A Soft Place to Fall (22 page)

How much fun it would be to go to the movies
with Annie and Hall, stop for a bite to eat at Cappy's, maybe even
--

"Hey, you two!" Jack bellowed next to her as
their daughter attempted to decaptitate their son while Hall's two
well-behaved children looked on in horror.. "One more stunt like
that and you're both out of the pool."

Susan shook her head in dismay. "Why is it
always our children who act up?"

"Genetics," her husband said, draping an arm
around her shoulders and holding her tight. "Our poor kids don't
stand a chance."

#

Annie took Sweeney and the girls out for some
ice cream after they finished at The Overlook and by the time
they'd all finished eating and laughing and gossiping about the
latest doings in town it was nearly six o'clock. The girls hurried
for home and Sweeney headed off to meet another one of her many
boyfriends at an outdoor concert two towns over.

"Why don't you come too," Sweeney said as
they walked to their cars. "Fred and I have pretty much run our
course. I could use a buffer, to be honest."

Annie shuddered. "I've met Fred," she said.
"You could use a moat and a drawbridge."

"The pickings get wicked slim when you're my
age, honey. They're not all Harrison Ford."

Annie was still laughing when she pulled into
her driveway. The small house was dim and cool. George and Gracie
were sound asleep on adjacent platforms of the cat condo and paid
Annie little attention. The only sound was the ever-present
drumming of the waves against the shore, punctuated by the
occasional cry of a hungry seagull. Sam's truck wasn't parked in
his driveway and she wondered where he'd gone.

Not that it was any of her business. She was,
after all, the one who had slipped out his front door without so
much as a goodbye, all because moving forward had proved to be
every bit as frightening as standing in place.

You know what to do, Annie. You're a grown
woman. Fix yourself up then march over to his house with a bottle
of wine and some leftover pizza and apologize for running out on
him.

There was a small window of opportunity to
make amends. She glanced at her watch. And an even smaller window
of opportunity to do something about her hair.

#

Susan tried her best to stay away from the
telephone but at six-thirty she lost the battle. She left her brood
-- plus two -- gathered around the barbecue grill and slipped into
their home office where she pressed the number three on the speed
dial and listened to Annie's phone ring.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me," she
said by way of hello. "I waited as long as I could but I can't take
it anymore. What are you wearing? Those white pants I hope and
maybe that red sweater . . . it's cool enough for the sweater
tonight . . . maybe you could –"

"Who is this?" Annie demanded.

"Who is this?" she repeated, stung to the
quick. "It's Susan and I want to know why you didn't tell me."
Silence. A long, protracted silence. "Annie?" She tapped the
mouthpiece with a fingernail. "Did you hang up on me?"

"No." Another silence, then: "How did you
know?"

"How did I know? How do you
think
? He
told me, that's how."

"He told you? I didn't even think he knew
you."

"Did I wake you up?" Susan asked. "You don't
sound like yourself. He came over to ask me to watch his kids
tonight and he told me."

"Ohmigod . . . "

"Annie, you really don't sound like yourself.
Are you okay? Is something going on? Do you want me to come over
and –"

"I completely forgot about Hall," Annie said,
through what sounded like hysterical laughter. "Gotta go . . . I'll
call you tomorrow."

Click
.

"She hung up on me," Susan said to the empty
room. Annie Galloway, the most polite woman on earth, hung up on
her and laughed when she did it.

Something was rotten in Shelter Rock Cove and
Susan was going to find out what it was.

#

Sam and Warren spent the day down at a
maritime museum not far from Camden. Warren was friends with the
curator, who shared some insights on interactive displays and the
feasibility of adding cruises to the mix. There were safety
considerations to take into account, insurance costs, Maine's
changeable weather. Warren, who was underwriting the entire
venture, absorbed the information without taking a single note,
something that never failed to astonish Sam.

While Warren talked business, Sam wandered
the shipyard. It had been a long time since he'd breathed in that
particular blend of wood, varnish, fuel, and fish. He filled his
lungs with it and grinned at nothing in particular. It smelled like
home to him, like the marina back in Queens where he'd worked as a
teenager. Had any job ever made him as happy as that one? Closing
deals for a million and more never once gave him the rush of
happiness he'd found when he was up to his elbows in marine grease
and loving every minute of it.

Maybe that's how he'd end up, fixing boats at
some broken-down marina, his fingernails stained permanently black,
his skin smelling of sea spray, his bank balance hovering around
zero. There were worse ways for a man to spend his life, especially
if he had the right woman to share his days and nights with.

But what the hell did he have to offer a
woman these days. Six months ago he could have made a case for
himself: great car, great apartment, great prospects. Now he had
even less than Annie Galloway. Annie owned her house and her
business. He was owned by an aging yellow Lab.

"You look like you've got the weight of the
world on your shoulders," Warren observed as they headed back to
Shelter Rock Cove. "Anything I should know about?"

"I think you need transmission fluid," Sam
said as he switched lanes. "This old Jeep needs more babying than
you give it." He slowed down behind a sluggish Audi. "Think it
might be time to spring for something built in the last
decade?"

"Wiseass," Warren said amiably. "So are you
going to tell me what's really going on or will you make me beat it
out of you."

Sam laughed out loud. "You don't think I'm
dumb enough to take you up on the latter, do you?" Warren had been
an amateur boxer at one point in his youth and he still maintained
an impressive set of biceps.

"You'll figure it out," Warren said,
"whatever it is."

"Yeah?" He shot Warren a look. "Think I'll
manage it before I'm your age?"

"Not if the problem is a woman."

There was no arguing that.

"How about we stop along the way for a steak
and baked potato?" Warren suggested.

Sam glanced at the clock on the dashboard.
6:35 p.m. Annie was supposed to meet the Town Doctor at seven for
dinner.

He was maybe thirty minutes away from Shelter
Rock Cove.

It was fate.

"I'm thinking lobster," he said, knowing
Warren would understand. "I heard about some place called Cappy's .
. . . "

#

"Now that was a wonderful seminar," Roberta
said as she and Claudia strolled across the parking lot of the
Bangor Holiday Inn. "That boy must have kissed the Blarney Stone
somewhere along the way."

"He's young enough to be our grandson,"
Claudia said with a shake of her head. "So smart! Do they make them
smarter these days, Bobbi, or does it just seem that way?"

"It's all those Flintstone vitamins," Roberta
said, adjusting the strap on her purse so it angled just so across
her pillowy breasts. "Imagine how smart we would've been if we'd
had half of the advantages our children had."

Oh, there was truth enough to that statement,
Claudia thought as Roberta drove them back toward Shelter Rock
Cove. Today's young people had no idea what it was like to scrimp
and save for every penny. They expected to step out of school and
into some fancy, high-paying job and that was usually exactly what
happened.

Back in her day, you had considered yourself
lucky to find a position and you clung to it until the day you
retired. It was a whole different world that Adam Winters painted
for them during the four hour seminar. "Don't think it's too late
to influence the future," he had said to them as he strode the
aisles, aiming his snowy-white smile right at Claudia and Roberta
and other women just like them. "Americans are living longer than
ever before and their standard of living is growing right along
with them. Why shouldn't you be part of the golden age of seniors
and grab a piece of the American pie for yourself?"

Why, indeed. Everything the young man had
said made perfect sense to Claudia. She and John had worked very
hard for their money and she had watched over it carefully since
his death. The house was paid for – that was a blessing – and she
owned her own car. Her health insurance was adequate but all it
would take was one serious illness to put a dent in what remained
of her nest egg. She was comfortable but she wasn't secure and Adam
Winters said she had the right to be both or know the reason
why.

Susan would be downright horrified if she
knew that Claudia had written out a check for $2000 as tuition for
Adam Winters's full week-long seminar to be held next month. "Have
you lost your mind, Ma?" she would bellow. "Why don't you give the
guy the key to your safety deposit box too while you're at it?"

It was truly a wonderful deal, a
once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. If she decided to let Adam Winters
Associates manage her funds, $1500 of the tuition monies would be
plowed right back into her account. Even Susan would have to admit
that was more than generous.

Her children thought they had the right to
rule her life. They had opinions on everything from the house she
lived in to the food she cooked and the company she kept and she
resented it deeply. She tried very hard to keep her nose out of
their business and she expected the same consideration in return.
This was her money, hers and her beloved John's, and if she wanted
to use it as a stepping stone toward building her investment then
that was exactly what she would do.

"I'm not telling Jessica and Peter," Roberta
said as they neared the outskirts of town. "One more lecture about
how it might be time for me to hand over my power of attorney and
I'll leave everything to Sparky." Sparky was her Airedale.

Claudia nodded. "I'm not telling any of
mine." She had thought she might confide in Annie but now that was
out as well.

"They'll thank us one day," Roberta said.

"Absolutely," Claudia concurred. "When we've
tripled their inheritances, they'll sing a different tune."

Roberta made a left turn onto Willow Road.
"Steak at Brubaker's or the fish fry at Cappy's?"

"Cappy's," said Claudia. "I'm in the mood for
french fries."

"Damn the cholesterol," said Roberta as she
gunned the engine of her Buick Riviera. "Full speed ahead!"

Chapter Ten

Cappy's-on-the-Cove was a former lobster shack with delusions
of grandeur. What had begun as a modest establishment with window
service only had grown by bits and pieces over the years until it
could now seat forty with just minor discomfort. The floors were
uneven. The ceilings varied in height. The tables near the kitchen
were a good ten degrees hotter than anywhere else in the place. But
when it came to mouth-watering lobster and world-class blueberry
pie, it didn't get much better than Cappy's.

"Been too long, Doc," said Gloria, the
original owner's daughter-in-law. "We haven't seen you since the
Fourth of July."

"Lots of babies born this summer, Glo," he
said as he followed her to a table near the window. "How's the
chowder tonight?"

"First-rate," she said, plopping down a menu
in front of him. "Should I start you off with an iced tea?"

Awkward moment number one.

"Hold off on the iced tea," he said, striving
to sound casual and unconcerned. "I'm meeting someone here."

"Yeah?" said Gloria, leaning over the table.
"Who?"

"A friend."

"Anyone I know?"

"You know everybody in town," he said,
feeling like a sixteen year old being grilled by a girlfriend's
parents.

"Unless she's wearing a disguise, I'll figure
it out soon enough," Gloria said with a laugh. "Two iced teas
coming right up."

Why even bother to order, Hall wondered, when
Gloria was going to bring him exactly what she wanted to bring him.
That was one of the best and worst parts of spending your life in
the same little town where you grew up: you lost the capacity to
surprise people around the time you went into puberty.The
librarians knew your taste in books. The clerks in the record store
knew your taste in music. The guy behind the counter at the coffee
shop knew you liked it black with three sugars while Gloria here at
Cappy's could recite your favorite menu even if you hadn't been in
to visit since summer began. And because everybody in town knew
everybody else, all of the information ended up in one gigantic
data base meant to ensure that you had no privacy at all. Maine's
version of the Akashic record, he thought and wished he had someone
with whom to share the observation.

Gloria returned with the iced teas. "She's
late whoever she is."

"Not very." Eleven minutes and thirty
seconds.

Not that he was counting or anything.

The cowbell over the front door jingled. "Hi,
Annie!" Gloria called out. "Pick a seat. I'll be there in a
second."

Annie walked over to the table and claimed
the seat opposite him. "I hope one of those iced teas is for
me."

Gloria just barely managed to keep her jaw
from hitting the table top. "You bet. And two lobster specials,"
she said, "coming right up."