You Don't Know Me (7 page)

Not for long if Garcia ever saw her picture. But would he know her? Twenty years ago she’d had short black hair, angry eyes. He hadn’t a prayer of finding her. And Blake—Blake wouldn’t mention it. He’d probably forgotten her.

She should just relax. “Thanks, Lorelei.”

In the corner, next to the expansive picture windows that overlooked the lake, Nathan talked with Lorelei’s husband, Barry, who owned the convenience store in town. Nathan was gesturing as he spoke—dangerous with the cup of coffee in his hand. She walked over to retrieve it from him before he spilled it down his pressed shirt or across a prospective voter. Their fingers brushed as she took the cup, and their fight burned inside her. She set the cup on a table beside him. He caught her eye, smiled.

She shouldn’t have been so hard on him today—the flowers were sweet, his apology for nothing he’d done even more so.

She was just on edge. Having Frank around made her lies, her secrets, seem so large. Fresh. Inescapable.

Still, she couldn’t erase Nathan’s words.
It’s not enough.

Which meant she wasn’t enough. Their lives weren’t enough. Everything she’d done, sacrificed . . . wasn’t enough.

“Annalise?”

The voice startled her, and she moved out of the way of the punch jostling from her hand. Oh, shoot, and on her black pants, too. Thankfully they wouldn’t show the punch stain.

She set the cup down on a table, grabbed a cloth napkin.

“I’m so sorry.” Lee Nelson handed her another napkin. “I’m
doing a piece for the Deep Haven paper and was hoping you’d answer a few questions for me.”

She knew Lee—the widow of Clay, the deputy who had died in that terrible shooting a few years back. Lee looked good—slender, her auburn hair freshly cut—clearly healing from that terrible day.

Then again, did anyone heal from the traumas that changed their entire lives? Even if they started over?

Lee reminded her—everyone—of how quickly everything could be taken away.

Annalise longed to grow old in Deep Haven beside Nathan. The thought wheedled through her even as she fixed on a smile. “Lee, I’d love to help you, but Nathan’s the one running.”

“Please. You’re just as much mayor material as your husband. You’re the one on the community boards—theater, PTA, and aren’t you running the blood drive again this year?”

It was the least she could do since she couldn’t actually give blood. Not since she’d once had hep A running through her bloodstream. It kept her out of the spotlight, always working behind the scenes to drum up volunteers. But when asked, she’d used a blood transfusion after the car accident as an excuse.

After so many years, she even believed it.

“I am. Want to join my team?” Annalise winked.

“I’m giving for Lucy Brewster’s team.”

Lucy Brewster. Seb’s wife.

Lee shrugged. “It’s a small town. I haven’t figured out who I’m voting for yet.”

“Well, let me tell you why Nathan is perfect for the job.” Annalise pulled out a chair for Lee and sat down opposite her, outlining Nathan’s position on the new tax levy for the county, the tourism tax increase, the school referendum, the proposed bike path expansion.

Lee took a few notes. “Will you still be running the Give Drugs the Slip campaign this year?”

“Of course. And the abstinence program.”

“You’re so involved at the school, Annalise. The perfect mayor’s wife.”

Right. Oh, she had these people fooled.

What would this town do if they discovered she’d lied to them for over twenty years? Probably feel the same way Nathan would.

Betrayed.

It wasn’t like she had a choice, however. She’d made an agreement to become a new person, to let the past die. To erase it, like she had her sparrow tattoo.

“I’m not the perfect mayor’s wife. But I am sure Lucy Brewster would be.”

“You’re not supposed to root for the competition.”

“Lucy and her shop are fixtures in this town. Of course she would be an excellent mayor’s wife.”

Lee grinned as she scribbled down Annalise’s words. “I’m going to be posting my article and your picture on the newspaper’s website. I’ll send it to you so you can put it up on your Facebook and tweet it out.”

Oh, boy. “Thanks.” She wrapped her hand around her neck to rub the muscle there.

Lee frowned. “Are you okay?”

“I’m just a little tense.”

“You should see my chiropractor. He’s great. Maybe you just need an adjustment.”

She needed an adjustment all right. Back to reality. Only, what was that, anyway?

“The first time I went, he found old injuries that I didn’t even
remember. It took a bit of work, but finally I started to feel better than I had in years. Amazing how we get used to living with aches and pains.”

“Maybe I could use a massage.”

“That too.” Lee dug into her purse and pulled out an appointment card. “His number is on the bottom. And he has a massage therapist who works for him.”

Annalise’s entire neck screamed—had been tight for days. Long before Frank showed up, if she were honest.

Isadora Presley hovered over them, finally pulling up a chair. “Can I get a sound bite from you, Annalise?”

A year ago, Issy Presley had been a name on the radio—Miss Foolish Heart. No one in town knew she ran the late-night lovelorn talk show, although Annalise would confess to tuning in more often than she should. She hadn’t been lovelorn. Lonely, maybe, but that was to be expected for such a busy family, wasn’t it? Now Issy ran special programs like Nathan’s interview today.

Which she’d forgotten to listen to, so intent on buying the right color paint. And he’d caught her.

She felt a little sick then.

“Nathan Decker is an honorable man who will bring his integrity and passion for family and community to the office of mayor.” She spoke into Issy’s handheld recorder, reciting the line she’d memorized at their kitchen table. But she believed it. No lying there.

“Thanks,” Issy said. The silver diamond engagement ring sparkled on her finger. “I’ll use it as filler between station breaks and for a promo when you come on the show.”

When she—“What?”

“Nathan said you’d be happy to be interviewed for our
Deep
Haven Digest
hour next week. You’ll come on, talk about yourself, your family, the things you believe in, some of the boards and charities you serve on. You know, what makes Annalise Decker our next mayor’s wife.”

So an hour of deceit, then. Perfect. She swallowed, glanced at Nathan. He was smiling at her like she hung the moon.

When in fact she might cost him everything he’d worked so hard for.

“Okay,” she said. Not one quaver in her voice.

But, oh, maybe he hadn’t anything to worry about. Because she was good—so very good—at lying.

Helen stared at the array of clothing in her closet, pretty sure she hadn’t purchased anything new since 1983. And even then, maybe it hadn’t been in fashion.

That stupid man—why did he have to invite her to the dance tonight? Like she needed a date.

Or romance. Or love.

She wasn’t that silly girl anymore. The kind of girl who swooned when a good-looking man asked her out. She definitely wasn’t the kind of girl to fall in love on the first date or rush into marriage.

Well, maybe she had rushed a little with Dylan, but at eighteen she’d fallen so hard, so fast, that it felt like forever before they’d married.

Maybe if she’d waited longer, she would have seen his lies, the
fact that he had hidden his scoundrel, cheating ways, and saved herself from heartache.

Not that she would trade Nathan for anything.

But she might not have lived with the legacy of betrayal, the scourge of divorce.

Men were trouble.

Especially Frank, the way he sauntered into her life, those deep-blue eyes watching her as she’d rolled out pie dough. And those wide shoulders under his flannel shirt as he’d fixed the porch.

It frightened Helen how easily she could see Frank Harrison in her life. How she could get used to watching him drink coffee, listening to him talk.

Not that she’d enjoyed hearing about his wife and her death. Poor man. Eight years gone, however, felt long enough to enjoy his laughter without shame.

Of course, according to Miriam, these very thoughts were sacrilege.

She closed the closet door. Stared at herself in her white full-length slip in the long mirror on the door.

Maybe she should stay home. One date might lead to more.

And then what? Marriage? Hardly. She had a nice life, one she liked just the way it was. She didn’t need a man messing it up.

She sat on the bed. Ran a hand over her arm. Flinched.

She’d managed a bruise already from her fall today. Holding up her arm, she found the purple-black smudge.

She prodded it, wincing. She had another one just like it on her shin, probably also from the fall. And a third on her hip where she’d wrestled with the apple press today. She’d given in to Frank’s request to help her without too much fight.

It did make the juicing go faster. And was it so terrible to have company?

She pressed the bruise again, pain bleeding through her. Yes, perhaps asking for help, letting someone into her life, could save her from the bruises.

Or would it cause more?

“Helen?”

She grabbed up her bathrobe, shrugging it on as Annalise came to the door.

“Oh! Excuse me!” Annalise ducked away.

“For cryin’ in the sink, c’mon in, Annalise. It’s not like I’m standing here in my birthday suit.”

But Helen had to go out into the hall to retrieve her daughter-in-law. The woman had picked up the family picture they’d taken this summer by the lake, staring at it as if she’d never seen it before.

“Such a beautiful family,” Annalise said softly.

Was that a tear she whisked away?

“Are you okay, honey?”

“I’m fine.”

But she looked tired. Of course, Annalise could still turn heads in town, with her long blonde hair, her figure, those blue eyes. Helen wasn’t blind to the attention she received from the few bachelors—and nonbachelors—in town. But she wasn’t Dylan, wasn’t a liar, wasn’t a cheat, would never betray her family. That’s why she’d been the perfect choice for Nathan.

As if God had looked down upon them, forgiven Helen for her bad choices, and dropped into their lives the woman who could remind them exactly what fidelity felt like. Helen loved her daughter-in-law as much as she might love her own daughter. Annalise had healed all of them when she married Helen’s son.

“How did the luncheon go today?”

“Nathan is still there, meeting with people. I had to come home to get something for the kids to eat before the dance tonight. Although what I’d really like to do is read a book.” Annalise rubbed her hands down her arms. She wore a pretty red shirt, black dress pants, her hair in a loose bun. “Nathan says we have to go, though. Community spirit.”

“Is that white paint on your chin?”

Annalise scrubbed at it with her hand, giving Helen a wry smile. “Oh, shoot, I thought I got it all.”

“You can hardly see it,” Helen said, moving into the kitchen to hand her a wet rag from the sink.

“I was painting the basement. Someday I’m going to gut it, start over.”

“That sounds pretty drastic. Maybe it doesn’t need to be gutted—”

“It smells. And I think there might be mice down there. No, a complete gutting. Not even the white paint is going to save it.” Again the tight smile.

“Annalise, are you okay? You seem tense—would you like some pie?”

“I’m fine. It’s just . . . all the media attention. Nathan had his picture taken today and there’s a television interview next week . . .”

“Elections are in three weeks and it’ll be all over. Life will go back to normal.”

“I hope so.” Annalise didn’t smile. “I came over to ask if you’d check in on the kids tonight. Jason is going out with friends, but Colleen and Henry will be at home. And Tucker said he’s going to stop by, so . . .” She made a face.

Tucker. Yes, that’s right—Colleen had mentioned a boy she liked at school.

See, she didn’t need to go to the dance.

“Sure, I’ll be glad to check in on them.”

Except, right then, of course, the doorbell rang. And before Helen could stop her, Annalise turned to look out the front window.

Frank Harrison stood on the stoop.

With flowers.

And looking dapper in black pants, a tie under his leather jacket.

“What is going on, Helen?” Annalise said softly. “What is F—Uncle Frank doing here?”

Oh, shoot. “We were supposed to go to the dance.” She tucked her bathrobe tight to her neck and crossed the room. Opened the door. “Frank, listen—”

“I have to admit, I thought you might be in something different.”

“Funny.”

“What are you doing here?”

Even Helen started at Annalise’s tone. She felt the frown on her face as Annalise charged up behind her.

“Are you taking Helen to the dance?” Annalise pushed past Helen, toeing up to her uncle. “Have you lost your mind?”

Okay, that hurt a little. “Excuse me?”

Frank narrowed his eyes. “Trust me, Annalise.” He said her name slowly, as if it were rarely used.

“I’m not sure I should.”

Oh, boy. “Listen, sweetie, your uncle Frank asked me to the dance and apparently dinner . . .”

She glanced at Frank. When he met her eyes, he gave her a smile. It ignited something inside her, something long dormant.

No. She wasn’t a silly girl. “But I can’t, Frank. Annalise needs me to check in on the kids—”

“You’re going to the dance.” He let himself in the house now, brushing past Annalise, then turning to her. “If you’re going to the dance, so are we.”

Meaning flashed in his eyes.

Annalise put her hands on her hips. Cocked her head. “What if I stay home?”

Helen had never quite seen this side of Annalise before. Nor heard that tone.

“You’re going. Helen and I have dinner plans. Then we’re going dancing. So go home, change, and we’ll see you there.”

A muscle ticked in Annalise’s jaw, and for a second, something dangerous and even angry flashed in her eyes. “You watch yourself, Uncle Frank. She’s my mother-in-law. My
family
.”

Frank glanced at Helen, then back to Annalise. He leaned close and whispered into Annalise’s ear.

Whatever he said jerked her upright. Made her glance at Helen. “See you at the dance,” she said quietly.

See you at the dance?

Annalise closed the door behind her—not quite a slam, but something near it.

Frank turned to Helen and extended the flowers—roses. Yellow roses. “I’m okay with the bathrobe, but if you want something a bit easier to dance in, I’ll wait.”

Helen didn’t care how long she had to look; she intended to wear something fabulous tonight.

Why couldn’t Colleen just give him a chance to meet her parents? Tuck hated sneaking around.

He nearly drove away, waiting for her like a gangster in his Jeep, parked in the shadows of the Laundromat, two blocks from her house. The moon was a giant eye overhead, watching as she emerged from the Johnsons’ yard, around the end of the Magnussons’ hedge, and onto the pavement of the shadowed lot.

She slid into his car, breathing hard. “Sorry I’m so late. My parents wouldn’t leave until Jason promised to stay in. And then he gave me the third degree about why I wanted to watch a movie in my room. Like he didn’t spend hours in his room on Facebook with Harper Jacobsen.”

She leaned over, snaked her hand around Tuck’s neck.

She looked amazing tonight in a short black skirt, leggings, and a low-cut sweater. His irritation dissolved at the look in her beautiful blue eyes.

“I missed you,” she said right before she kissed him, a recklessness in her touch that set off alarms inside him. He put her away from him before they ended up not going to the dance.

“I missed you too. I would have picked you up at your house, you know. I don’t like sneaking around.”

“Right,” she said, turning to slide onto his lap. “Like my father would greet you with open arms. Trust me—you don’t want the third degree.”

Ouch. He shook her words away and ran his finger down her face. “You look pretty.”

Catching his hand, she wove her fingers through his. “Pretty enough to take me home?”

He swallowed, not sure what to say. “Colleen, I, uh—”

“Later.” She gave him another kiss, this time longer.

He pulled away. “What’s with you tonight?”

“What’s with you?” She slid off his lap. “Drive me down to the lighthouse. We’re meeting Brianna and Ronnie there.”

“Why?”

She rested her hand on his leg. “Why do you think? To score some entertainment.”

He grabbed her hand, put it back on her lap. Okay, really, she was starting to freak him out. “I thought we were going to the dance.”

“What? The dance? My parents are there. As is half the town. They’re playing old-people music from the eighties. Or the sixties.”

“I thought it would be fun.”

She stared at him like she didn’t recognize him.

“Seriously? Ever since the coffee shop yesterday—no, wait—since my mother caught us kissing, you’ve been acting weird. Like you . . . what? Do you feel guilty?”

He swallowed. “I . . . I just keep remembering the way she ordered you out of the car, the look she gave me, like she wanted to skewer me alive.”

“She did.” Colleen laughed, nuzzled close to his ear. “And that’s part of the fun.”

“What fun?”

His tone must have startled her away.

“You think I like having your parents look at me like I’m a criminal?”

Eyes wide, she shook her head.

Okay, so maybe he wasn’t preppy and slicked up like her brother, but just because he didn’t own an Abercrombie & Fitch wardrobe didn’t make him dirt.

There it was again, the sense that maybe she was dating him
because
he looked like a criminal.

“Let’s just go. They’re waiting.” She scooted a little away from him.

He breathed finally. But he didn’t put the car into drive.

“What now?”

“Have you ever even smoked weed before?”

“Sure I have.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“Sheesh, Tuck. I thought you’d like this.”

“I don’t smoke pot anymore.” Not since he’d started seriously training for snowboarding. Even when his buddies did. He couldn’t end up like his brother or, worse, wrap himself around a tree. “Can’t we just go to the dance?”

“No. I don’t want to go to the dance. I want to meet Ronnie and Brianna and have some fun.”

“I just don’t want to be the guy getting you in trouble. Listen, let’s go grab a pizza. We can go back to my place, I guess.”

“Forget it.” She reached for the door handle.

His hand on her arm stopped her. “Wait.”

“Why?”

He put his hands on the steering wheel. His knuckles turned white. He wanted this girl to like him more than was good for him. Maybe she’d get it out of her system. He’d keep her safe, make sure she didn’t do anything stupid. “Just this once, okay?”