“I thought you weren’t thirsty,” Jeff said.
“I wasn’t.”
“You’re pretty even when you lie.”
Anna had been the only woman he’d ever known who’d sacrifice for someone else like that. It was still another reason for him to love her.And protect her even if he didn’t understand her and if she was frustrating the hell out of him right now.
What am I supposed to do? Jeff looked out the ferry window at gulls who seemed to race each other across the water. They looked carefree and happy, as he and Anna and Earnest had been just hours before. Somehow Jeff had to get their pack of three together again. But how could he when Earnest was injured and Anna wouldn’t listen to anything Jeff said? He brooded over that question all the way to Seattle.
As the crew was tying the ferry to the dock, Jeff decided that the only way he could stand his life being so out of control was to have a plan. First, as soon as he got back to his office, he’d call Dr. Nilsen and find out about Earnest. Until Jeff knew his condition, he could make no arrangements to help.
Second, Jeff would win Anna back. He couldn’t do it with a grand gesture—he could hardly send her flowers, and she wouldn’t accept a dinner invitation. No, subtlety and patience were the only way to go. No matter what she said or did, he would be as kind to her as she’d been to him on the California hike. It would be his turn to take care of her. And he would do whatever would please her. He’d go along to get along.
If she felt she couldn’t live with him for a while, he’d move to an apartment, as big a waste of time and energy as that would be. He’d wait till Anna came to her senses and listened to reason. He’d wait for the Anna he loved to return.
Jeff was walking down the gangplank, when his cell rang. For an instant, he thought, Great! Anna’s calling—until he remembered their “conversation,” and he told himself, Dream on. She’d never contact me now.
Naomi Blackmore didn’t bother to identify herself, but he would always recognize her voice because it boomed “entitlement.” Without considering what she might be interrupting, she jumped right in with questions about Jeff ’s meeting at city hall.
“Everything was fine.” He summed up the meeting with more confidence than he felt. “We’re off to a good start.”
“Excellent,” she said. “While you were on Gamble, you must have heard about the fire.”
“I stopped at the house. I’m on my way back to the office.”
“Lots of damage?”
“I didn’t go inside.”
“I’m in Santa Barbara. I won’t be back to see for myself for a week or two.”
“Your insurance company can take care of it while you’re away,” Jeff said.
“I’ve already called them. It looks like the fire is a gift.” Mrs. Blackmore chuckled. “I’m going for a cash settlement. If we get a permit, I’ll use the money for construction. If we don’t, I’ll repair the house. Either way, I win.”
Jeff flinched at the satisfaction in her voice. “What about your tenants? They can’t stay if the house is badly burned.”
“I hope they’ll live with the mess for now. I want to keep rent coming in.”
Mrs. Blackmore has no thought of trying to look out for anybody. She’d surely never refuse water so someone else could drink. Jeff didn’t like her. Never had. Though he’d known her for months, he didn’t call her “Naomi.” Using her first name would mean familiarity he’d never want to have.
As Jeff told her good-bye, he conjured up an unsavory picture of her at her beach house, sprawled on a chaise lounge under a peppermint-striped umbrella. No inconvenience would dare appear on her horizon. The discomfort in her life would not fill a pygmy hamster’s thimble.
One stamp of Mrs. Blackmore’s feet got her what she wanted. Even her appearance showed she’d been cosseted all her life. Her helmet of perfectly highlighted hair. Her perfectly manicured nails, painted fire-engine red. Her gold necklaces, which shouted, I’m richer than you are. The nips and tucks that lifted her face so her sixty-year-old skin was as smooth as a stingray’s belly.
CHAPTER 7
Anna flicked on Vincent’s turn signal and aimed him toward the entrance to Dr. Nilsen’s parking lot. She was desperate to see with her own eyes that Earnest was “hanging in,” as Dr. Nilsen had said on the phone. She wanted to rest her cheek against his neck and soak up his steady reassurance—and she wanted to reassure him that everyone loved and missed him. She’d tell him, “We want you home.”
Suddenly, Anna tightened her grip on the steering wheel and slammed on the brakes. Jeff was driving out of the parking lot and staring at her. She didn’t want to see him. Not when hurt was sitting in her heart like a sad black toad. Jeff ’s mere presence upset her and made her want to run from him.
As his Honda passed Vincent, Anna riveted her eyes on the clinic’s front door as if its olive green held answers to life’s most crucial questions: Why am I on earth? What’s the meaning of my existence? What’s going to happen when I die?
In her peripheral vision, however, Anna saw every blue inch of Jeff’s car move into the street. She was as aware of him as a compass needle is of north. But she wouldn’t let him hurt her any more than he already had. She turned into the parking lot and left him in a cloud of dust.
Anna had expected Earnest to look downtrodden after inhaling smoke and burning his dear paw. But the sight of him in an ICU cage, too sick to get up and greet her, went beyond her expectation and made her feel desolate.
Though Dr. Nilsen had said he was giving Earnest IV fluids, she was not prepared for the dreadful IV bag and tube or the blue bandage over his catheter and shaved leg. For fear of alarming him, she tried not to shrink back at the white plastic cone fastened around his neck to keep him from chewing off the gauze around his paw. She might as well have been looking at his face through the large end of a megaphone—and Earnest’s face was stricken.
He didn’t seem stricken only for himself, though surely pain was mixed into his expression. His face also seemed stricken for her. His glazed eyes spoke frankly of his worry and distress: If I’m stuck in this blasted cage, I can’t protect you. I’m not living up to my responsibilities. I’m sorry. As if to underscore his regret, Earnest flopped over, and his cone banged against the cage wall.
“Oh, Earnest. It’s okay.” Anna sank to her knees and reached inside to pet him. When he tried to lick her hand, his cone hit her wrist.
This cone is a satanic invention, said his dark look.
“Don’t worry, Sweetie. You won’t have to wear it forever.” Anna stroked Earnest’s shoulder. “And you don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine. Honest.” Her first lie to her beloved dog.
Anna usually kissed Earnest’s forehead, but the cone made that impossible, so she kissed her fingertips and pressed them on his front paw. As she patted it, an arresting thought occurred to her. Maybe Earnest was also stricken because she had not come to visit him with Jeff. Earnest would have expected them together. He’d want to see his family. Maybe he was as worried about that as about her.
I don’t understand, said his crinkled forehead.
How could Anna explain?
She dared not trouble Earnest with her distress, which was probably seeping out of her in ill-smelling scarlet waves. She couldn’t tell him that she and Jeff had not come here together because he’d shocked her to the core. Nor could she point out that she was worried sick about the house. The fire was not its only trouble. So was the threat of demolition.
Anna bit her lip. She would never burden Earnest. In order to heal, he needed peace, not strife. Yet surely he sensed that something highly disagreeable was happening. He was too smart not to read the signals.
“Everything’s going to be fine. You’ll see,” Anna said.
The troubled cast in Earnest’s eyes said he was not so sure.
In the waiting room, Dr. Nilsen’s fish were zipping around, showing off their vigor. But the doctor looked tired. Stubble shadowed his che
eks, and the edges of his eyes seemed blurry—surely he’d seen too much injury and illness for one day. His shoulders looked stiff from lifting and cajoling dogs. He curled his fingers around his stethoscope’s chestpiece and he leaned against the wall.
“Your boy’s doing pretty well,” he said. “He’s a good patient.”
“He looked sad,” Anna said.
“That’s because he doesn’t want to be here. He’ll perk up if he goes home.”
“If?” The word fluttered in Anna’s throat like a frightened wren.
“He’s still not out of the woods. We’ll watch him through the night and keep measuring his oxygen saturation. He’ll be getting oxygen support through his nose.”
“When can he breathe on his own?”
“Tomorrow, we hope.”
“Did you x-ray his lungs?”
“Not yet. He seemed too stressed. We decided to wait till morning.” Dr. Nilsen rubbed his tired eyes. “For now we’ve given him pain meds and a steroid shot in case his lungs are inflamed.”
“Will he be okay?” The ever-haunting question.
“We hope so,” Dr. Nilsen said. “I explained everything to Jeff. He can fill you in when you get home.”
If you only knew. On the way through the parking lot to Vincent, hurt and worry clawed for supremacy in Anna’s stomach. Then irritation at Jeff reared its head and joined the fray.
CHAPTER 8
Jeff was ripping up romaine lettuce in the kitchen when Anna unlocked the condo’s door and crossed the tile entry. “Hi, Anna,” he called. “I’m making us a salad.”
No response.
Jeff kept ripping as she went into the bedroom and closed the door. When he’d half filled the wooden salad bowl, their first purchase as a couple, he cut a tomato into the small pieces Anna liked and tossed them in. He peeled and sliced a cucumber. “Anna?” he tried again. “Do you want Thousand Island dressing? Or Italian?”
More silence—until finally she muttered, “I’ll make my own salad.”
That’s a start. Hope springs eternal. At least Anna had acknowledged Jeff ’s existence. He set two straw placemats on their round butcher block table and added napkins, forks, and knives in case he could lure her to dinner. “I’ll broil chicken,” he called.
This time without a moment’s hesitation, she said, “Don’t bother. None for me.”
“Come on, Anna.” Jeff started toward the bedroom to try to coax some reason into her. “You’ve had a hard day. I’m trying to make you a decent meal. We need to talk.”
“The only thing I want to talk with you about is who’s moving to another place.”
“You won’t talk about Earnest?”
“With Dr. Nilsen, not you.”
Jeff opened the bedroom door.
“I really need my space right now. If you come in here, I’m leaving,” Anna said.
“If you leave, how can we talk about who’s moving?”
“Okay, talk.” Clearly intending to stay as far as possible from Jeff, Anna backed up against his blue upholstered club chair in the room’s farthest corner.
“You don’t have to worry. I’m not carrying the Ebola virus,” Jeff said.
Anna replied with a frown. Usually, she smiled even if she didn’t mean to. It was her nature—she couldn’t help herself. Her lips turned up of their own accord.
But not tonight.
“Are you moving out, or should I?” she asked.
“I hate for either of us to leave here. If you’ll just listen to me for a minute, you’ll change your mind.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever change my mind.”
“Look. I have the best intentions for my project. I want you to be glad about it.”
“Are you moving to another place, or should I?” she repeated.
Jeff held up his palms toward her, a signal of surrender. Go along to get along. Anna needed time to calm down. He wouldn’t press her now. “If you’re sure you want me to move, I’ll do it.”
“When?”
You don’t have to be in such a hurry. “I’ll look for a place tomorrow.”
Without a “good,” “fine,” or “thanks,” Anna walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. The lock’s click said, Good-bye.
At the kitchen table, Jeff crunched his romaine. The noise echoed through the silent room and made him feel lonely. Being alienated from Anna was awful enough, but the condo felt even lonelier without Earnest, especially after Jeff had just seen him at Dr. Nilsen’s clinic.
Normally, at dinnertime, Earnest lay under the table and rested his chin on Anna or Jeff’s foot as if to proclaim, These are my very own humans, and nobody else can have them. Or Earnest curled up beside the stove and did his impersonation of a giant cannelloni bean, his legs tucked under and his chin pressed toward his haunch. Or he rolled on his back on the crimson bed in the kitchen corner, his legs flopped out, exposing himself in his flasher position. Though he pretended to sleep, he pricked his ears and eavesdropped on Jeff and Anna’s conversation.
Tonight, if Anna had deigned to eat with Jeff, however, there’d have been no conversation for Earnest to overhear except JefF’s attempting to connect, followed by Anna’s shrinking further behind her Great Wall. Their conflict would have stressed Earnest, and he would have planted himself between them like a referee and waited for them to make up. Maybe it was better for him not to witness the rift, though he might have nudged Anna toward a little guilt for being unreasonable and bringing friction into their house.
Which was no longer theirs. At least for now, it would only be hers. Jeff shook his head, bewildered.
He refused to get discouraged, however. He had faith. Squaring his shoulders, he finished his dinner. Though worried about Earnest, Jeff whistled cheerfully so Anna could hear, and he washed his dishes and put them away. To keep Anna from starving in the bedroom, he clumped loudly into their study and opened and closed file drawers so she would know the kitchen was free. He sat at the desk, his back to the door so she could walk, undetected, through the living room. Giving her privacy for her dinner and her withdrawal into herself was the gentlemanly thing to do.
Jeff Googled “craigslist Gamble Island, WA, apartment rentals,” and three listings appeared on the screen. Not exactly an abundant choice, but Gamble was a small place. He’d make do.
When he glanced at the first listing’s depressing lead photo, he reminded himself that this move would be temporary. He need not be picky about where he lived. He repeated this to himself. Twice. He studied the listing.
The photo showed an empty white room that looked like the inside of a cat carrier. The only hint of a window was a feeble streak of light on the white shag rug that had met countless parades of dirty shoes. The picture’s caption was “A Place to Call Home.” Maybe if you’re a needy cat, Jeff thought.
The photo for the next listing showed a kitchen—a stainless steel sink, a faux wood floor, clean white appliances, natural wood cabinets. Not bad. But the caption troubled him: “GOBBLE UP THIS GREAT APARTMENT before somebody else does! Remodeled just with you in mind! But HURRY!! Don’t miss out!” Why the rush? Surely tenants were not elbowing each other out of the way to get to this ordinary place. As Jeff sensed the landlord’s desperation, wariness ridged his forehead.
“Super Cute,” the third option, required courage to consider. The photo showed a bathroom with hot-pink walls and lime-green cabinets. Gold veins ran though the cracked white tiles around the sink. Fuchsia whales with long black eyelashes swam across the moldy shower curtain. As an architect, Jeff needed harmonious colors, preferably in subtle shades. He needed taste. But the caption did promise “Location! Location! Location!”
Jeff leaned back in his chair, stretched his arms toward the ceiling, and laced his fingers behind his head. He heard Anna rustling around in the kitchen and smelled her canned chicken soup. He’d have liked to talk with her, but he knew better than to try. Now his task was to move out. He’d be honorable about it.
> When Jeff woke the next morning, the sun was shining on his face because he’d forgotten to close the living-room shades. As he lifted his arm to shield his eyes, a sharp pain hammered his back. The sofa had not been long enough for his six-foot-two frame, and he’d hunched over all night. The blanket, which he’d resurrected from the storage locker, hadn’t been warm enough, either. His cramped position and the chilly air had stiffened him, and every time he’d wakened in the night, he’d brooded about Earnest and Anna.
In their spacious queen-size bed, Anna had slept like a princess with no pea, but Jeff reminded himself not to be resentful. He listened to her showering and imagined warm water running down her lovely body. In their former routine, she’d taken the bathroom first while he made the bed. Then he’d shaved and showered while she fed Earnest and put together their usual hurried granola and tea. After a loving good-bye kiss, Jeff rushed to the ferry, always eager to get back to her.
Today no breakfast would be forthcoming. Sadly, there would be no kiss. He lay there feigning sleep till Anna came out of the bathroom and headed for the kitchen. As she passed the sofa, he rose up and said, “Good morning.”
Her face was stern. No “good morning” back.
“Anna, do we have to be like this?”
She went to the kitchen, clunked the toaster on the counter, and stuffed in a slice of bread. Jeff wanted to follow her and take her into his arms, but he squashed that desire. The timing would be wrong. It was too soon to express those feelings.
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