A Soft Place to Fall (20 page)

"Tell Nancy the pie was first rate."

"Tell her yourself," Warren said. "She's
making her famous blueberry waffles and there's enough to feed an
army."

Fifteen minutes later Sam and Max entered the
kitchen where Nancy was ladling thick batter onto the waffle
iron.

"Just in time," she said, acknowledging Sam's
kiss on her cheek. "Himself is digging in right now."

Max stayed behind, just in case Nancy needed
help with the bacon or a runaway waffle.

Warren was in the sunroom that overlooked the
harbor. The water was a little choppy and the frothy whitecaps made
a wonderful contrast with the deep steel blue of the ocean. He
leaped to his feet the second he saw Sam and clasped his hand
warmly.

"You're too skinny," he said by way of hello.
"Nancy!" he bellowed. "Double up on the order. We need to put some
meat on his bones."

"I'm one step ahead of you!" Nancy bellowed
back.

"What is it with you people?" Sam asked as he
took the seat opposite Warren. "You're always trying to fatten me
up."

"Wait until you've been through a Maine
winter," Warren said, reaching for the heated pitcher of real maple
syrup. "Then you'll know."

They ate in companionable silence for a
while, making short work of two batches of blueberry waffles.

Finally Warren pushed his chair back from the
table and loosened his belt. "So how did Annie like the
furniture?"

"She loved it," Sam said, as he bit into a
piece of perfectly fried bacon. "Once she heard it was Ellie's, she
seemed pretty happy with it."

Warren lit up a cigarette, took one drag,
then stubbed it out in a small ashtray next to his plate. "Bet she
made you sign a receipt of some kind."

"Right down to the embroidered pillow on the
sofa. What's with that anyway?"

"That's our Annie. Scrupulously honest, right
down to the penny." He watched Sam with open interest. "Anything
else to tell me?"

Sam directed his attention to his cup of
coffee. "Nope."

"Good," said Warren. "None of my business
anyway."

#

Annie delivered the bridal flowers to a calm
Karen Sorenson at nine a.m. and the boutonnieres to a slightly
frantic Frankie Machado at nine-thirty. The day promised to be a
long one and in a way she was glad. She needed some distance from
the surprising events of the night before and maybe a little
distance from Sam as well.

Last night she'd met a woman she'd never
known existed. A passionate woman ready to throw caution to the
four winds, a woman half-crazed with desire.

The insides of her thighs were still faintly
red from the stubble on his cheeks and chin and the memory of how
the marks had come to be there was almost enough to send her flying
back into his arms.

Not that she imagined he would have her. Last
night he had been everything a lover should be. He had protected
her when she needed protection. He had made love to her with his
hands and mouth in ways that shattered her very core, made her
climax again and again until she thought she had fallen off the
edge of the earth, and she had responded by sneaking out of his
house while he was on the telephone and running back home like the
coward she was.

She was half-surprised he hadn't egged her
house and let the air out of her tires.

She had wanted to make love to him. She had
burned to memorize every muscle of his lean, hard body with her
tongue. Her sexual experiences might be limited to one man but she
wasn't an innocent. She knew how to give pleasure as well as how to
take.

If only she hadn't noticed the way her hand
looked as it rested against his tanned chest.

If only she hadn't noticed her wedding
band.

Memory after memory of Kevin pushed in on
her: their first kiss behind the marina, the senior prom when he
gave her the failing gardenia, the day he proposed to her on the
steps of the library at Bowdoin, their wedding day when it rained
so hard they gave up on the umbrellas and just let it fall on them
because how could a little rain hurt you when you held a world of
happiness in your arms? And then there were the memories of
sleepless nights waiting for him to come home, the strangers
knocking on the door, the phone calls from men with deep voices who
left messages she didn't want to understand, the night when it all
ended in the middle of their brass bed as Annie kept whispering no
no no no . . . .

For two years she had struggled to make peace
with his death but it wasn't until last night in the arms of
another man that she finally realized that she was alive, fully and
completely alive, and that she was free to build a new life on the
foundation of the old. She had been marking time for too long,
measuring her days by bills paid and disasters averted.

She liked the Annie Galloway she had
discovered last night: the passionate woman who wasn't looking over
her shoulder all the time, wondering when life would deliver the
next right hook. Sam Butler seemed to like her too; or at least he
had before she gathered up her clothes and slipped out the door on
him without so much as a thank you it's been swell. Of course,
maybe she was making too much of the whole interlude. What had been
a turning point of Olympic proportions to Annie might have been an
hour's pleasurable pursuit to Sam and nothing more. Her face
reddened as she remembered her deep satisfaction and what she
assumed was his own deep discomfort at being left unfulfilled. Just
how pleasurable the pursuit had been for him might be open for
debate.

Assuming she ever saw him again.

Oh yes, she was definitely glad she had a
wedding to work today, a big demanding job with lots of details
guaranteed to trip her up when she least expected it. She thrived
on the pressure of time schedules and the never-ending surprises
most weddings provided.

Today she was the Annie everyone knew and
depended upon. The one with the lists and the schedules and the
stop watch embedded in her brain. That was how you built a
business: by delivering everything you promised when you promised
it . . . and just a little bit more. It made for some long days but
the fact that she would soon be able to go to her mailbox without
being afraid of the bills she might find lurking inside was worth a
little sleep deprivation.

She left Frankie's house then rushed back to
the shop and began loading the church flowers into the back of her
truck, taking care to keep the delicate blooms cool and their stems
in water. She threw wire cutters, three heavy spools of satin
ribbon, and a huge box of ferns, misty, and babies' breath in with
it, then raced for the church. The last mass of the day ended at
eleven and by eleven-ten, Annie and Claudia were hard at work
turning the somber old church into a wedding bower of blooms.

"I'm not sure Frankie's going to make it
through the ceremony," she told Claudia as they placed the lush and
fragrant arrangements of plumeria and ginger blossoms and hibiscus
on the altar. "He looked scared out of his own skin."

"They always look that way," Claudia said
with a fond laugh. "God knows my three boys did."

Annie turned to her ex mother-in-law in
surprise. "Not Kevin!"

"Oh yes Kevin," the woman said as she
straightened the heavy satin ribbons draped over the altar cloth.
"He was so nervous John finally had to sit him down and make him
drink a shot of whiskey."

"I don't believe it."

"I'm not saying he didn't love you more than
life itself because he did, but when it comes to taking that walk
down the aisle, I think most of them feel it's the last mile."

Annie thought back over the hundreds of
weddings she had been to, either as a guest or as the florist, and
a pattern began to emerge through the haze of orange blossoms. The
brides had invariably been regal and steadfast in their resolve as
they glided down the aisle while the grooms wiped beads of sweat
from their temples and tugged at shirt collars grown suddenly too
tight.

"You're right," she said as she layered
baby's breath and lacy ferns around the bigger arrangements.. "Why
didn't I ever notice that before?"

"We're the practical ones," Claudia said,
gently shaping a flurry of plumeria with the pads of her fingers.
"Once we make up our mind about a man, it's all over."

"Is that how it was for you and John?" They
had been one of the happiest couples Annie had ever seen, as
perfectly matched in every way as a husband and wife could wish
for.

"Eventually," Claudia said.

They chatted quietly about the upcoming
nuptials as they decorated the front pews. Claudia took the bride's
side, Annie the groom's, and they were finished in short order.

As they were sweeping up fallen blossoms and
scattered greenery, Claudia peered at Annie then stepped
closer.

"What's this?" She placed a gentle finger
against Annie's left cheek. "Did one of those cats scratch you
again?"

"No," Annie said, busy picking up tiny bits
of feathery green leaves from the pristine white bridal carpet.
"Why do you ask?"

"Your cheek is all red, honey. A little
network of scratches."

"I can't imagine how I –" She stopped
mid-sentence and willed herself not to dissolve in a crimson blush.
Sam's stubble, which had felt delicious against her skin, had
apparently left a calling card behind. She hated to lie but she
wasn't up for the truth. "You know how it is with cats," she said,
vowing to give the maligned George and Gracie extra treats to make
up for what she was doing to their reputation. "After a while you
don't even notice the scratches."

"But you said –"

"I wasn't paying attention, Claude, I'm sorry
I was thinking about the reception and all I have to do there." She
glanced at her watch. "In fact I'm meeting Jen, Becky, and Sweeney
at The Overlook in ten minutes."

"Ten minutes! Good Lord, honey, we'd better
hurry."

Another crisis averted.

"Thanks for the help, Claudia," Annie said as
they stepped out into the brilliant September sunshine. "We should
have everything ready by the time they say 'I do.'"

Claudia retrieved her sunglasses from the
bottom of her navy blue purse then slipped them on. "You know I
would be there with you if I didn't have my seminar this
afternoon."

Annie slipped on her own sunglasses and
rummaged through her tote-bag for her car keys. "What is it this
time: Tai Chi or low-fat cooking?"

"You're as bad as Susan," Claudia said with a
shake of her well-coiffed head. "For your information, it's called
Investing in Your Future, Part Two. This one is aimed at seniors on
fixed incomes."

Annie couldn't help groaning. "Please tell me
this isn't that terrible financial analyst with the radio show out
of Boston."

"His name is Adam Winters and his show is the
number one financial program in all of New England."

"He's a huckster, Claudia. He's selling snake
oil."

"He happens to be highly respected in his
field."

"If his field happens to be scamming
people."

Claudia lowered her sunglasses and stared
closely at Annie. "I've never heard you sound so cynical
before."

Back off, Annie, before you reveal a few
family secrets.
"Remember that financial analyst out of Bangor,
the one who was brought up on charges? Some people actually lost
their homes because they got involved with him."

"I'm insulted," Claudia said. "I'm hardly a
fool, Anne. I'm not about to turn over my life savings to a
stranger."

"I know you're not," Annie said, "but those
guys make their money by being charming and convincing."

Claudia slid her sunglasses back into
position. "I'll be sure to tell Roberta you think we're two old
fools soon to be parted with our money."

"Claudia!" Annie didn't know whether to laugh
or cry. "I didn't say that. I just said you should be careful."

But it was too late. Claudia marched down the
church steps toward the parking lot in high dudgeon. Unless Annie
missed her guess, Roberta would be in high dudgeon too before the
day was over.

She didn't envy Adam Winters one single
bit.

#

Sam ate enough blueberry waffles to make both
Warren and Nancy happy for at least a year then put away an extra
one for himself.

Nancy sighed loudly as she gathered up the
dirty plates to whisk them back into the kitchen. "Men eat, women
gain weight. Wicked unfair, I say, and you can quote me."

Warren waited for Sam to polish off the rest
of the coffee then invited him out back to check out the boat.

"Nancy gave me the guided tour," Sam said as
they walked across the backyard toward the converted barn where Max
was waiting for them. "You didn't get much done this spring."

"That's the trouble with being rich," Warren
said. "You have the money to do what you want but you don't have
the time." He looked over at Sam. "In case you haven't figured it
out, that's where you come in."

The inside of the barn was dim and cool. It
smelled of cedar shavings, dried hay, and salt air. Sam greedily
filled his lungs with the pungent aromas.

"You already know I'm looking to open up the
museum this time next year," he told Sam, "but we've fallen behind
on the exhibits." The building he had purchased, formerly an old
Catholic church at the foot of Small Crab Harbor, had been
completely renovated right down to the wiring and floor joists.
Local art work had been commissioned for the museum, including
murals, sculptures, folk art, and a wide range of photographs, both
antique and current. The Ladies Auxiliary and the VFW had managed
to gather up a healthy collection of family albums, letters, and
diaries that portrayed the day-to-day lives of fishermen and their
families in a vividly moving fashion. A company in Bath was
restoring a mailing boat from the 1920s and a 19
^th
century whaler. Both vessels would be berthed at the marina in
Shelter Rock Cove and run three short cruises a day when weather
permitted.