she used the napkin to blot it. Hal screwed the tops off two bottles of soda and stuck a straw in hers. “Root beer for me, cream soda for you.” Annabel sipped her soda, then picked up her spoon again, digging it into the chicken salad.
Hal unwrapped a sandwich. “Roast beef and cheddar on an onion roll. Want some?” She shook her head.
Annabel ate several mouthfuls of chicken salad without making a mess. That was progress. Movement, speech, the everyday activities that one took for granted, were getting easier. It was certainly an improvement over the previous week, when she’d dumped fruit salad in her lap. Who ever thought she’d be so proud of not spilling her food?
They ate in companionable silence. Hal finished his sandwich and tossed the wrapper into the nearby wastebasket. Then he reached into the bag and brought out a small pink bakery box. He opened the lid, tilting the box with a flourish, to show her the contents. “We had tiramisu last time, so I got cannoli for a change.”
Annabel looked at the pastry tubes. She used to like cannoli, but not anymore. It reminded her of a deli in North Beach, a long time ago.
Stop, she told herself.
Someone knocked on the door, then pushed it open. The physical therapist, the tormenter. That’s the way Annabel had thought of her at first, when the therapist started the daily round of exercises. Now that she was making progress, she was grateful for the regimen.
“Mr. and Mrs. Norwood,” the woman said. “I’m following up after our physical therapy session this morning.”
“How’s she doing?” Hal asked.
“Pretty good,” Annabel said.
The therapist smiled. “Yes, you’re doing very well.”
Hal squeezed Annabel’s hand. “When can she come home?”
“The doctor and I think you’re ready,” the therapist said. “Now, Mr. Norwood, you said you’ve had a lift installed on the stairs in your home.”
Hal nodded. “And I hired someone to help around the house. We’ll get a nurse if you think that’s advisable.”
“In that case,” the therapist said, “you can go home tomorrow, Mrs. Norwood.”
“Terrific,” Hal said. After the therapist left, he reached for one of the cannoli. “I’m so glad you’re coming home. I’ve missed you. We have plans and schemes. You’re supposed to be the mother of the bride in August. Sharon and Gil talked about delaying the wedding, but I told them no. You’ll be your old self by then. We can boogie at our daughter’s wedding.”
“No boogie.” Annabel pointed at the walker. “Slow dance.”
“It’s something to shoot for.” Hal grinned.
“Board meeting this morning,” she said, carefully enunciating the words. “Tell me.”
He hesitated, not saying anything as he fitted the lids on the salad containers. “It was...contentious. Look, I know I’ve talked about it a lot during my visits. Just to be talking. I wasn’t sure how much you were taking in.”
“Enough.” She fixed him with a stern look. “What happened with Claire?”
He gathered up the remains of lunch and stowed them in the bag. “Max and I have been concerned about Claire’s machinations, but it’s going to be okay. We elected a new director this morning, Rod Llewellyn, who heads up our Houston operation.”
When she heard Rod’s name, Annabel’s hand tightened on the bedcovers. Hal continued with his account of that morning’s board meeting. When he got to the part about Claire’s attempt to have Annabel declared incapacitated and replaced as a board member, Annabel felt alarm. What would Claire do now that she’d lost this round?
Hal looked at his watch. “Didn’t realize what time it was. I need to get back to the office.” He leaned over and kissed her gently. “I love you.”
He picked up the shopping bag and left the room. A moment later the housekeeper entered the room, pushing her cart of cleaning supplies. “I’ll just be a minute, Mrs. Norwood. I’m going to empty the trash and give that bathroom a once-over.”
Annabel lay back against the pillows and let the memories come.