Heroes are My Weakness (40 page)

An SUV with a missing door and bad muffler roared past. “Sure there is,” he said. “The cottage is yours. Right now those women are falling all over themselves trying to figure out how to give it back to you in exchange for your silence. Nothing’s changed.”

Everything had changed. She was in love with this man, and she couldn’t keep staying at the cottage where she’d see him every day, make love with him every night. She needed to rip off the bandage. And go where? She was healthy now, strong enough to figure something out.

They began walking toward the wharf. Ahead of her, the American flag flying from the pole between the boathouses caught the morning breeze. She stepped around a pile of lobster traps and climbed the ramp. “I have to stop postponing the inevitable. From the beginning, the cottage was only a stopgap. It’s time for me to get back to my real life in Manhattan.”

“You’re still broke,” he said. “Where are you going to live?”

The easiest way for her to raise rent money quickly was to sell one of the Garr drawings, but she wouldn’t do that. Instead she’d call her former dog-walking clients. They were always traveling. She’d done house-sitting before. If she was lucky, one of them might need someone to stay with their animals while they were gone. If that didn’t work, her former boss at Coffee, Coffee would probably let her crash on the futon in the storage room. She was physically and emotionally stronger now than she’d been five weeks ago, and she’d figure it out.

“I already have money coming in from the resale shop,” she told him, “so I’m not completely penniless. And now that I’m healthy again, I can get back to work.”

They bypassed a length of chain attached to one of the granite mooring posts. He leaned down to pick up a loose stone. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“Don’t you?” She said it easily, as if he’d revealed nothing of any importance, but her muscles tensed, waiting for what would come next.

He hurled the stone into the water. “If you have to move out of the cottage while the island mafia fixes their mess, you can stay at the house. Take over as much of it as you want. Elliott and Cynthia aren’t arriving until August, and by then, you’ll be back where you belong.”

This was Theo the caretaker speaking, nothing more, and where she belonged was back in the city reclaiming her life. The boathouse flag snapped in the breeze. She squinted her eyes against the sun glinting off the water. Her stay on the island this winter had been a time to regenerate. Now she saw herself with clearer eyes, saw where she’d been and where she wanted to go.

“Everything is too uncertain for you in the city,” he said. “You need to stay here.”

“Where you can watch out for me? I don’t think so.”

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his parka. “You make it sound so terrible. We’re friends. You might be the best friend I’ve ever had.”

She nearly winced, but she couldn’t be angry with him for not loving her. It wasn’t in the cards. If Theo ever did manage to fall in love again, it wouldn’t be with her. It wouldn’t be with anyone so closely attached to his past.

She had to put an end to this right now, and her voice was as steady as could be. “We’re lovers,” she said. “And that’s a lot more complicated than friendship.”

He pitched another stone in the water. “It doesn’t have to be.”

“Our relationship has always had an expiration date, and I think we’ve reached it.”

He looked more peeved than heartbroken. “You make us sound like spoiled milk.”

She needed to do this right. She needed to free herself, but also avoid stirring up his all-too-ready feelings of guilt and responsibility. “Hardly spoiled,” she said. “You’re gorgeous. You’re rich and smart. And sexy. Did I mention you’re rich?”

He didn’t crack a smile.

“You know me, Theo. I’m a romantic. If I hang around any longer, I might fall in love with you.” She managed a shudder. “Think how ugly that would be.”

“You won’t,” he said with deadly sincerity. “You know me too well.”

As if what he’d revealed to her about himself had made him unlovable.

She curled her fingers into fists inside her coat pockets. When this was over, she’d feel like shattering into a million pieces, but not yet. She could do this. She had to. “Let me give it to you straight. I want a family. That means as long as I stay on the island when I don’t have to, as long as I keep entertaining myself with you, I’m basically wasting time. I need more discipline.”

“You haven’t said anything about this to me.” He seemed annoyed, maybe hurt, but definitely not inconsolable.

She pretended to be confused. “Why would I?”

“Because we tell each other things.”

“That’s what I’m doing. Telling you. And it’s not at all complicated.”

He shrugged. “I guess.”

The constriction around her heart tightened. He hunched his shoulders against the wind. “I suppose I’m being selfish wanting you to stay.”

She’d had enough misery for one day. “I’m getting cold. And you’ve been up all night. You need some sleep.”

He looked down at the wharf, then up at her. “I appreciate what you’ve done for me this winter.”

His gratitude was one more gash to her heart. She turned into the wind so he wouldn’t hear the tremor in her voice. “Right back atcha, pal.” She straightened her shoulders. “I have to pee. See you later.”

As she left him standing on the wharf, she blinked her eyes against the tears she couldn’t let herself shed. He’d given up on her so easily. Not really surprising. Duplicity wasn’t in his nature. He was a hero, and true heroes didn’t pretend to offer what they weren’t prepared to give.

She crossed the road to her car. She had to leave the island now. Today. This very minute. But she couldn’t. She needed her Kia, and the big car ferry wasn’t due for eight more days. Eight days, during which Theo could show up at the cottage anytime he wanted. Unbearable. She had to fix that.

As she drove back to the cottage, she told herself her heart would keep beating, whether she wanted it to or not. Time healed—everyone knew that—and eventually, time would heal her. She’d keep herself focused on the future and take comfort from knowing she’d done the right thing.

But for now, comfort was nowhere to be found.

Chapter Twenty-three

T
O
A
NNIE
’
S RELIEF
, L
IVIA HADN
’
T
fallen back into muteness, and she happily showed Annie a turtle she’d made from Play-Doh. “I don’t know what to say to her,” Jaycie whispered while Livia was occupied. “I’m her mother, but I don’t know how to talk to her.”

“I’ll get Scamp,” Annie said.

Annie fetched the puppet, grateful for the distraction from her own painful thoughts and fervently hoping Scamp could guide the conversation Jaycie needed to have. She propped the puppet on the kitchen table across from the two of them and turned her attention to Jaycie. “You are Livia’s beautiful mother. I don’t believe we’ve formally met. I am Scamp, otherwise known as Genevieve Adelaide Josephine Brown.”

“Uh . . . Hello,” Jaycie said with only minimal self-consciousness.

“I will now tell you about myself.” Scamp proceeded to lay out her accomplishments, calling herself a talented singer, dancer, actress, housepainter, and race car driver. “I can also catch lightning bugs and open my mouth really wide.”

Livia giggled as Scamp demonstrated, and Jaycie began to relax. Scamp continued chattering before finally tossing her yarn curls and saying, “I, Scamp, love free secrets because they help me talk about bad things. Like the bad things that happened to you, Livia, and to your mommy. But . . . Your mommy doesn’t know about free secret.”

As Annie had hoped, Livia butted in to explain. “Free secret is when you can tell somebody something, and they aren’t allowed to get mad at you.”

Scamp leaned toward Jaycie and said, in a stage whisper, “Livia and I would very much like you to tell us a free secret. We want to hear about that awful, terrible, horrible night you shot Livia’s father and he died dead. And since it’s a free secret, nobody can get mad.”

Jaycie turned away.

“It’s okay, Mommy.” Livia spoke as if she were the adult. “Free secrets are very safe.”

Jaycie hugged her daughter, tears filling her eyes. “Oh, Liv . . .” She pulled herself together. At first hesitantly, then gradually gaining strength, she talked about Ned Grayson’s alcoholism. Using language a four-year-old could understand, she explained how it made him violent.

Livia listened raptly. Jaycie, fearing the effect her words were having, kept stopping to ask if Livia understood, but Livia seemed more curious than traumatized. By the time they were done, she was on her mother’s lap getting kissed and demanding lunch.

“First, you must promise to keep talking to each other about this whenever you need to,” Scamp said. “Do you promise?”

“We promise,” Livia said solemnly.

Scamp stuck her head in Jaycie’s face. Jaycie laughed. “I promise.”

“Excellent!” Scamp exclaimed. “My work here is done.”

After lunch, when Livia wanted to ride her scooter on the front porch, Annie went out with Jaycie and settled on the top step next to her. “I should have talked to her from the beginning,” Jaycie said as the scooter bumped over the floorboards with Livia struggling to keep her balance. “But she was so young. I kept hoping she’d forget. Stupid of me. You knew right away what she needed.”

“Not right away. I’ve been doing a lot of research. And it’s easier to be objective as an outsider.”

“Not a good excuse, but thanks.”

“I’m the one who’s thankful,” Annie said. “Thanks to Livia, I know what I want to do with my life.” Jaycie cocked her head, and Annie told her what she hadn’t yet confided to anyone. “I’m going to start training to be a play therapist—using puppets to help traumatized children.”

“Annie, that’s wonderful! It’s perfect for you.”

“Do you think so? I’ve talked to some play therapists over the phone, and it feels right.” This career fit her better than acting ever could. She would have to go back to school, something she wouldn’t be able to afford for a while, but she had a good academic record, and her experience working with kids might help her get scholarship money. If it didn’t, she’d apply for a loan. One way or another, she intended to make this work.

“I admire you so much.” Jaycie got a faraway look in her eyes. “I’ve been locked up as tight as Livia—feeling sorry for myself, fantasizing about Theo instead of getting on with my life.”

Annie knew all about that.

“If you hadn’t come here . . . ” Jaycie shook her head, as if she were getting rid of cobwebs. “I’m not just thinking about Livia but about the way you’ve taken control of your life. I want a fresh start, and I’m finally going to do something about it.”

Annie knew all about that, too.

“What are you going to do about the cottage?” Jaycie said.

Annie didn’t want to tell her what the grandmothers had done or admit that she’d fallen in love with Theo. “I’m moving out right away and leaving the island on the car ferry next week.” She hesitated. “Things with Theo have gotten . . . too complicated. I’ve had to end it.”

“Oh, Annie, I’m sorry.” Jaycie displayed no schadenfreude
,
only genuine concern. She’d meant what she’d said about Theo being a fantasy and not her reality. “I was hoping you wouldn’t leave so soon. You know how much I’m going to miss you.”

Annie gave her an impulsive hug. “Me, too.”

Jaycie was stoic when Annie told her she needed to find someplace to stay until the car ferry arrived. “I can’t keep running into Theo at the cottage. I . . . need some private space.”

She intended to talk to Barbara about finding someplace temporary. Annie could ask for a golden unicorn, and the grandmothers would come up with a way to find it for her. Anything to buy her silence.

But as it turned out, Annie didn’t need Barbara. With a single phone call, Jaycie found Annie a home.

L
ES
C
HILDERS
’
S LOBSTER BOAT, THE
Lucky Charm,
was temporarily moored at the fish house dock while its owner waited for a crucial engine part to arrive on the same ferry that would take Annie back to the mainland next week. Les took good care of the
Lucky Charm,
but it still smelled of bait, rope, and diesel fuel. Annie didn’t care. The boat had a small galley with a microwave and even a tiny shower. The cabin was dry, a heater provided a little warmth, and, most important, she wouldn’t have to see Theo. In case she hadn’t been clear enough yesterday, she’d left a note for him at the cottage.

Dear Theo,

I’ve moved into town for a few days to, among other things, adjust to the depressing (boo hoo) prospect of no longer having mind-blowing sex with you. I’m sure you can find me if you try hard enough, but I have stuff to do, and I’m asking you to leave me the hell alone. Be a pal, okay? I’ll handle the Witches of Peregrine Island, so stay away from them.

A.

The note struck exactly the breezy tone she wanted. There was nothing maudlin in it, nothing to make him suspect how long it had taken her to compose, and absolutely nothing to signal how deeply she’d fallen in love with him. She would e-mail him her final kiss-off from the city.
You’re not going to believe this, but I’ve met the most amazing man.
Blah . . . Blah . . . Blah . . . Curtain down. No encore.

Between her emotional turmoil, the noisy squeak of ropes against the moorings, and the unfamiliar rocking of the lobster boat, she had trouble falling asleep. She wished she’d brought her puppets with her instead of leaving them with Jaycie at Harp House for safekeeping. Knowing they were nearby would have been comforting.

Her blankets slipped off during the night, and she awakened at dawn shivering. She rolled out of the berth and pushed her feet into her sneakers. After she’d wrapped Mariah’s red wool cloak around her, she climbed up to the pilothouse and walked out onto the deck.