“Anymore or any more?” Annette asked, addressing the question to the world at large. It was already dark outside and the shadows were long inside the industrial loft she shared as a workspace with her cousin Jonathan. Her aunt Maralys had built her software business here, in a building that had once been a pickle factory in downtown Boston, and Jonathan had taken over the space when Maralys sold her business and hung up her keyboard. At night in the winter, it seemed to Annette that the space recalled its roots: the cold that emanated from the old bricks always carried a whiff of vinegar. If it got really cold, she could smell dill. She tugged on a pair of fingerless gloves that she kept nearby and considered the design for a new T-shirt.
“Anymore or anymore?” Jonathan echoed.
“Anymore or any space more,” she clarified.
“Depends on context,” Jonathan said on his side of the space. They’d divided it with a solid yellow line, like one down the middle of a paved road, with dashes for passing from Annette’s side on one half of the line, and dashes for passing from Jonathan’s side on the other. His side was filled with computers and bits of hardware, any one of which was probably important. The far wall was covered with monitors, which had prompted him paying the electrical bill. Annette liked how they glowed and she didn’t mind her cousin’s sound system either.
Their taste in music varied wildly, though.
Her side of the line was cluttered with supplies and inventory for her T-shirt business. The largest horizontal surface had three silkscreen presses. There were shelves of ink, buckets of embellishments and a massive bulletin board jammed with ideas. The glass brick windows let in a suffused light in daytime that Annette liked a lot. At one end of her space was her carefully stacked inventory, and inevitable, a pile of packages ready to be shipped. The courier stopped in daily, providing some eye candy.
The industrial elevator rose in the middle of the space and the new arrival was confronted with the line, then Jonathan’s software business to the left and Annette’s T-shirt business to the right. Behind the elevator was a bathroom and kitchen, both of which were showing their age. Even though no one was supposed to stay overnight in the unit, which was zoned industrial, Maralys had lived here and Annette now did, too.
“Context?” she asked, looking across the loft.
Predictably, Jonathan had Googled her question. He was her full service dictionary, glossary and fact-checker, far better than Siri or Alexa.
“Any more, with a space, refers to quantity, while anymore...”
“No space.”
He nodded. “...refers to time.”
“I don’t want any space more orders before the holidays,” Annette said. “Because I don’t feel festive anymore.”
“Exactly.” The screen flashed and he returned to whatever he’d been doing before. She knew it was code displayed and that was enough.
Her monitor, in contrast, was showing a graphics program. She completed the image—no space—and sent it to the printer. Once she checked the size and composition on a shirt, she’d make a screen and get to work. This was her last design for the year, and its lack of holiday spirit appealed to her.
Her Goth clients would love it, too.
She’d print it on black T-shirts, then do some on red ones, too. No, burgundy. She still had a good stock of those. Silver ink with a bit of red on the black shirts. Black with a bit of gold on the burgundy ones. It would work.
It was quiet in the loft after that, just the sound of Jonathan’s keys tapping, which meant he had his earphones on. Annette glanced over to see that he was nodding in time to some beat. As usual, his massive insulated coffee cup was beside him, steam rising from the top. She made herself a cup of herbal tea in her fave raku skull mug and set to work.
She didn’t interrupt him until she’d pulled the first shirt, silver ink on black. It would have to dry before she could add the red accents, but it already looked good. She slipped the T-shirt onto a hanger and crossed the loft, being sure to step over the line where it was dotted on her side. Jonathan was her toughest critic, but he really understood her market. Even if he said something that annoyed her, he was invariably right.
The real reason they had the line was so that they didn’t surprise each other. Jonathan could see her coming, even from his peripheral vision, when she crossed in the assigned zone. It had only taken one tragic incident with a cup being knocked over, spilling twenty ounces of coffee into at least three keyboards, to lead to the plan.
He turned and lifted off his earphones as she approached. “The new design unveiled,” he said, his tone teasing. He was a good-looking guy, if too serious in Annette’s opinion—and as the older cousin, she got to have an opinion, in her view. His hair had stayed chestnut brown and wavy, like his dad’s, and he had green eyes. His older brother, JD, had dark hair and blue eyes, favoring their mom more. The brothers couldn’t be more different: JD had gone to law school and was ambitious and driven. Jonathan had gone to MIT and half the time seemed to be on another planet, dreaming up the future. Annette considered it her responsibility to remind him to eat and sleep.
“I’d give you the first one, if you’d wear it.”
Jonathan read the slogan and smiled. “‘The trouble with society is that no one drinks from the skulls of their enemies anymore.’” He met her gaze. “The cup runneth over.”
“It does. What do you think?”
“The graphic has a kind of punk sensibility that fits the quote. What goes on the back?”
“That’ll be the second screening. A line of skull chalices, then the website url. Teeny. Here.”
“Are you going to color break it?”
“I was planning for some red. This chalice. Maybe the words society, skulls, and enemies.”
They debated the merit of the color break for a few minutes, then Jonathan made a suggestion. His tone was so casual that Annette noticed the difference immediately. “Why don’t you ask Tina?”
She propped a hand on her hip, although she was secretly glad that he was aware of any other humans in the world. Still, he needed to learn better how to interact with them if he was ever going to have more than one date with a woman. He was such a geek. “So, she can come here to see it and you can just happen to talk to her and finally get around to asking her to come to Rosemount for Christmas dinner.”
Jonathan grimaced and reached for his headphones. “Okay, bad idea.”
“Late idea,” Annette corrected. “It is the twenty-first. Even the most disorganized people know what they’re doing on the big day at this point.”
“I’m not disorganized.”
“No, you’re shy.”
“I’m not...!”
“Yes, you are. I don’t know why. You don’t look half bad, you’re smart, you have a successful company, you clean up well.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“And a geek, if not a nerd.”
“Don’t go crazy building my confidence here.”
“Once you warm up to someone, you don’t have a problem with conversation.”
“There’s a small mercy.”
“I’m saying you can do it when you want to.”
Jonathan grimaced. “I don’t meet a lot of people doing what I do.”
“Funny, isn’t it?” Annette surveyed the loft. “Stuck in an old pickle factory alone with your computers and you don’t end up with a busy social life.” She leaned closer. “You need to leave this place sometimes.”
“I leave every day!”
“To go home and sleep. That’s not quite what I mean.”
“I go to my clients.”
Annette snorted. “Once a year! Everything else you do online. You’re like a hermit, locked in his cave, letting his toenails grow to epic proportions...”
“I have better grooming than that.”
“Good thing.”
He lifted a finger. “And I go to the gym, which you do not.”
“Right.” Annette silently acknowledged that he was right, but exercise was so boring.
Jonathan folded his arms across his chest and gave her a skeptical look. “And I’m supposed to take dating advice from you? The eternal virgin?”
“I’m not a virgin!”
“How would I be able to tell?”
“You are my cousin,” she replied sternly. “You’re not supposed to be able to tell. That would be gross.”
“I mean that you don’t have a fabulous social life either.”
“I’m picky,” she argued.
Jonathan continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Even though you do leave this place once in a while, it’s to make deliveries to shops and stalls.”
“Owned by women,” Annette acknowledged with a grimace. She leaned against the desk. “It is a sad sad thing when the arrival of the courier each day is the man-candy highlight.”
“Especially the guy we have now,” Jonathan acknowledged.
Annette sighed at the truth of that.
“There’s a whole new year coming up,” Jonathan said after a long pause. “And New Year’s is a great time for resolutions.”
Annette marched back to her side and hung up the shirt to dry. “I hate resolutions. I never keep them, so I end up feeling like a loser.”
Jonathan followed her. “So, we police each other.”
“What is it about the word police that sets my teeth on edge?”
“We help each other. Coach each other.”
Annette turned to look at him. “What’s the goal?”
“Sex. More sex for both of us, but not with each other.” There was a challenging glint in his eyes and he looked a lot more hot than usual.
“We help each other get lucky?”
“No one else is in line to do it.”
Annette smiled. “Good point.”
“Think about it.” Jonathan was trying to persuade her, which Annette found interesting. “You know women.”
“Like Tina.”
“I know guys. We should be able to pool resources here and get some excellent results.”
“But all the guys you know are at the gym.”
“And they have discounts this time of year for new members.”
Annette winced. “I don’t want to exercise. I want someone who loves me just the way I am.”
“I think you’re kind of cute, even though you being a relative puts you outside of the field of contenders.”
“But...fluffy.” Was it better if she said it?
“You just need to believe that you’re attractive, Annette. Confidence makes a huge difference.”
“Flopping around on a yoga mat like a beached whale isn’t going to help with that.”
“You’re curvy. I know guys who are seriously into that.”
Annette regarded him with suspicion. “Hot guys?”
Jonathan nodded.
“And I know women who think nerds are hot,” she admitted.
“Sounds like a deal that’s destined to be.” Jonathan offered his hand. “Should we wait for January or start now?”
“I suppose that depends on whether Tina’s available or not.”
Jonathan grinned. “I guess it does.”
“Well, her schedule rules. If you want to see her, you need to be here whenever she can come. I’m seriously asking a favor for her to drop by this close to Christmas.”
“Deal,” he agreed easily, returning to his side of the loft. He didn’t sit down to work, though, just leaned against his desk and sipped his coffee, watching as she made the call.
She was waiting for Tina to answer when Jonathan cleared his throat.
“I suppose you heard that Grandma is selling the Jag.”
“What?!” Annette terminated the call as it went to voice mail. “That’s my car.”
“It’s not your car,” Jonathan scoffed. “It’s her car and she told me today that she’s going to sell it. She asked if I wanted to buy it, but I don’t.”
“She never asked me!”
“Everyone knows you can’t afford two vehicles and how would you do deliveries in the Jag? Your Kia is more sensible.”
“But I love that car. I learned to drive a stick on that car.”
“It’s not that reliable anymore,” Jonathan said then gave her a look. Their gazes met for a minute. “Knock out some great designs and buy a new one.”
“Vintage is better.”
“Only if you don’t have to pay the mechanic’s bills. That’s what I told Grandma. I think some guy at the garage is interested.” He snapped his fingers. “Hey, maybe you should date him and live vicariously.”
“Very funny,” Annette said, her mood soured by the news. She called Tina again and waited for the voice mail. She listened to the message, aware that Jonathan was waiting and smiled as she ended the call. “We’re off to a lousy start,” she told him. “Tina’s gone skiing in Quebec for two weeks.”
“But you asked and I appreciate it. Now I owe you one.”
“Are you going to tell me more?”
“Nope. Just come to the gym with me by New Year’s and sign up.”
Annette made a face at the prospect of working out regularly, even of going to the gym.
“Lots of hot guys there,” Jonathan said, obviously guessing the direction of her thoughts.
“But do they think about anything other than sculpting their abs?”
“Sex. They think about sex.”
Annette admitted that had promise.
“I go there and I don’t think about my abs,” Jonathan continued.
“Okay.” Annette nodded. “Okay. Let’s do this thing. I’ll go tomorrow and sign up.” She gave her cousin the eye. “If I don’t get lucky in thirty days, though, I’m going to cancel the membership and the deal.”
“Thirty days,” Jonathan agreed. “But you at least have to talk to each guy I introduce to you.”
“Right. You, too. And we each need go out for coffee, at least, with one out of three.”
“Okay.”
They met at the line and shook on it. Despite herself and despite the conditions of the deal, Annette found herself looking forward to the new year.
If not the gym.
“Let’s consider it a warning,” Dr. Wendy Moss said as she stepped back and smiled at James.
James Coxwell didn’t smile in return. “A warning of dire things to come,” he said, sounding as grim as Maralys felt.
Maralys kept her arms wrapped tightly around herself, feeling as if she had to physically keep from falling to pieces. It shook her to see James anything less than his usual confident and strong self.
She was used to thinking of him as a kind of Superman, leaping tall buildings in a single bound, solving every crisis, and doing it all calmly and consistently. He wasn’t supposed to have a heart attack.
They were in the cardiac section of the emergency ward, far too early on Saturday morning. It was still dark outside, although it was busy enough in the hospital. Maralys knew that she was less than her usual stylish self—something about her husband awakening just after midnight with a moan that sounded ripped loose of his soul tended to mess with her game like that. Later, she’d probably be glad there were no mirrors in the ER. For the moment, she was worried about James.
He looked like hell. Well, slightly better than hell, which she supposed was an improvement. He wasn’t as pale as he had been. The man who never got sick, her anchor and her rock, had scared the life out of her just hours before.
“Can we go yet?” James asked, more irritable than was his habit. He picked at the adhesive circle holding a sensor in place on his chest.
“At least you’re well enough to be cranky,” Maralys said, hoping for a smile.
She got an intent look, which was almost as good. James still looked haggard and those electrodes were stuck all over his chest and back. The monitor was showing a steady pulse though and whatever the various squiggles meant in that line, Dr. Moss was happier about them now.
The doctor pushed the adhesive back, then lifted her clipboard. “So, let’s just do a quick review here. You run five miles three to four times a week.”
“Yes, with Maralys.”
“You don’t need to provide witnesses, counselor,” Dr. Moss teased and the corner of James’ mouth finally lifted. “This isn’t a cross examination.”
“Force of habit.”
“Your cholesterol isn’t bad. You must eat well.”
“Maralys took away the red meat,” James said. “We have steak twice a month, no more and no less.”
“First world problems,” Maralys interjected.
“More than a lot of other people,” Dr. Moss agreed.
“Point taken.”
“Fried foods?”
“Not in my kitchen,” Maralys said. “What they eat when they’re out is their business.”
“I avoid them, on advice of my partner,” James said mildly. “But sometimes at lunch, a burger is quick and easy.”
“Desserts and sweets?”
James shook his head.
His color was improving by the minute, to Maralys’ relief, and she released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
Then she thought her knees might give out.
The ever-perceptive Dr. Moss caught her elbow. “Easy there. Take a seat, Maralys. He’s going to be fine.”
“Not if he ever does that to me again,” she said and did as instructed.
“You’re essentially in good shape, James, despite last night’s scare. The cardiologist will come by and see you again this morning, and probably book you in for some tests to be sure we know what’s happening. As your GP, though, I’m going to guess that your comparatively good habits have kept this at bay for this long.”
“Why doesn’t that sound like good news?” James asked.
“Celery sticks forever,” Maralys interjected and he rolled his eyes.
Dr. Moss closed her clipboard and looked James in the eye. “It’s got to be stress.”
“Stress? From having a job? Don’t tell me to work any less. We’re overloaded at the D.A.’s office already and I can’t work fewer hours than my staff...”
“Stress,” Dr. Moss interjected, her gaze on the monitor. Sure enough, James’ pulse had increased.
“Couldn’t possibly be me,” Maralys offered and James snorted. “Can’t be financial worries either, not now that the boys are finished college. We’ve got disposable income coming out the wazoo.”
“I’m sure you and Zoë will step up.” James was giving her a hard time, which was another sign of progress and Maralys was encouraged.
“Not if we need to cut back.” She couldn’t hold his gaze this time because the prospect of losing him anytime in the next forty years frightened her.
James probably saw, though. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, as if preparing to accept the awful truth. “Please don’t tell me to start doing yoga.”
Maralys smiled a little. It was a joke between them that yoga was his worst fear.
“It wouldn’t hurt,” Dr. Moss said. “But what I really want you to think about is retiring.”
James looked completely stunned. “You mean, stop working?”
“That’s what retirement generally means.”
“But going to court is all I know how to do.” He was exasperated and Dr. Moss pointed to the monitor with her pen.
“And you live on coffee when you’re trying a case,” Maralys said. “You don’t sleep enough those nights, because you’re prepping your arguments all the time. You pace like a caged tiger.”
“I’m not that bad.”
“You’re that focused.”
“That’s how I win!” His eyes flashed. “What am I going to do if I don’t do what I do?”
“Get a hobby.”
“I am not going to play golf,” James said and ripped one of the electrodes free. He winced, but reached for another. “Let’s go home, Maralys.”
“Work-related,” Dr. Moss continued. “I said this was a warning call, James. In my opinion, if you keep on the way you’re going, you’ll be back here in a year, or maybe two, and the view won’t be so pretty.”
James frowned and stopped removing the second adhesive patch. “That bad?”
“If you’re lucky,” Dr. Moss added. “You might just drop somewhere sometime and leave Maralys with an even bigger mess to deal with than she had tonight.”
James glanced at Maralys and she held his gaze steadily, letting him see her fear this time. “You have to be at Zoë’s graduation,” she said tightly, referring to their thirteen-year-old daughter. “She’s going to be valedictorian. I just know it and it’ll be because of your influence.”
James pushed a hand through his hair. “Retire? I’m only fifty-eight.”
“You won’t see sixty-five unless you do retire.” Dr. Moss smiled. “The cardiologist might sugar-coat it a bit more, but Maralys and I go back long enough to understand each other.” She smiled at Maralys. “You do have a tendency to have stubborn men in your life.”
James snorted again.
“Thank you for your honest assessment,” Maralys said, knowing that this doctor’s willingness to speak bluntly had also extended her father’s life by several years. She stood up and faced James, knowing that he’d already gone through a dozen possible scenarios and discarded most of them. “We could buy a house in Rosemount, like we’ve been saying.”
“We were going to do that after Zoë finished college.”
“We could do it now. Sell the house in Boston. That’ll take care of the financing. We’ll probably end up with no mortgage and change left over.”
“But Zoë won’t want to change schools...”
“She just might. She’s been a bit lost since Lindsay moved to Colorado.” Maralys glanced at Dr. Moss. “Her best friend.”
“Ah.” The doctor pretended to be engrossed in her charts, but Maralys knew she was listening.
“She might do better in a smaller school, where it’s less intimidating to join other groups,” Maralys suggested.
“You don’t know that it will be.”
“And you don’t know that it won’t be. I say we ask her.”
He fixed a hot look on her. “You will not tell her that I’m going to die if she wants to stay in this school.”
“No, but you’re going to have to tell her something. She did see the ambulance last night and she’s not stupid.”
James nodded and swung his legs around the bed, as if he’d get up. “All right. We can drive out early for Christmas, look at some real estate, and talk about options. Matt and Leslie probably wouldn’t mind.”
“You’re not convinced,” Maralys said.
“No, I’m not, but we can explore the possibilities...”
“You’re not going anywhere yet,” Dr. Moss said. “Sit back, James. You’re waiting on the cardiologist before you check out of this hotel.” She smiled at both of them. “Maybe you should take this opportunity to talk about it.”
Maralys thanked the doctor again and then they were left alone in the curtained alcove. She folded her arms across her chest again and held his gaze. “If you don’t listen to her, I’ll kill you with my bare hands,” she said with quiet heat. “I never want to do that again.”
“We’re in perfect agreement there.” He beckoned to her, offering the crooked smile that still made her heart somersault. “Come here. I need to hold you while we talk about this.”
Maralys was only too glad to comply. She closed her eyes as he wrapped his arms around her and she leaned against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart.
“Rosemount,” he said. “I never thought I’d go back there.”
“What do you mean? We’ve talked about buying a place there for years.”
“That was just talk. Do you really want to live in a small town?”
“Why not? Something different.”
“It is different. I lived there for eighteen years.”
“Well, eighteen more, in Rosemount or wherever, would be fine by me.”
“Maralys. I’m okay.”
“I know.” The first tear slid free, loosed now that the crisis was past, and James eased it away with his thumb. He didn’t comment on it, just held her close. “You scared me shitless,” she whispered.
“Well, that makes two of us,” he replied softly and the uncertainty in his voice caught at her heart. “I thought we were doing everything right.”
“Sounds like we need to tweak our plan.”
“Sounds like it,” he admitted and she felt him press a kiss to her temple. “I don’t think your nightgown matches your sweatpants or your winter coat, by the way.”
“Picky picky. Now you’re a fashion critic. I thought I did quite well in the dark, while trying to give you CPR.”
“You were great.” His arms tightened around her. She felt him take a deep breath. “The way I see it, I’ve got to nail this change so there’s no risk of anyone seeing you at less than your best.”
Maralys smiled against his chest. “If that works for you, it works for me.”
“Come here and kiss me, Maralys,” he murmured in a low growl. “Reassure me that we’ll get through this just fine.”
“Of course we will...”
“You’re the one who finds strength in adversity. Share a bit of that with me this morning.”
Maralys sat up and looked into his eyes, raising one hand to his cheek. “I’ll share it with you every day and every night for the rest of our lives.”
“Let’s make that a long time.”
“Let’s,” she agreed, her voice husky, then leaned into his kiss.
There were worse things than turning their lives upside down or moving, and the most terrifying possibility was living without James. Maralys would do whatever was necessary to make sure that didn’t happen anytime soon.
Next stop: Rosemount.