Sara's Promise (7 page)

“You could have called me a workaholic in those days. I worked constantly, leaving Sara with everything else. But after she died, I realized that I was needed at home more. So, I slowed down on the big projects, letting my partner take over that end, and I went back to just designing homes for clients. I still consult with Jeffrey on big projects, but otherwise, I’m satisfied creating homes.”

“It must have been hard after Sara died,” Annie said sympathetically. “Your life must have changed dramatically.”

“It was difficult. Sometimes it still is.” He hesitated a moment, unsure of continuing. He hadn’t spoken much about losing Sara to anyone, even after all these years. But Annie's warm smile encouraged him to continue.

“You know, after she died, I was completely lost—literally. She did everything for our family, from the grocery shopping to the clothes shopping, paying the bills—everything. I didn’t know where to pick up the dry cleaning. I had no idea where she bought our prescription medicines. I didn’t even know the names of my kids’ teachers at school.” He sighed, his gaze far off in the distance. “In many ways, when I think of it, I used her. I just allowed her to take everything over so I’d have more time to do what interested me. I regret that now.”

Annie shook her head. “I never want to be anyone’s doormat,” she said without thinking, regretting the words as soon as they left her lips.

William looked up at her indignantly. “My wife was not a doormat,” he insisted, his eyes ablaze.

“I didn’t mean…” Annie tried to apologize for her thoughtless words, but the expression on his face changed abruptly to sadness, making her stop.

He looked at her with soulful eyes and sighed. “But we treated her like one,” he said softly.

“I didn’t mean to say you did,” she told him, wanting to reach across the table, fold him into her arms, and beg his forgiveness. Anything to take the sorrow from his eyes, the pain from his heart. But she could only sit there, because the truth was she barely knew him, had only met him yesterday, and such a familiar gesture was unacceptable. She could only sit there and watch him as she wondered where this deep desire to ease his pain came from.

“I’m so sorry,” she said again in a quiet voice, but he only shook his head gently.

“It’s not your fault, you didn’t do anything wrong,” he told her.

“But I shouldn’t have said that,” she said.

“It’s all right,” he assured her, feigning a smile. But they both knew that the evening was over. The lightheartedness and warmth they’d felt earlier had changed to a cold heaviness that no words could change.

In almost complete silence, he drove her home, saying a polite goodbye before driving away, leaving her feeling more empty and alone than she had ever felt.

No sooner had Annie stepped into her condo than there was a quick knock at the door. For one brief moment, Annie hoped it was William coming back to tell her he forgave her for her inappropriate comment and that all was fine. But before Annie could answer the door, it opened to reveal a head of springy brown curls and a smiling face with big, brown eyes. Her friend, Cherise Adams, walked into the room holding a pizza box.

"Hey lady," Cherise said with a smile. "I just got home with this pizza and wondered if you'd like to share it with me."

Annie couldn't help but smile. Cherise was always so bubbly and energetic. She could always brighten Annie's day. Annie had met Cherise the first week she'd moved to Seaside. Cherise had knocked on her door with a pizza in one hand and a bottle of soda in the other, and they'd been best friends ever since.

Without waiting for Annie to answer, Cherise settled the pizza on the coffee table and headed to the kitchen to pour the soda into a glass. "So, who was that gorgeous hunk of man I saw you with a few minutes ago?" Cherise asked as she walked back to the sofa with the soda and a handful of napkins she'd swiped from the kitchen counter. "You didn't tell me you were going out with anyone."

Annie sat down on the sofa beside Cherise, passing on the piece of pizza offered to her. "I already ate dinner, and I'm stuffed," Annie said. When Cherise's brows rose in question, Annie smiled. "And no, I'm not dating that man you saw me with. He's a client. I'm taking photos of the homes he designs for a magazine I'm working for."

Cherise shook her head. "Well, that's a damn shame. He's gorgeous. Probably married, huh? All the good ones are."

Annie smiled. Cherise was always waiting for Mr. Right to come into her coffeehouse and sweep her off her feet. Cherise was thirty-two and still single, which apparently was considered a crime to her mother, who was always on her about finding a man. With Cherise's creamy caramel skin, big, beautiful, brown eyes, and trim, long-legged body, it wasn't her looks that kept her from finding the right man. It was more than likely the fact that Cherise was overly particular about whom she dated. That, and the fact that she worked long hours at the coffeehouse, Cottage Coffee, she half-owned with her parents. Unlike many of the businesses in Seaside that were only open seasonally, Cherise's place was open year-round and did a robust business. Her parents left for Arizona in the winter and came back each summer to help her when the tourist season was in full swing. But being open from early morning to late in the evening every day, seven days a week, put a damper on any relationship Cherise tried to nurture.

"No, he's not married," Annie answered with a sigh. "He was, though. His wife died a few years ago."

"Oh." Cherise stopped in mid chew. "Well, that's a shame. Sorry to hear that." After a minute of respectable silence, Cherise asked, "So, do you think you'll see him again?"

Annie shrugged. After how their evening had ended, she doubted it very much. "Probably not. I suppose that would be for the best. I'm not sure he's over losing his wife yet."

"Well, you never know. A catch like you? He'd be a fool if he passed on seeing you again," Cherise told her friend as she claimed another slice of pizza from the box. Annie only smiled, but secretly she hoped her friend was right.

Sandy lay sprawled in the cab of a Ford S10 pickup as the radio played softly on the dashboard.
Heaven by the Dashboard Lights
, the old Meatloaf song came to mind and she almost giggled out loud, but she held back the urge. Yes, it felt nice to be wanted so passionately by the man lying on top of her. It was exciting to hear his heavy breathing in her ear and feel the pulse of his urgent need against her thigh. It was a little scary and exciting, wondering if they’d be caught on the dark side-road along the strip of beach. But it wasn’t heaven.

She repositioned herself beneath him to sooth the cramp in her leg. She was trying to concentrate on him, trying hard to get lost in the moment, but her mind was a whirl of thoughts that just kept getting in the way. It wasn’t her partner’s fault that she was distracted. He was doing his best to turn her on to only him. It was her mind, her thoughts that distracted her.

How many times had she lain this exact way as her thoughts wandered? They were so numerous she didn’t feel like counting them. Ever since that first time when she was sixteen, in the backseat of her boyfriend’s tricked out ’69 Camero. It had only been a few months after her mother’s death, she was feeling lonely and sad, and her boyfriend-of-the-moment was only too happy to comfort her. No, it hadn’t been love, never had been. All the boys and men she’d known since that first time had never meant love to her. Their attention, their kisses, their intimate touching had only been a way to fill an empty void deep inside her. But the void never filled completely, never stayed full for long.

“Oh, baby,” her partner breathed into her ear. For a time, Sandy returned his passionate kisses, her eyes open, staring out the window into the night sky. What was his name again, she wondered, trying hard to remember. They’d only met tonight, set up on a blind date by mutual friends. Oh, yes, Cory. His name was Cory, and he was a sophomore in college. An industrial tech major, she thought he’d said. He’d bought her dinner at a modestly priced restaurant and taken her to a forgettable movie, so forgettable that they’d started making out halfway through and left before the end. Well, he had paid for everything. She supposed he deserved something for it. And that something he was frantically working on now, tugging at his jean's waistband with one hand and pushing her short skirt upward with the other. She wriggled a little to help him, making him even more eager to reach his goal. Still, her thoughts wandered.

She wondered where her father was right now, if he, too, was trying to score with the photographer, Annie. In all the years since her mother’s death, Sandy had never seen her dad show the slightest interest in another woman. But the way he’d looked at Annie was different. Maybe it was the blue-green eyes so like her mother’s.

Cory maneuvered himself above her, panting, waiting to enter her own private heaven. Sandy didn’t deny him. She spread her legs invitingly, and he eagerly pushed himself in. As he pumped and groaned, she thought that it might be nice for her dad to have a woman in his life again. Maybe it would give him someone else to focus his attention on instead of worrying about her. Then, without another thought about her father, Sandy focused fully on relieving Cory’s need, before sitting up and lighting a joint to relax.

Chapter Seven

Annie expected to never hear from William again, so she was surprised when he called her the next day to invite her over to the house on Sunday. “It might be only us or the kids might be here, too,” he’d said. “Whoever happens to be home, I guess.” He'd asked if she minded if the kids were there. Of course, she didn’t mind, she'd told him, but she left out the part of her being thrilled he’d called and invited her, especially after what she’d said.

What she’d said, about being a doormat, was not said out of spite. It had just come out, a thought that had been germinating in her mind for so many years she didn’t know when it had first taken seed. The homes she’d lived in had been run completely by the wives. They’d done the cooking, cleaning and shopping—everything—plus working full-time jobs. The husbands had taken advantage of their wives, expecting everything from them, yet giving very little of themselves in return. Perhaps that was why her aunts had resented her presence. She was one more person to look after, one more added chore to their already overwhelmed schedules. Seeing this as a child had made her vow to never be used in such a way. An excuse she used in every serious relationship and a reason to never marry.

That was where the comment had come from, and Annie knew that she’d have to watch her words more carefully when she was with William. More than anything else in the world, she didn’t want to add to his pain.

Annie spent Saturday sorting through her photos from the day before, the ones of the homes she would send off to the magazine, but the personal ones she’d taken of William’s house she saved for herself.

Carefully, she studied each photo deciding which ones were perfect enough to send off to the publisher and which ones to file away, just in case. She did this with complete patience, looking carefully at each photo, the lighting, angles, and color. It was rote work for her. She’d done it so many times before. But being a meticulous person, she enjoyed the steady routine of it.

As each photo of William’s home materialized on her computer screen, Annie studied them closely, especially the ones she’d taken of him on the deck outside. She couldn’t help but be captivated by them. He truly was a handsome man. His smile was genuine, kind. It was a smile that urged a response in kind. His wavy, dark hair was windblown, the gray tips only adding depth to his classic features. It was a face she could stare at all day, everyday. One she felt at ease with like no other before. One she was drawn to.

The last photo, a close-up of William’s face, stared back at her from her computer's screen. She opened up another file and clicked on a photo she'd taken months ago, placing the two side-by-side on the screen. It was the same face, same hair, same eyes, but in this photo of William, there was no smile. Standing on his deck, looking out over the wide, gray ocean, his face held a tired, sad expression that worked its way up to his eyes. He looked like a man who had seen great sorrow, who was lost in the vast darkness around him. It was that look of complete and utter sorrow that had drawn Annie’s lens to his porch time and time again.

That long-ago night she had just been scanning the beach with her telephoto lens, admiring the houses, when it had rested upon him. It was a photo she couldn’t resist taking, a face she couldn’t resist searching for each time afterward when she walked the beach. Would he smile tonight, she’d wonder, or still hold the weight of the world in his eyes.

Annie never thought of these pictures as spying or prying. They were taken innocently out of admiration only. She had never expected then that she’d actually meet the man in the photos, never even dreamt she’d enter his house as a guest. She had simply been drawn to him and could not explain why. And when, on that first day of the photo shoot with William she’d realized who he was, she’d been shocked. She hadn’t realized who he was at first because his initial rudeness that day had distracted her. But then, when their hands had touched, she'd suddenly realized he was the man she’d seen from the beach those many nights before.