A Letter for Annie

Annie knew the outcome before she voiced it. “But it was never enough for her, right?”

“Oh, child, what are we doing probing into the long-ago relationships of other people? Marriages are what they are.” She paused, then sighed. “I’m so tired. Please help me to bed.”

Annie assisted her great-aunt to her feet and followed close behind with the oxygen tank as Geneva slowly made her way to the downstairs bedroom.

Once she had helped her into bed, Annie sat for a long time in the silence of the living room, poring over the photographs of her family—the family that now consisted only of her beloved Auntie G. and herself. She knew it was a matter of a few short weeks until that family would be reduced to one. Loneliness—so acute it was physically painful—washed over her.

KYLE FINALLY GAVE UP trying to sleep. He’d been tossing and turning since four in the morning, the sheets a tangle around his legs, his pillow lumpy and warm. Bubba’s snores added to his insomnia. He’d had the nightmare again. The one about Pete. Damn Annie, anyway. Seeing her had been like picking at a scab and reopening a wound.

He sat on the edge of the bed holding his head in his hands, once again picturing Pete pausing that fatal few seconds to look at Annie’s photo. Why couldn’t Pete have moved on? Forgotten the high school sweetheart who’d punted him without an explanation? But no. Pete had carried the torch up to the instant he was killed. Oh, sure, after they’d finished Guard training, Pete had tried to find Annie. He’d talked to everyone who’d ever known her, interviewed the bus station agent and pored over cab company records. But he’d gotten nowhere. Her stepfather, George Palmer, was as clueless as Pete. And since Geneva Greer had not been living in Eden Bay at that time, Pete had no idea how to contact her. It was as if Annie had dropped off the face of the earth. But Pete never gave up. He lived as if he expected Annie to turn up on his doorstep any day. And the hell of it was, Pete would have welcomed her, no questions asked.

Kyle lurched to his feet. What in blue blazes was the matter with the woman? Seeing her here in Eden Bay infuriated him. Why had she waited so long to return? Crap, now he had to consider what to do about the damned letter.

Stumbling into the kitchen, he made coffee and turned to see Bubba standing in the bedroom doorway yawning. “Yeah, I know. Too early. Sorry, buddy.” When he went outside to retrieve the morning paper, clouds scudded across the sky and a cool breeze ruffled the scraggly bushes in front of the mobile home. Kyle drew a deep breath before going back in. Bubba lay on the floor eyeing him curiously. Kyle shrugged. “Hell if I know why I can’t sleep, fella.”

When the coffee was done, he poured a cup and settled on the sofa to read the Sunday ball scores. But he couldn’t concentrate.

He kept replaying Margaret’s voice on the phone last night: “Kyle, what are you thinking working for the Greers? How dare Annie Greer show her face in this town! It would’ve been bad enough while Pete was alive, but now…? So help me God, I’ll never know why my brother couldn’t get over her.”

And he kept seeing Annie’s face, her tortured hazel eyes dominating her pale, freckled skin, her auburn hair blowing in the wind. There was something hauntingly lovely about her.

“Damn!” He threw down the paper and raked both hands through his hair. “We’re going for a run, Bubba.”

It was still dark when the two started down the road for the beach. Kyle pumped his arms rhythmically, punching the air in front of him. He picked up the pace, his breath coming in tortured gasps. And all the while, with the regularity of his heartbeat, came one word over and over. Annie, Annie.

What in the name of everlovin’ God was that about? He didn’t need a replay of high school angst.

LATER THAT MORNING, Kyle picked up the clipboard in his office and scanned the jobs in progress. He needed to check on the Swenson deck remodel and be at the Whites’ when the crew knocked out the kitchen wall. “Rita, I’ll be making the rounds today. You can catch me on my cell.”

“Not going to the Greer cottage?” Her voice was studiously neutral, but the cocked eyebrow gave her away.

“I’m sending Vince. Weather forecast looks good. He can repaint the front porch.” Geneva Greer surely wouldn’t expect him to handle that part of the job.