“Fine, find a small box and put the sketchbook and a few other things Anne might like to have in it.” At the doorway, he added, “And be quick about it. He’ll be here in ten minutes.”
Scanning the room, Etta threw a well-read copy of a Jane Austen novel into the box, another sketchbook that had barely been used – placed underneath the one they wanted Derek to get curious about – and Anne’s art pencils, along with some other random things that Etta just happened to get her hands on.
“Why is Derek coming over?”
“You want him to take that box of Anne’s to her,” Charles answered his wife.
“I do?” Mary asked, her brow bunched in confusion.
“Yes,” he drew out. “You told me yesterday to call him and tell him. I just got busy with my class, but I called him today,” Charles had no problem lying through his teeth.
If anybody knew how often he lied to his wife they would not be surprised at the ease he was able to manipulate her.
“I did?”
“Yes.”
Narrowing her eyes, Mary struggled to remember that conversation. “Are you sure that I did?”
“Yes,” he sighed. “You were playing with the boys at the time. Or maybe changing Baby Walter’s diaper.” He didn’t even bother to call him Baby Henry as was his preference.
Looking at him curiously thanks to his slip, Mary pursed her lips. “You never call him Baby Walter,” she finally stated.
“Well, you do change his diapers. Although, as often as your father sees the kids, I’m surprised you are so insistent on calling him Baby Walter.” He pulled out the discussion they frequently had over the baby’s name. “But I’m tired of arguing over which grandfather gets the honor of our son’s name, even though I think my father would be more generous if he heard the baby called Henry more often.”
Mary fell silent as Charles succeeded in what he was attempting to do: distract Mary from the request that she had not even made.
“Anyway, Derek should be here in about five minutes,” he announced right as Etta slipped off of the stairs and back into the room. Mary hadn’t even noticed that Etta had left the room with Charles twenty minutes before.
“Oh,” she exclaimed. “Derek is coming over? Is he coming over for that box Mary requested that he take down to Anne since he’s going to Florida?”
Nodding his head, Charles didn’t know if Etta was subtle enough with her comments. “Yes, he is.”
“Did I really make that request?” Mary asked, her eyes wrinkling in thought.
“Yes,” Etta confirmed. “You were changing the baby’s diaper and I was keeping Little Charles entertained so that he wouldn’t climb all over you.”
“Huh,” she mumbled. “If you two remember me asking that, I’ll believe you.” Turning to look at the baby, she asked, “Do you really think your father would be happier if we called the baby Henry instead of Walter?”
The siblings knew what Mary really meant. It was common knowledge that she kept complaining about the refrigerator and had been hinting for a new oven as well. It didn’t matter that she rarely cooked, or that she technically had money of her own that she could use to buy either appliance.
“I think he would be thrilled!” Charles commented nonchalantly as Derek knocked on the front door.
He had taken to knocking since he never knew if one of the boys was taking a nap and he didn’t want to wake either of them up. It had happened once before and he swore never again. The memory of Anne trying to calm down two crying boys with no help from the children’s parents stuck with him.
“Derek!” Etta greeted him, a wide - and uncharacteristic - grin on her face. “How are you doing?”
Looking warily at the three people staring at him, he cautiously grinned at them, “I’m good. How’s your class, Charles?”
“Just fine,” he grinned back. “Etta can show you where the box is.”
“It isn’t that heavy,” she told them. “I can bring it down.”
“No,” Derek interrupted them, shaking his head. “I can get it. It’s not a problem. I can’t stay very long. Not if I need to figure out how to pack these things as well as the rest of my stuff.”
“It’s only a few things. A sketchbook or two, her drawing pencils…”
Interrupting Etta, he asked, “Why would Anne forget her drawing pencils?”
“I think her father was pressuring her to go down there,” Charles replied quickly. “She seemed to pack her stuff up quickly. Probably just forgot them.”
Nodding his head, Derek started to climb the stairs.
Mary, focusing on Baby Henry, didn’t notice the looks of relief on her husband and sister-in-law’s faces.
He hadn’t been in Anne’s room that often. Maybe once or twice. He never expected to be tasked with taking something to her. As light as that box was, the Musgraves could just as easily pack it up and had it shipped through the post office.
Looking down into the box, he recognized the blue cover. Most of the sketchbooks he had recently seen Anne drawing in had been black, but this one… this book was different. This book, with it’s AE stamped in gold on the corner, was the sketchbook he had gifted her early in their relationship. He could still remember seeing her running her fingers over the blank pages with a look of bliss crossing over her face.
Pulling the book out of the box, he ran his fingers over the well-worn corner. It was obvious that Anne had run her own fingers over the personalized stamped initials until the gold letters had almost lost their finish. There was more of an impression than anything else.
Holding the book open, he let it fall open instead of picking a random page. Staring up at him was a much younger version of himself. He could remember that day. Anne had been sketching him as they discussed the differences between book and film and why things couldn’t easily be translated from one media to the other.
On another page, he was holding a melting ice cream cone.
There was the beach volleyball game that he had joined and she had remained in her chair, sketching out the scene as he played.
A sketch of him down on one knee with a ring box in hand.
Placing the book back in the box, Derek picked it up and carried it down the stairs. He’d wonder why she wanted that particular sketchbook with her later. He could understand the empty book and her art supplies.
But that old sketchbook merely held memories he thought she had wanted to forget. Memories he had tried to forget, but couldn’t.
It wasn’t until he was in the car that he recognized the other sketchbook and the art pencils.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Grumbling, Elizabeth complained, “It's raining. It's always raining.” Her complaint had been issued so many times that it lacked the frustrated emotion she had given it the first twenty or so times she had complained about the unusually wet weather.
“You sound surprised,” Anne dryly replied, not looking up from the application she was working on. “It’s been raining the entire week I’ve been here.” Every afternoon like clockwork, she knew she would either need an umbrella or stay inside.
Penelope Clay rolled her eyes. Anne saw her roll her eyes. Penelope knew Anne saw her rolling her eyes. Neither girl cared.
For that matter, Elizabeth had probably rolled her own eyes at Anne's lackluster comment. It was only natural that Penelope would mimic her meal ticket.
“How are your children?” Anne slyly asked, glancing over at where Penelope was playing a game on her phone.
A phone that looked suspiciously brand new.
“My father says they are doing well,” Penelope dismissed Anne. The pointed comment towards her hands-off parenting style went unnoticed. Or at the very least uncommented in.
“Now Anne,” Elizabeth started to scold before Walter Elliot walked into the room.
Anne idly wondered why she called her father by his full name. It might be the influence of her aunt and the Musgraves. Maybe it was the larger than life persona her fa
ther wore. Regardless, he was Walter Elliot with the occasional attorney at law tacked onto the end. She couldn’t respect him enough to call him ‘Father’ in her head.
“Anne!” her father's voice snapped. “What's this I hear about you applying to be an art teacher?”
Brow furrowing, she wondered exactly where he had been while she had been filling out applications – in front of him – for the past week.
“Well,” she drawled instead of saying what she wanted to. “I do have a year’s worth of student loans to pay off. I know it's not as bad as some of my classmates’ loan amounts, but I would still like to get them paid off as quickly as possible.”
“But an Art Teacher,” he despaired. “A public servant.”
“There is nothing wrong with being a teacher.”
“Couldn't you have applied at the private schools?”
Anne glanced over at her laptop, recalling the various applications she had filled out. The same information going into identical input fields multiple times. Too bad she couldn't just upload the information once, attach an e-mail address or something for every school she was applying to, and send it out that way.
“I have,” she mumbled. “But there is nothing wrong with public schools either.”
“I didn't send you to a private school for you to become a school teacher at a public school.”
“Oh yes, because school teacher at a private school is so much better.”
He missed her sarcasm when he agreed with her statement.
Anne pulled up another application for a school three hours away from ‘home.’
Several hours later, Anne received a message from her Aunt Cassandra. She was dropping by on business for a couple of weeks and would love dearly to see her favorite niece.
Anne, more than willing to escape Elizabeth’s sighs and impatient tapping as she waited for Will – who was at work seeing patients as he did for a good bulk of the week – to stop by around six.
She really wanted to tell her sister, and Penelope, to find something other than yoga poses and watching T.V. do to until Will’s arrival. Six seventeen to be exact, without fail. You could set your watch by his visits.
Brow crinkling, Anne wondered why Will was visiting them so much. She couldn’t figure out his motives, only that her gut didn’t trust him.
“If you keep doing that, Anne,” her father interrupted her thoughts without looking up from his paper, “you’ll get wrinkles on your forehead.”
Five minutes later, “Aunt Cassandra is in town,” she idly said, interrupting the silence that was only punctuated by the sounds coming from the T.V. and her tapping away at the keyboard.
“What does she want?” Elizabeth asked, not even turning to look around at her sister.
“I hope she’s not hoping that she can stay in our guest room,” Walter Elliot stated. “We just don’t have the room.”
Anne recognized the lie for what it really was. Walter Eliot and Cassandra Russell did not get along long before Anne’s mother died. Cassandra had no problem pointing out Walter’s missteps and Walter had no problem pointing out that Cassandra was aging poorly.
He failed to recognize that both of them were aging right on pace for their sixty-something years.
“No,” Anne was able to inform him. “She rented a place not far from here. She invited me over for dinner tonight.”
“Tonight?” Walter Elliot looked up from his newspaper.
“Just you?” Elizabeth asked, turning to look at her sister.
“She figured you and Penelope would have plans tonight. It is a Friday.” Anne glanced down at her laptop before subtly suggesting. “Maybe with Will or somebody.”
The girls looked at each other. They had noticed that Will wouldn’t stay as long if Anne wasn’t around. He was also very interested in the places she was applying to, even once suggesting she apply for positions in Florida, even though she pointed out that to do so would require even more testing, and she was done with that for a bit.
“No. No plans,” Penelope was tasked with admitting.
“I can always see if you can both join me at Aunt Cassandra’s…” Anne reluctantly said. She knew that Elizabeth didn’t tolerate their aunt’s outspoken ways and her criticisms about the way Elizabeth was living her life.
“That isn’t necessary,” Elizabeth was quick to interrupt. The mere idea of spending the length of a dinner with their aunt caused her to shudder.
It never took Cassandra Russell long to get to her point and Anne, being her favorite niece, was not one of the exceptions.
“I’ve been hearing things,” she stated in between sips of her hot tea.
“What kind of things?”
“Things about you and a certain doctor.”
Anne was expecting her aunt to comment on many things. Derek’s reappearance into her life. Isa’s injury. Her job applications.
Not Will Elliot.
“I’m not quite certain I know what you are talking about,” Anne stated, uncertain what Aunt Cassandra could be talking about.
“You have been spending a fair amount of time with your cousin.”
Dismissing the accusations with a wave of her hand, Anne explained that he often came after work to visit with the family. She was fairly certain he was using the connection to score himself a meal that he did not have to cook. “Restaurants and fast food get old quick, Auntie.”
“And you are always cooking dinner, Ms. Anne,” Cassandra raised an eyebrow at Anne’s endearment.
“Because it is cheaper than the places Elizabeth and Father want to go. And cooking actually calms me down.”
“Really?” Cassandra quirked her brow, making Anne wish that she could make some of the facial expressions that her aunt could.
Quite frankly, unless Anne kept a mildly pleasant smile on her face, she looked as if she could be pissed off at the world. However, she was okay with it because then people were more likely to leave her alone.
“Don’t look at me that way, Auntie.”
“Why are you calling me Auntie?”
“Because I know it bugs you,” Anne quipped. “And I can tell that you don’t believe me about Will. Quite frankly,” – Anne realized that she was in a ‘quite frankly’ mood - “the fact that he is my cousin, adopted into the family or not, makes the entire thing utterly disturbing.”
“But he is a doctor. You would be set for life.”
“Seriously, Auntie.”
“Quit calling me ‘Auntie!’ You know I hate it!”
“Then quit questioning my decisions. I’m not eighteen anymore…” she hesitated, so tempted to bring out the dreaded term of endearment.
“Don’t even say it.”
“Then don’t question my choices.”
“Do you really think that I don’t know about a certain Naval…”
“He was honorably discharged thanks to an injury on base,” Anne interrupted. “He graduated with an accounting degree, plans to get his real estate license, and he’ll be joining his brother, Ed Worth, at his real estate company. I’m certain you’ve heard about it. Worth Real Estate.” Anne attempted to raise an eyebrow but knew she had failed considerably. “And his name is Derek.”
“What are they doing in our hometown?”
“Ed’s first wife’s family lives in town. I’m certain you’ve heard of Ava Martin and her family. Well, Ed thought it was a good idea to move closer to her family so that her parents could see their grandchildren.”
“That doesn’t explain his presence.”
“His brother-in-law, the man renting Kellynch, was a guest pre-law professor. Sophy and Bob are both well-known lawyers in their fields.”
“And that still doesn’t explain his presence.”
“Aunt,” Anne very nearly snapped. “We both know you came down here on ‘business’ because I’m down here.”
“I don’t want you to make a mistake,” Cassandra protested.
“And Will would be a mistake,” Anne replied. �
��A huge mistake. He doesn’t listen to me.”
After a long moment, she finally asked, “And Derek?”
“Isa staked her claim on him long before he realized what she was doing. Before we even started being friends again. And ever since her accident…”
“You exited the field,” her aunt sadly nodded her head. “You gave up.”
“Honestly, Aunt,” Anne sighed, “I kind of hoped he’d fight for me. But Isa… there’s nothing that anybody can do until she’s better. And nobody is keeping me informed on her progress.”
“Not even Mary?”
Laughing, Anne bent over in the middle as the emotion overcame her. “Seriously? She’s pissed…”
“Anne!”
“… that I’m here and not there, watching her boys for her.”
“But she knows how your father is.”
“Father only called me down here because he knew that you were coming.”
“But…”
“And do you really think that I wouldn’t be aware that you also missed my graduation.” It wasn’t until the words had come out of her mouth that Anne realized she was actually upset that her aunt had missed the ceremony.
“I was working.”
“You are always working,” Anne snapped. “You can’t force me to act on your decisions about my life when you aren’t around to see what is happening in my life.”
Cassandra drew back in her seat. “Well…” she drawled out. “I didn’t see that coming.”
“Honestly,” Anne admitted, “Neither did I.”
Chapter Fifty-Five
Leaning down, Anne tied her shoelaces. She would rather be wearing her rainboots, but she had unwisely left them at Charles and Mary’s house. An umbrella would have to do for the slight trek to her car.
The weather was unseasonably wet, but she was okay with it. For some reason, the sound of the rain hitting her bedroom window was relaxing in ways that only she understood.
“Where are you going?” Walter Elliot asked his middle daughter from the doorway that led into the living room.
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