Chapter 14
Annie flew up the stairs, unlocked the apartment door, and tossed her backpack onto the sofa. Grinning, she picked up the telephone and punched in her grandmother’s phone number. She paced as she waited for her to answer. “Hello,” came the mellow greeting.
“Grandma! I’ve got the greatest news!”
“You won the lottery, and you’re going on an around-the-world cruise.”
Annie laughed. “Something better than that. My art professor has a friend with a gallery here in San Francisco. One of my paintings is going to be hung.”
“Hung?”
“In his gallery. On a wall. For sale. My picture, I mean. Oh, Grandma, I didn’t expect something like this to happen in a million years!”
“Well, for heaven’s sake, why not? Anyone with half a brain can see you have talent.”
How she adored her grandmother. “You’ve never even seen my paintings, Grandma. You have no idea whether I have talent or not.”
“Of course, I know. I don’t have to see anything to know. It’s in the genes. Your great-aunt did those wonderful renderings. Great-Grandma Reinhardt was an artist with her embroidery needles. And your mother was a master seamstress by the time she was sixteen.”
“Mother? You’re kidding, aren’t you?” She had never known her mother to pick up a needle.
“No, I’m not.”
“I didn’t even know she sewed.” Any mending that needed doing went to the French laundry.
“Oh, my, yes. She started sewing her own clothes when she was thirteen. She made the most beautiful things. She’d go down to the most expensive stores and see what was popular. Then she’d buy remnants at one of the big fabric stores downtown and make copies with her own ideas added. She even finished the edges on all the seams, just like those exclusive shops do. She had a real knack for it. She got so good at it she was making her own patterns from tissue paper she bought at the five-and-dime.” Grandma Leota didn’t say anything for a few seconds and then added quietly, “I wonder why she stopped sewing.”
Annie wondered as well. “I’ve never seen Mother make anything.”
“If that isn’t the strangest thing. Why would she quit doing something she enjoyed so much?”
“She probably didn’t enjoy it, Grandma.” Truth to tell, Annie couldn’t think of one thing her mother had ever enjoyed. According to her mother, even shopping was a chore. Everything in life seemed to be just another burden. Why did she feel that way?
“Eleanor spent hours on that old treadle machine in the bedroom,” Grandma Leota said. “It belonged to Grandma Reinhardt. She used it for mending. She showed your mother how it worked. In fact, I think that’s how your mother started, by doing the family mending. When she was sixteen, she said she wanted a brand-new sewing machine. I would’ve given anything to get her one, but there wasn’t money at the time. . . .”
Grandma Leota was rambling again, but Annie liked it when her grandmother remembered the past aloud. Annie had learned more about her mother in the past few months than she had in her entire life of living with her. It was hard to picture Nora as an eager teenager designing her own clothes.
“Eleanor always seemed to be enjoying herself when she was sewing on that ancient machine, but then again, you can’t judge by me. I’ve been told I don’t know anything about anyone. Except myself, of course.” She made a little sound like she was clearing her throat. “How much is that painting going to be?”
“Painting?”
“Your painting in the gallery. The one you called to tell me about. How much are they going to ask for it?”
“Oh . . . I don’t know, Grandma. I was so excited, I didn’t even think to ask.”
“Any chance I could see it before you sell it?”
“I could ask for it back for a few days and bring it over this weekend. Unless you have other plans.”
“Not unless you count plucking the hairs from my upper lip as plans. But don’t get it back. Take a picture of it. You should keep an album of pictures of your work, noting who buys each piece. Oh, and, Annie, before I forget, do you have any books around your place? Children’s books?”
“I have a box of things I brought from home. There might be a few in there. Why?”
“Arba’s children have been over here the past few afternoons. They come after school, and I read to them. They’ve even started bringing their homework here so they can do it at the breakfast-nook table. And now they’re bringing friends. Two little Mexican boys from down the block and a Vietnamese boy from across the street. Can’t remember their names. Tom, Dick, and Harry, I call them.”
“You’re reading to six children?”
“I’m halfway through Robinson Crusoe, but they don’t seem much interested. The language is too old-fashioned for them. Carolina brought me some books yesterday. Children’s horror stories, if you can imagine. I’ve never seen such book covers. Horrible things. She said all the kids are reading them. No wonder the world is going mad.”
“I’ll stop by the library.”
“Just bring anything that will keep them interested until Arba gets home. I don’t want the children getting restless and tearing my house down around my ears. At least they’re bringing their own snacks now. I thought they’d be eating me out of house and home after the first day. I’ve never seen children put so much food away as those three Wilson children.”
Annie could imagine. Three growing children were undoubtedly hungry after a long day at school, and her grandmother’s Social Security check probably didn’t stretch beyond feeding herself. Annie smiled at the picture of her grandmother reading stories to six children under the age of nine. No small task. She could help her grandmother’s literacy efforts by picking up some peanut butter, jelly, and a few loaves of bread. And a couple of gallons of milk. Maybe a bag of apples and a bunch of bananas as well.
“I have some good news, too,” Grandma Leota said. “Barnaby’s eating just fine. Even tossed some seed on the floor today. Still hasn’t made a peep.”
“Great! I’ll tell Susan. She’ll be relieved. Do the children like him?”
“They leave him alone. Anyone even approaches that bird and he has his beak open and ready for attack. Arba calls him Jaws. Now, listen, honey. We’d better hang up. This is costing you.”
“Only a couple of cents, Grandma.”
“A penny saved is a penny earned.”
Laughing to herself, Annie shook her head. “I’ll see you Saturday morning, Grandma.”
“Not Friday this time. Do you have a date with that Sam fellow on Friday?”
“Nope. I’m working at the restaurant.”
“A pity. Such a nice young man. And handsome, too.”
Annie laughed. “And dangerous. I love you, Grandma.”
“I love you, too, honey.”
Annie called her father with the good news, but he wasn’t available, so she had to leave the message with Monica. She knew it was unlikely her father would receive it. Monica always seemed to forget to pass messages along. Annie punched in the numbers for home, then pressed the Off button before the telephone had time to ring.
She sat with the telephone pressed against her forehead for a moment, praying silently that her mother would rejoice with her. She knew it was a lot to expect, but she wanted to share her good tidings with all those she loved. Besides, if her mother heard the news from someone else, it would just give cause for more hurt feelings.
Taking a deep breath, Annie pressed the numbers again and waited, counting the rings. She was trembling slightly, hoping—just this once—that their conversation would be pleasant. Someday her mother was going to have to accept the fact that Annie was no longer a child. She had to find her own way in life.
Oh, Mother, please, just this once . . .
“Gaines residence.”
“Mother, it’s Annie. I just called to share some wonderful news with you.”
“The only good news I need to hear is that you’ve decided to be sensible and come home.”
Annie steeled her resolve. “One of my paintings is going to be in a San Francisco gallery. For sale.”
“How did that happen?”
Annie hesitated. “Well, my professor told me he was so impressed with it, he showed it to a friend.”
“How nice for you.” Her voice was so dry, Annie wished she hadn’t called. “How old is this professor of yours?”
What tack was this? “Forty, forty-five. I don’t really know. What does that matter, Mother?”
“All you have to do is think about it, Anne-Lynn. Do you really think a first-year art student is going to have a painting shown in a San Francisco gallery? Those galleries show paintings of well-known artists. I should know. I’ve been in them often enough buying paintings for this house. If you ask me, that professor wants something from you, and I can guess what it is.”
Annie hadn’t asked. All the excitement and joy she had felt was gone, along with the heady taste of confidence. “He’s married, Mother.”
“Do you think that makes a difference?”
“He’s happily married.”
“Oh, is that what he told you? You’re intimate enough with him already that he’s telling you about his personal relationship with his wife.”
“Why do you twist things—?”
“I’m not twisting anything. I was young once. Men in power positions are always hitting on stupid girls who are so starry-eyed they can’t think straight. Use your head, Anne-Lynn.”
Annie wiped the dampness from her cheek.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?”
“What would you have me say, Mother?”
“You want the truth, don’t you? I’ve always told you the truth about everything.”
“You’ve never even seen my painting, and yet—”
Her mother sighed dramatically. “Well, I suppose now you’re going to feel sorry for yourself.”
Something inside Annie ruptured, leaving anger and sorrow in its wake. “I’ll leave that to you, Mother.” She pressed the Off button and put the telephone back in its cradle. Within seconds, it rang again. Annie ignored it. The answering machine clicked on.
“Stop pouting and pick up the telephone, Anne. I’ve really had enough of this childishness. . . .” She kept talking until the machine clicked. Annie leaned over and turned the machine off. The telephone started ringing again. It rang ten times before it stopped. Within a minute, it started ringing again. Fifteen this time. When it finally stopped, Annie sat down and wept. It would take a miracle for her to have the kind of relationship with her mother that she longed to have. She was battle weary.
The telephone started ringing again and went on and on. Her mother wouldn’t stop until she answered. Picking up her jacket, Annie went out the door.
Nora fumed. The longer the telephone rang, the angrier she felt. How dare Anne-Lynn not answer? Leota was to blame for this. Nora’s nails pressed painfully into her right palm as she waited for her mother to answer.
One, two, three, four . . .
The click sounded and she didn’t even wait to hear Leota’s voice. “What have you said to my daughter to turn her so against me?”
“Excuse me?”
It was a man’s voice. Heat flooded Nora’s face. Had she dialed a wrong number? She slammed the phone down. Trying to calm herself, she took a deep breath and pressed the numbers carefully. It was answered on the first ring by the same male voice, belligerent this time. “Who is this?”
“Is this Leota Reinhardt’s number?”
“Yes, it is. Who’s calling?”
“Corban Solsek, if it’s any of your business. Now I’ll ask you the same question. Again.”
What impertinence! “Nora Gaines. And it is my business. I’m Leota Reinhardt’s daughter.”
“Pleased to meet you, I guess. Hold on. I’ll see if Leota wants to talk to you.” Nora went hot all over while he muffled the receiver. She couldn’t hear anything and wondered at the pause before her mother came on the line. “Eleanor? What’s wrong?”
“Don’t Eleanor me, Mother. What lies have you been telling Anne-Lynn?”
Silence reigned for several seconds. “I haven’t been telling her any lies. What are you talking about?”
“She hates me! That’s what I’m talking about.”
“Of course, she doesn’t.”
“Oh, yes, she does. And it’s all your fault. I know it. She spends all her time with you and never comes home where she’s wanted.”
“She’s wanted here, Eleanor. Just as you are.”
“There’s a lie right there. You never wanted me, and you’re just using my daughter to hurt me!”
“Is this the same old territory, Eleanor? Because if it is, I’ll tell you once and for all, it’s hogwash!”
Nora felt herself blushing hotly at the rebuke. “What did you say to me?” Only once in all her years had she ever heard that cold, steely tone in her mother’s voice. And that had been aimed at Grandma Reinhardt.
“You heard me, Eleanor. I said hogwash! I should’ve said it to you a long time ago instead of letting you go on like a spoiled brat. If you want to have things straightened out and put right between us, you should come for tea sometime. You’ve been invited often enough!”
Nora jerked as the telephone was slammed down in her ear. She stared at it. The line was dead. She couldn’t believe it! Her mother had hung up on her. She’d never done that before.
Fear gripped her.
How does it feel to be alone?
I am here, beloved. Turn to Me.
Voices warred in her head. Sometimes there was a chorus of them, ranting, raving, fanning her pain and anger. And then the quiet one would prod at her conscience, making her twist in discomfort, impelling her to cry out for help.
Come to Me, beloved . . .
What help have you ever gotten? She let the louder voice drown out the other. You’ve never been able to depend on anyone but yourself.
“I’m not to blame.”
“Eleanor,” her mother had once said, “someday you’re going to have to stop laying the blame for everything at someone else’s door.”
Quick tears came at the memory. Her mother had said it to her the day she had come to tell her Dean Gardner had filed for divorce.
Shutting her eyes tightly, Nora remembered Dean’s parting words: “The only good thing that ever came out of our marriage was Annie!” She had gotten back at him for that by winning custody when the court supported her charges of abuse. She’d dedicated herself to making sure Anne-Lynn didn’t grow up to be a dreamer like her father. She had sacrificed.
You lied.
She had given up her own dreams . . .
You took vengeance.
Like your mother is taking vengeance?
Nora remembered her mother standing in her bedroom doorway. She remembered being angry about something. She had gotten up from the sewing machine, come over, and slammed the door in her mother’s face. She could still remember Leota’s expression. Stunned, hurt, confused.
Why was she remembering that now when her own pain was so great?
So that you might know . . .
Know what? Know that nothing had been right between her and her mother in years? She didn’t want to listen to the voice whispering that she was the one in the wrong, not just about her mother but about everything. Yet it was that voice she was beginning to hear more loudly than her own, like a steady rain upon her head, impelling her to find shelter from the harder storm to come.
“If I had a daughter like that, I’d disown her.” Corban felt his anger deepen at the sheen of tears in the old woman’s eyes. He was so mad, he was shaking. If Nora Gaines had been standing in the middle of the room, he would have told her in no uncertain terms what he thought of her. He had a five-letter word that fit her to a tee.
“Don’t judge.” Leota gave him a hard look.
How could Leota defend her? “What gives with her, anyway?”
“She thinks I was a lousy mother.” Leota sounded so weary. “And in some ways, I suppose she’s right.”
Corban sat on the sofa and leaned back. He thought about Ruth, so quick in wanting to end her pregnancy. What sort of mother would she be when she wanted no part of the baby she was carrying? His baby. Leota Reinhardt hadn’t been that kind of mother, he’d bet. “What did you do that was so wrong?”
“I worked.” Closing her eyes, she put her head back. “And when I was home . . .” She fell silent.
Corban wished he knew what he could say to make her feel better, but no words came.
“Would you mind going to the grocery store without me?” she said quietly, her voice quaking slightly. “I don’t feel up to it today.”
“No problem.” She looked ready to cry. He supposed she just wanted time to herself without him sitting in her living room and being a witness to her shame and grief.
“The list is on the kitchen counter.” She reached down for her purse, tucked in a pocket on the recliner. Unsnapping the old metal clasp, she took out her wallet. When he came back, she handed him two twenty-dollar bills. “Will that be enough?”
“Should be.” He tucked the bills into the front pocket of his jeans.
She opened the coin purse and took out her front-door key. “I had two copies made. One for Annie and one for you.”
He took it, knowing full well the trust she had just placed in his hands. He never expected to be so touched by a gesture. He gave a nod and held the key in his fist.
“Put it on your key chain before you lose it,” she said and snapped the purse shut. She kept it in her lap, both hands on the top.
Taking his keys out, he did as she said. “Are you going to be all right, Leota?”
“I’ll be fine.” She rubbed her right arm as though it were aching. “I’m just a little tired is all.”
“Don’t hurry. And while you’re out and about, you might think kind thoughts regarding my daughter.”
“That’s not going to be easy.”
“Easier if you remember she’s Annie’s mother, and Annie has grown up to be someone very special.”
Corban smiled wryly. “Touché.”
It was the first time since coming to Leota’s house as a volunteer that he’d done her errands on his own. He gathered all the items on the list, pausing to feel and smell the tomato and thump the honeydew melon the same way Leota did. On his way to the checkout, he had an impulse to buy her a little something. And he knew exactly what it would be. Backtracking to the produce area, he added one more item to the basket and paid for it out of his own money.
When he let himself into the house, Leota wasn’t in the living room.
“Leota? Where are you? Are you all right?”
The bathroom door opened and she appeared, her hair damp around her forehead and temples. “I’m fine. I was just washing my face.” Her eyes were puffy and red.
“I’ll put these things away for you.” He headed for the kitchen with two laden, paper sacks and one small, plastic-bagged item dangling from his arm.
When he finished putting Leota’s groceries away in the refrigerator and cabinets, he folded the paper bags and tucked them neatly into the box Leota had set on a back-porch shelf. He shoved the wadded plastic bag into a five-gallon, blue-and-white-speckled soup pot next to it. Leota liked to “diaper” the paper bags she used for garbage. “Keeps them from leaking.” Ruth had made fun of him when he started doing the same thing at the apartment.
Digging in his pocket, Corban pulled out the receipt and change due Leota, and then picked up the item he had purchased. “Your change, ma’am,” he said with ceremony, “and a little something from me to you.” He leaned down and presented her with the small flowering plant in a pretty, porcelain teacup on a saucer. Her soft word of surprised pleasure put a smile on his face.
She put the change on her side table without counting it and took the gift from him. The cup rattled and she nestled it tenderly in her lap. “Oh, my . . . African violets. Thank you, Corban. They’re lovely.”
“My pleasure, Leota.” Never had his money been better spent. He liked the warm, fuzzy feel.
“Bernard gave me violets once. It was such a long time ago.”
When she looked up at him again, he saw a little-girl-lost look in her eyes. It surprised him, as did the empathy that seized him. He felt close to tears and embarrassed by the inexplicable, heightened emotions. He didn’t welcome these feelings. Maybe they had more to do with Ruth and the baby. Whatever it was, he felt Leota’s pain. He couldn’t get away from it.
He couldn’t get around it or past it. For the first time in his life, Corban felt someone else’s anguish as though it were his own. He had heard of people dying when they lost hope, and Leota looked like she was losing hope where her children were concerned. If not for Annie, her life might as well be over. Her hand was trembling as she touched the petals of the pretty, lavender flowers—and he hurt for her.
Is this what it feels like to care about someone? It was the pits. It made him uncomfortable. It made him feel vulnerable and ineffective. Worse, he didn’t know how to stop it. He didn’t even know when it began to happen. Sometime in the past month, he had stopped thinking of Leota Reinhardt as a subject for his project and had begun to see her as a friend. Feisty, straight-shooting, funny, irritating, enigmatic, challenging, endearing . . .
“Don’t you have a class this afternoon?” she said.
His mouth curved ruefully. “At two.”
She looked pointedly at the mantel clock. “Well, you’d better get moving now or you’ll be late.”
So much for warm, fuzzy feelings. If he stayed, she’d lecture. “Is Annie coming over Friday?” He hoped so. Leota always came to life when Annie was around . . . sweet, uncomplicated little Annie. She definitely had a way about her.
Unlike Ruth. She was deep, treacherous water.
“Saturday,” Leota said. “She has to work on Friday.”
“Maybe I’ll drop by.”
“Why don’t you bring your girlfriend this time? I’d like to meet her.” She tilted her chin slightly. “I’m sure Annie would, too.”
“What’s her name, by the way?”
“Ruth.” As if he needed the reminder.
Sam was waiting on the stoop of the apartment building when Annie returned from her walk. She went hot from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. They had had a date at six. He stood as she came closer. “Oh, Sam, I’m sorry!” To add to her embarrassment, she burst into tears.
“Hey, I’m not mad. I was just worried. Are you okay?”
No, she wasn’t okay. She was miserable. “Why didn’t Susan let you in?”
“She did and then left for work. I came out to get something out of my car, and the door swung shut behind me.” He picked up a bouquet of flowers wrapped in pink cellophane. They were wilted.
How long had he been waiting for her? “What time is it?” She dashed tears from her cheeks and dug in her jacket pocket for her keys.
“Eight thirty.”
“Oh, Sam . . .” She unlocked the door and pushed it open. “Why did you wait so long?”
“I’ll give you three guesses, and the first two don’t count.”
She glanced back over her shoulder and wanted to cry harder at the look in his eyes. He was making no secret of the depth of his feelings. She liked him so much, but she couldn’t seem to get through to him that the Lord had other plans for her.
“I drove all the way up here from San Jose, Annie. I’ve been working extra hours, saving my money for weeks, just so I could take you out to a fancy dinner at the Top of the Mark. Seven courses at least. I even borrowed this great suit from a friend. I swear the guy models for GQ. I bought flowers, just the right mix of red for passion and white for purity so you won’t think I’m out to ruin you.” He wagged the bedraggled flowers at her. “And then I get here, ringing the doorbell with my heart throbbing in my throat, and what do I find? My sister.” He put a hand to his heart. “You forgot all about me. I’m mortally wounded, Annie. I should sue for damages.”
“I’m sorry.” She sounded like a broken record. She couldn’t stop thinking about her mother. Lord, I don’t want to be cut off from her, but it’s so hard to walk Your path and please her at the same time.
He tipped her chin, his eyes tender. “When are you going to stop feeling guilty about everything, Annie? Like anything you do is going to change people from the inside out.” He took out his handkerchief. “Here.”
“Thanks.”
“Anytime. You’ll notice that handkerchief is monogrammed. Christmas gift from my mother. Keep it. Every time you blow your nose, you’ll think of me.”
Annie laughed. She couldn’t help it.
“That’s better. Come on. Let’s go upstairs. It’s the least you can do after standing me up.”
She opened the apartment door and let him in. “I’m going to wash my face, Sam. Make yourself comfortable.”
Annie went into the bathroom and turned on the tap. Leaning down, she cupped her hands and scrubbed her face several times with cold water. Blindly reaching for the towel, she pressed it over her eyes. She glanced in the mirror and saw her hair was a windblown mess from her long beach walk. Hanging the towel back in its place, she raked her fingers several times through the mass of strawberry-blonde curls. Grimacing, she gave up and went back into the living room.
Sam’s jacket was folded over a barstool. He was standing at the window, his hands shoved into his pockets.
“Can I fix you some dinner, Sam?”
“Dinner should be here in forty-five minutes. Salad, French bread, eggplant Parmesan. How does that sound?”
“I love eggplant Parmesan.”
“I know. Susan told me.” He turned around and faced her. “So. Are you going to tell me what happened?”
She raked her fingers through her hair again. “Nothing. Everything.” She let out her breath and sank into the overstuffed chair. She drew her knees up against her chest. “This was the best day of my life. And one of the worst.”
“Your mother called.”
She looked up.
His eyes were hot. She could see the tension in his shoulders, and she knew his anger wasn’t aimed at her.
“I don’t know what to do about her,” she said softly.
“I could tell you.”
“Oh, I know.” She rested her forehead on her knees. “Everyone has an idea what I ought to do about her. Tell her off. Cut her out of my life.” She raised her head and looked at him. “She’s my mother, Sam. I love her. I’d like to know what made her the way she is.”
“So you can fix her?” His tone was flat. “Forget it, Annie. It’s a God-size job.” He came closer. “Take it from someone who was just as egotistical and self-centered and destructive as your mother is. The harder you try to make things right with her, the worse they’re going to get.” He gave a sardonic laugh. “Honey, my parents had to give up and throw me out of the house before I came to my senses. If they hadn’t had the guts to do it, I don’t even want to think where I’d be right now. Dead, probably.”
She knew what he was talking about. She had lived through that time with Susan’s family. She had seen his mother cry and his father pace in frustration. Susan had given her a daily, blow-by-blow report. “Your family prayed for you, Sam. All the time. And I prayed for you, too.”
His eyes grew moist. “Maybe that’s all you can do for your mother.” He came over and sat on the couch. Leaning forward, he clasped his hands between his knees. “You’ve got to have boundaries, Annie, or people will walk all over you. Even Jesus had boundaries. He didn’t let anyone stop Him from doing what He came to do. He had to get away from the hordes of people who were always demanding things of Him. They thought they could tell Him what they needed and what they wanted. Everyone had his own agenda. Left to ourselves, we’re hell bound. Right from the first breath, our agenda is in opposition to God. The only one you can work on is you.”
The tears came again. “Sam, I know that. That’s why I left home. I knew if I stayed one more day, I’d end up giving in and giving up. If I’d stayed, I’d be out east at Wellesley right now, majoring in business or political science or something that would give me something in common with some future CEO or senator. I’d settle for Mom’s dreams for me instead of finding out what God’s plan is.” She unfolded herself from the chair and rose. She was restless. “I suppose to most people, I made the biggest mistake of my life.”
“You did what you had to do. You left. If you went back now, you’d find nothing changed. You can’t make people change, Annie.”
“I know that in my head, but every time my mother and I talk, my heart breaks for her. I know I’m where I’m supposed to be. It’s not just a matter of being happy. I feel sure of being on the path God made for me. I don’t know where exactly it’ll lead, but sometimes I have this feeling of wanting to run down it, knowing Jesus is at the end of it. I wanted to tell Mom that today, but she wouldn’t have understood. I was so excited about what happened, but she couldn’t understand.”
He leaned back. “Wouldn’t, you mean.”
“Couldn’t, wouldn’t, what’s the difference?”
“There’s a big difference, and you know it.”
She looked at him in defeat. “One of my paintings is going to be offered for sale at a well-known gallery. It was like a reaffirmation from God.”
“Susan told me. You’re on your way, and your mother isn’t happy about it.”
“She thinks the professor is coming on to me.”
His brows rose. “Is he?” He gave her a slow, predatory grin. “Would you recognize the warning signs if he were?”
She gave him a dry smile. “Sam, I knew your libido was in overdrive when I was twelve.”
He grinned wickedly. “And I knew you had a major crush on me.”
He loved teasing her about it. Her heart had raced every time he was around. Her insides would go all fluttery whenever he looked in her direction, even if his expression was one of utter disdain. Little sister Susan’s pesky friend, Annie. He still made her heart race a little too fast for comfort. “I’ve grown up, Sam.”
He sighed dramatically. “Oh, for the good old days when Annie Gardner carried a torch for me. What goes around comes around, as they say. Now I’ve got a major crush on you, and you forget all about me and leave me cooling my heels on your front stoop.”
“Serves you right. You were less than kind in the old days.”
“I was stupid.” He rose, and her heart did a flip. She hoped he wouldn’t make a pass at her. Not now, when she was feeling vulnerable. He must have sensed her need for distance because he paused, studying her face, the devilish smile gone from his. “So where’s this painting that’s going to make you rich and famous?”
“Hardly rich or famous,” she said, standing and heading for the kitchen. She told him the name of the gallery near Union Square. When he asked about the painting, she described it briefly.
The buzzer sounded. “Saved by the bell, hmmm, Annie?” She could tell he was trying to read what she was thinking. “I’ll take care of it.” He opened the door and went out.
Annie opened a kitchen cabinet and took out plates and glasses. The silverware was in a drawer in the counter. Since she and Susan had no dining table, she set the coffee table and tossed a pillow on either side so they could sit comfortably on the floor. Sam returned and set out the Styrofoam containers while Annie filled two tall glasses with ice water. The small apartment was quickly filled with the mouthwatering smells of good Italian cooking. She breathed in the wonderful fragrance of basil, tomato, and garlic. “I’m glad you didn’t leave, Sam.”
“The way to a woman’s heart is through her stomach.” They sat down, and he held his hands out to her. “Shall I do the honors?” She put her hands in his and bowed her head. He said nothing for a long moment, his thumb lightly brushing the back of her hand, sending tingles up her arm. “Lord, for what we’re about to receive, we thank You. And, Father, keep my thoughts pure, would You, please? And put up hedgerows of thorns around me if I even look like I’m going to step out of line. In Jesus’ name, amen.” He raised his head and shrugged. “I thought I should mention the last part to the Lord, just as a safety precaution.”
She waited. He leaned forward slightly, just looking at her. She could feel the heat come up in her cheeks again. She cleared her throat softly. “The thing is to obey, Sam.”
“I’m trying,” he said softly.
“It would help if you let go of my hands. I can’t use my fork otherwise.”
“Spoilsport. What do you say you recline on the couch and I peel grapes for you.”
“Not on your life.” He loosened his hands enough for her to gently pull away.
The food was delicious, the company exactly what she needed. Sam told her about his week. He made her relax and laugh again.
“You’ve got me hooked on garage sales,” he said dolefully. “My apartment was beginning to look like Sanford and Son with all the junk I’ve been picking up for Leota’s garden. Sorry. Junk to me, treasure to you. You’ll be delighted to know you are now the proud owner of an old wheelbarrow, a washtub, a watering can, and another bowling ball for your growing collection. It’s just an ordinary black one this time, but I’m on the lookout for the unusual. All in my car, even as we speak. I spotted a hedgehog yesterday. Couldn’t resist the little guy.”
“A hedgehog?” She laughed as she gathered their dishes and took them into the little kitchen.
“Sure.” He rose to follow her. “You know, one of those metal dudes with a brush on his back. You sit him on your back porch and use him to scrape the mud off your boots. Or that’s what the old gentleman said. His house had a Sold sign on it. Said he was downsizing. Must’ve been a CEO at one time. Knew all the lingo. I almost bought you a skiff, but I couldn’t fit it in my car. It was only ten bucks because there was a hole in the bottom of it big enough for a shark to swim through.” He picked up the dish towel. “You wash; I’ll dry.”
“I’ll do the dishes later.” She took the towel from him and tossed it on the counter. “Put a hold on all future purchases, would you, please? Unless you plan to keep them for yourself. What do I owe you for the loot you have now?”
His mouth curved slowly as he ran a finger lightly over her cheek. She pinched him on the underside of his arm. “Ouch!” He drew back in surprise. “I was only going to suggest a little kiss.”
“Fine.” She stretched up on tiptoes and gave him a sisterly peck on the cheek. She felt Sam’s hands at her waist and put her hands against his chest. She could feel his heart pounding. “Sam,” she said with a catch of her breath. She leaned back slightly, but he didn’t let her escape. His eyes were so dark.
“Don’t be afraid of me, Annie. I’m not playing your feelings. I swear I’m not.”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“You’re afraid of something.” He cupped her face tenderly. “Is it this?” He leaned down to kiss her. It was the lightest of kisses, almost chaste except for the look in his eyes when he drew back and the quick response she felt. “Oh, Annie.” He didn’t hold back the second time. She felt his hands in her hair, then gliding down her back, pressing her closer and closer into dangerous territory . . . territory she knew she wasn’t to enter.
“Sam, stop.” She was trembling.
“I love you.”
“If you love me, stop.”
“Annie . . .”
She held the distance strongly enough that he let her go. When he reached out to touch her face, she drew back another step and shook her head.
“Tell me you don’t feel something, Annie.”
“You know I do.”
“You can trust me.”
“I trust God, Sam, and this isn’t part of His plan for me.”
“How do you know that for sure? Your heart’s racing as fast as mine. Tell me it isn’t.”
How could she explain to him when she didn’t fully understand herself? “It’d be so easy to give in, Sam. To forget everything for a little while and just let it happen between us.” Like so many girls she’d known from high school. Friends who’d lived fast and loose, thinking they’d never bear the consequences. Girls who lived for the moment and would pay for a lifetime. But it wasn’t just that. There was something more to it, something beyond her comprehension.
“I’m not asking you to go to bed with me, Annie.”
Feeling her face going hot again, she started to turn away.
Sam stopped her, reaching out to tip her chin back so their eyes met. “I wouldn’t let it go that far.”
Better to be frank. “You wouldn’t mean to.”
He searched her eyes. His gaze dropped to her mouth; he shut his eyes, then let out his breath softly. “Okay. You’re right.” He opened his eyes and looked at her for a long moment. “I can’t help wondering . . .” He seemed to shake himself inwardly. Turning away, he went around the kitchen counter and took his jacket from the back of the stool. “I’ll drop the loot off at your grandmother’s Saturday afternoon. Is that all right?”
Her throat tightened. “Sam . . .”
“Don’t you dare say you’re sorry, Annie!” His eyes blazed with the intensity of his feelings. “If you do, I’m going to throw patience to the wind and carry you into that bedroom . . .”
She could see he was hurt and troubled. The old Sam was struggling with the new Sam. Tension filled the air for a few seconds; then he sighed and gave her a self-deprecating smile. “You were right to put the brakes on. If you’d given me an inch, I would have wanted to go the whole mile.”
He closed the door softly on his way out.
Jesus, keep him strong, Annie prayed, and me, too.