A hunger pang reminded her that she hadn’t taken time for breakfast. Since Heath wasn’t picking her up until noon, she made her way across the street to Victory’s Banner, a cheery, pocket-size vegetarian café operated by the followers of one of the Indian spiritual masters. Instead of a musty, incense-scented interior, Victory’s Banner had powder blue walls, sunny yellow banquettes, and chalk white tables that matched the tieback curtains at the windows. She took an empty table and began to order one of her favorites, homemade French toast with peach butter and real maple syrup, only to be distracted by a platter of golden-brown Belgian waffles passing by. She finally settled on apple pecan pancakes.
As she took her first sip of coffee, the door to the restroom at the back opened and a familiar figure emerged. Annabelle’s heart sank. The woman would have been tall even without her high-heeled woven slides. She was broad shouldered and well dressed in crisp white slacks and a short-sleeved coral blouse that complemented her shoulder-length light brown hair. Her makeup was well applied with subtle eye shadow that emphasized her familiar dark eyes.
The café was too small to hide in, and Rosemary Kimble spotted Annabelle right away. She clutched her straw purse more tightly. Her big, broad hands had long, toffee-painted nails and a trio of gold bracelets encircling one wrist. It had been nearly six months since Annabelle had last seen her. Rosemary’s face was thinner, her hips rounder. She approached the table, and Annabelle experienced an all-too-familiar barrage of emotions: anger and betrayal, compassion and repulsion …a painful tenderness.
Rosemary shifted her purse from one hand to the other and spoke in her low, melodious voice. “I just finished breakfast, but…Would you mind some company?”
Yes, I’d mind, Annabelle wanted to say, but she’d only feel guilty afterward, so she tilted her head in the general direction of the opposite chair. Rosemary tucked her purse in her lap and ordered an iced chai, then began fiddling with a bracelet. “I hear through the grapevine that you landed a big client.”
“Grapevine Molly.”
Rosemary gave her a wry smile. “You don’t call, you don’t write. Molly’s my only source of information. She’s been a good friend.”
Unlike Annabelle, who hadn’t. She concentrated on her coffee. Rosemary finally broke the awkward silence. “So how’s Hurricane Kate these days?”
“Her usual interfering self. She wants me to get an accounting degree.”
“She worries about you.”
Annabelle set her cup down too hard, and coffee sloshed over the brim. “I can’t imagine why.”
“Don’t try to blame all your troubles with Kate on me. She’s always driven you crazy.”
“Yes, well, our situation sure didn’t help.”
“No, it didn’t,” Rosemary said.
Annabelle had waited nearly a week after her world had crashed to call her mother, hoping by then she could manage her announcement without crying.
“Rob and I’ve called off our engagement, Mom.”
She still remembered Kate’s screech. “What are you talking about?”
“We’re not getting married.”
“But the wedding’s only two months away. And we love Rob. Everybody does. He’s the only man you’ve dated who has a head on his shoulders. You complement each other perfectly.”
“Turns out too perfectly. Get ready to laugh.” Her voice had caught on a snag. “Turns out Rob is a woman trapped in a man’s body.”
“Annabelle, have you been drinking?”
Annabelle had explained it to her mother just as Rob had explained it to her—how he’d felt wrong in his body for as long as he could remember; the nervous breakdown he’d suffered the year before they’d met but never quite gotten around to mentioning; his belief that loving her would cure him; and his final realization that he couldn’t keep on living if he had to do it as a man.
Kate had started to cry and Annabelle had cried right along with her.
She’d felt so stupid for not suspecting the truth, but Rob had been a decent lover, and they’d had an okay sex life. He was nice looking, funny, and sensitive, but she hadn’t considered him effeminate. She never caught him trying on her clothes or using her makeup, and until that awful night when he’d started to cry and told her he couldn’t go on any longer trying to be someone he wasn’t, she’d assumed he was the love of her life.
Looking back, there’d been hints: his moodiness, frequent references to an unhappy childhood, odd questions about Annabelle’s experiences growing up as a girl. She’d been flattered by the attention he’d paid to her opinions, and she’d told her friends how lucky she was to have a fiancé who was so interested in her as a person. Never once had she suspected he was gathering information, weighing her experiences against his own so he could make his final decision. After he’d broken the devastating news, he’d told her he still loved her as much as ever. She’d cried and asked him exactly what he expected her to do about that?
Her broken dreams had been painful enough, but she’d also had to face the humiliation of telling her friends and relatives.
“You remember my ex-fiancé Rob. Funniest thing…”
Try as she might, she couldn’t get past what she’d come to think of as the “ick factor.” She’d made love with a man who wanted to be a woman. She found no comfort in his explanation that gender identity and sexuality were two different issues. He’d known this monster hung over them when they’d fallen in love, but he hadn’t said a word about it until the afternoon she’d had her bridal gown fitted. That evening, he’d taken his first dose of estrogen and begun his transition from Rob into Rosemary.
Nearly two years had passed since then, and Annabelle still hadn’t overcome her sense of betrayal. At the same time, she couldn’t pretend not to care. “How’s the job?” Rosemary was the longtime marketing director at Molly’s publishing company, Birdcage Press. She and Molly had worked closely together to grow the market for Molly’s award-winning Daphne the Bunny children’s books.
“People are finally getting used to me.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t easy.” For a while Annabelle had wanted it to be hard, wanted her old lover to suffer, but she didn’t feel that way now. Now she simply wanted to forget.
The woman who’d once been her fiancé gazed at her across the table. “I just wish that…”
“Don’t say it.”
“You were my best friend, Annabelle. I want that back.”
The old bitterness resurfaced. “I know you do, but you can’t have it.”
“Would it help if I told you I’m not sexually attracted to you anymore? Apparently the hormones have done a job on me. For the first time in my life, I’ve started to look at men. Very strange.”
“Tell me about it.”
Rosemary laughed, and Annabelle managed a smile in return, but as much as she wished Rosemary well, she couldn’t be her confidante. Their relationship had robbed her of too much. Not only had she lost trust in her ability to judge people, but she’d also lost her sexual confidence. What kind of loser could be in an intimate relationship for so long without suspecting that something was seriously askew?
Her pancakes arrived. Rosemary rose and regarded her sadly. “I’ll let you eat in peace. It’s been good seeing you.”
The most Annabelle could manage in return was a quiet “Good luck.”
Do you get invited to many of Phoebe and Dan’s parties?” Heath asked a few hours later as he steered his BMW into the long, wooded drive that led to the Calebow home. A hawk circled in the afternoon sun above the old orchard to their right, where the apples were just beginning to turn red.
“A few,” she replied. “But, then, Phoebe likes me.”
“Go ahead and laugh, but it’s not funny to me. I’ve lost some great clients because of this.”
“I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you it’s nice having you at my mercy for a change.”
“Don’t enjoy it too much. I’m trusting you not to screw this up.”
She was afraid she already had. She should have been up front with him about today’s affair, but she always got pigheaded when workaholics started ordering her around, another legacy from her childhood.
The tires clattered on a narrow wooden bridge. They rounded a bend, and an old stone farmhouse came into sight. Build in the 1880s, the Calebow property was a rustic gem in an area of affluent suburban sprawl. Dan had bought the house in his bachelor days, and as their family had grown, he and Phoebe had added wings, raised the roof, and expanded the grounds. The end result was a charming ramble of a house perfect for a family with four growing children.
Heath parked in the drive next to Molly’s SUV, which had Tigger sunshades suction-cupped to the glass. He shifted his weight and tucked his keys in the hip pocket of his khaki slacks. He wore them with a designer polo and another of his TAG Heuer watches, this one with a brown crocodile strap. Annabelle felt a little underdressed in gray knit drawstring shorts, aqua tank top, and J. Crew flip-flops.
She saw the exact moment when he spotted the multitude of pink balloons tied to the spindled railing that surrounded the old-fashioned front porch.
He turned to her slowly, a python uncoiling for the strike. “Exactly what kind of party is this?”
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and tried to look adorable. “Uh, funny you should ask…”
His grim green eyes belatedly reminded Annabelle that he had no sense of humor when it came to business. Not that she’d exactly forgotten it.
“No bullshit, Annabelle. Tell me right now what’s going on.”
He’d trample her if she tried to stage a retreat, so she attempted a chipper sort of savoir faire. “Relax and enjoy yourself. It’ll be fun.” She didn’t sound convincing, but before he could crush the life out of her, Molly appeared on the front porch with Pippi at her side. Both of them sported glittery pink tiaras, Pippi’s accessorized with a strawberry pink princess gown, Molly’s with bright yellow capris and a Daphne the Bunny T-shirt. Heath’s already grim expression grew even more forbidding.
Molly looked startled, then laughed as she spotted Heath. He shot Annabelle a life-threatening glare, plastered a smile on his face for Molly, and stepped out of the car. Annabelle grabbed her tote and followed. Unfortunately, the knot that had begun to form in her stomach came right along with her.
“Heath? I don’t believe it,” Molly said. “I couldn’t even talk Kevin into helping out today.”
“Is that so?” he replied slowly. “Annabelle invited me.”
Molly gave her a thumbs-up. “Cool.”
Annabelle forced a smile.
Heath walked toward Molly, projecting an air of amusement Annabelle knew he didn’t feel. “Annabelle neglected, however, to tell me exactly what she was inviting me to.”
“Oops.” Molly’s eyes sparkled.
“I would have if you’d asked.” Annabelle’s words sounded lame even to herself, and he ignored her.
Molly leaned down to her daughter. “Pippi, tell Mr. Heath about our party.”
The three-year-old’s tiara wobbled as she jumped and gave an ear-splitting shriek. “Princess party!”
“Ya don’t say,” Heath drawled. Slowly, he turned to face Annabelle. She pretended to examine the climbing rose next to the front porch.
“It was Julie and Tess’s idea,” Molly said. “Annabelle volunteered to help out.”
Annabelle thought about explaining that Julie and Tess were the Calebows’ oldest children, fifteen-year-old twins, then realized Heath wouldn’t need an explanation. He’d have made it his business to know all about Dan and Phoebe’s four children: the twins, twelve-year-old Hannah, and nine-year-old Andrew. He probably knew their favorite foods and when they’d had their last dental checkups.
“The twins are volunteering at a summer day care center that serves low-income families,” Molly went on. “They work with the four-and five-year-old girls, supervising activities to jump-start them in math and science. They wanted to throw a party just for fun.”
“Princess party!” Pippi shrieked again, hopping up and down.
“I can’t tell you how glad I am you’re here,” Molly said. “Tess and Julie woke up with fevers this morning, so we’ve been a little frantic. Hannah’s going to help, but she gets emotionally involved, so she’s not entirely reliable. I tried to call Kevin and beg him to reconsider, but he and Dan have taken the boys somewhere and they’re not picking up. Wait till they hear who saved them.”
“My pleasure.” Heath projected such sincerity that Annabelle would have believed him if she hadn’t known better. No wonder he was so good at what he did.
They heard the sound of an engine and saw a yellow minibus approaching. Molly turned to the door. “Hannah, the girls are here!”
Seconds later, twelve-year-old Hannah Calebow emerged. Thin and awkward, she resembled her Aunt Molly more than her mother, Phoebe. Her light brown hair, expressive eyes and slightly asymmetrical features bore the promise of something more interesting than conventional prettiness when she grew older, although at this point it was hard to tell exactly what. “Hi, Annabelle,” she said as she came forward.
Annabelle returned the greeting, and Molly introduced Heath as the minibus stopped in front of the house. “Annabelle, why don’t you and Heath help Phoebe in the backyard while Hannah and I get the girls unloaded?”
“Maybe you should be a little careful around Mom,” Hannah said in a soft, anxious-to-please voice. “She’s in a bad mood because Andrew got into the cake this morning.”
“It just keeps getting better and better,” Heath muttered. And then he headed for the flagstone path that led around the side of the house. He walked so quickly that Annabelle had to trot to catch up with him.
“I guess I should apologize,” she said. “I’m afraid I might have let my—”
“Not one word,” he said on a single ominous note. “You screwed me over, and we don’t have a thing to say to each other.”
She hurried to his side. “I wasn’t trying to screw you over. I thought—”
“Save your breath. You wanted me to look stupid.”
She hoped that wasn’t true but suspected it might be. Not stupid, exactly. Just not so together. “You’re totally over-reacting.”
That was when the Python struck.
“You’re fired.”
She stumbled on one of the flagstones. There was no emotion in his voice, no expression of regret for good times and shared laughs, only a stony declaration.
“You can’t mean that.”
“Oh, I mean it, all right.”
“It’s a kids’ party! It’s no big deal.”
He walked away without another word.
She stood chilled and silent in the shadow of an old elm. She’d done it again. Once more, she’d let her impulsiveness lead her into disaster. She knew him well enough by now to understand how much he hated being put at a disadvantage. How could she have believed he’d find this amusing? Maybe she hadn’t. Maybe the person she’d really intended to sabotage was herself.
Her mother was right. It couldn’t be entirely coincidental that everything Annabelle attached herself to failed. Did she believe she didn’t deserve success? Was that why all her ventures ended in disaster?
She leaned against the trunk of the elm and tried not to cry.
Chapter Nine
Heath was furious. He didn’t like looking foolish under any circumstances, but especially not in front of Phoebe Calebow. Yet here he was, completely out of his element. If the party had involved teenagers, he’d have been fine. He liked teenagers. He knew how to talk to them. But little kids—little female kids—were a mystery to him.
His anger against Annabelle grew. She thought putting one over on him was funny, but nothing involving Phoebe amused him. Where business was concerned, he didn’t play games. Annabelle knew that, but she’d decided to test him, and he’d had to cut her off at the knees. He wouldn’t let it bother him, either. Senti
ment and second-guessing were for losers.
He focused on the Calebows’ backyard with its swimming pool, climbing trees, and open stretch of well-used yard, all of it designed for a large family. This afternoon, pink filmy crap hung from the trees, around the flagstone patio, and over the jungle gym. It also festooned tiny tables where pink balloons bobbed in the breeze above the back of each small chair. Glittery dresses like the one Pippi Tucker wore spilled from pink cardboard cartons, and a battered pink wagon held a pile of plastic slippers. Fake pink jewels decorated a throne-shaped chair sitting in the middle of the patio. Only the green dragon piñata dangling from the branch of a maple tree had escaped the pink plague.
He’d always been comfortable in his body, but now he felt awkward and out of place. He glanced toward the swimming pool and experienced a flicker of hope. In a pool, he’d be right at home. Unfortunately, the iron gate was padlocked. Apparently Molly and Phoebe had decided supervising so many little kids around water was too dangerous, but he’d have supervised the damn kids. He liked danger. If he’d gotten lucky, one of the little buggers would have gone under for a while, and he could have saved her from drowning. That would have caught Phoebe’s attention.
The Stars’ owner stood behind the farthest of the little tables, setting out some kind of cardboard whoogees. Like everybody else, she had one of those frickin’ pink crowns on her head, and he regarded her with a profound sense of personal insult. Team owners should wear Stetsons or go bareheaded. No other options.
Phoebe chose that moment to look up. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she dropped one of the cardboard whoogees. “Heath?”
“Hey, Phoebe.”
“Well. And isn’t this special?” She snatched up the—whatever-the-hell they were. “As much as I’d love to climb into the trenches with you for another round of mud wrestling, I’m a little busy now.”
“Annabelle thought you could use some help.”
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