by Toni Blake
And Anna let out the breath she hadn’t quite realized she was holding. Oh God, this was hard. “No, that would be silly. I do want you here. I just . . .” She shook her head, tried to meet his eyes—and couldn’t quite do it. “It means something to me—being with you, like that. And since I know you’re leaving soon, I just . . . need to protect myself a little, you know?”
She couldn’t tell if he really understood or not—especially given the way men could take sex so very casually. She’d thought she could do that, too, with him, but turned out she was wrong. “Okay,” he said. “Whatever you want, Daisy.” And they slept next to each other, but not touching. Though, in a way, that was just as difficult as the alternative.
The next morning around ten, Anna arrived at the Shady Acres Village, an attractive retirement community that reminded her of a complex of one-story condos. And though it was nice, it was difficult to imagine Cathy someplace so modern—she was so used to thinking of Cathy living her whole life on Half Moon Hill.
After going to the main office, she told the receptionist, “I’d like to see Cathy Worth—though that may be her maiden name,” she added. The woman behind the desk didn’t question her further, making a quiet phone call and then showing Anna to a garden area with picnic tables and chairs, along with a shuffleboard court.
She’d seen pictures of Cathy as a girl in the photo albums in the trunk, but she would never have recognized her now. Still, her heart expanded nearly to bursting as the gray-haired lady with a cane ambled into the garden wearing cropped pants and a simple blouse.
She looked understandably wary as Anna stood up to greet her and said, “Cathy?”
“Yes,” the older lady replied.
“My name is Anna and I recently moved into the house where you grew up.”
At this, Cathy gasped, and from that second on, it was as if having the house in common gave them a bond that made Cathy trust her.
From there, Cathy sat down at a table with her and Anna explained that she’d found her old belongings. “I brought your diaries,” she said, pushing the small bag across the table toward her. “I thought you might want them.”
“That was thoughtful, dear,” Cathy said. “But I left them with the house because . . . I felt they belonged there, if that makes any sense.”
Only then she looked inside the bag—and pulled out the picture of Robert. And her eyes changed, softened, as a sigh left her lips. And for a very brief second, Anna saw in her that girl of sixteen. “Where did you find this?”
“In the cabin,” Anna said. “The other two pictures were gone—this was the only one left.”
Cathy’s eyes rose from the frame she held in her hand to Anna’s face. “You read the diaries,” she said. Her voice held no malice or embarrassment—just the acknowledgment that Anna knew. All of it.
“I did,” Anna confirmed. “I didn’t mean to trespass. And I had no idea we would ever meet. But then, when I found out just yesterday that you were here . . . I had to come.” And when Cathy didn’t respond right away, Anna rushed on to say, “The book is there, too, in the bag. The Phantom of the Opera.”
Cathy’s gaze had fallen back to the faded photo while Anna spoke, but now she reached in the shopping bag and drew out the Leroux novel. “Oh my,” she said, her voice gone fluttery. “These things do bring back memories.” Studying the cover, she let out another sigh. “You know, the real romance in this book was between Christine and Raoul. But there is something . . . sadly gripping about the phantom, about someone who’s never known love, isn’t there?”
And Anna sucked in her breath, her thoughts flying to Duke. He’d known love—from his mother, from friends like Lucky and Tessa. But there was something different about romantic love, about the way she loved him, wasn’t there? And even if he didn’t want that kind of love from her, she hoped someday he’d find it somewhere else.
When Cathy’s attention then drifted back to the photo, Anna’s stomach churned. Had she done the right thing, bringing Cathy’s things? “I hope the memories are good ones,” she said.
Cathy didn’t smile as she kept staring at the picture still in her hand—but finally she replied, “Very good ones.”
Anna stayed quiet then, letting Cathy absorb it all, until finally the older woman said, “Well, I will keep this picture, if you don’t mind. But the book and the diaries I’ll send back home with you.”
Anna nodded. “I’ll keep them there always and treasure them.” And as she watched Cathy touch Robert’s picture with her fingertips, she asked tentatively, “Whatever happened? With Robert? Did he come back?”
Without taking her eyes from the frame, Cathy said wistfully, “No—no, he didn’t. I’m afraid I never saw him again.”
And Anna’s heart nearly broke into pieces in her chest once more. Maybe she’d known the answer already, deep down, but she’d been hoping against hope to find out she was wrong. She swallowed past the lump rising in her throat to ask, “Did . . . did you find someone else then? Later? When you were older?”
Cathy gave her head a thoughtful tilt, then told Anna, “No, I never married.”
And Anna wanted to cry. It would be different if she’d thought Cathy had been alone by choice, that she’d found fulfillment in other ways, but she didn’t believe that.
Though Cathy spoke clearly, calmly, Anna could hear the sad truth in her voice. “I always thought someone else would come along—but they just didn’t. Maybe it was too much to hope for that kind of love twice in a lifetime. Or maybe I made it too hard for love to find me, locking myself away in that old house.”
“And you have no idea where Robert ended up?”
“When computers came into style, I looked for him—I found an obituary I believe was his, in Knoxville, Tennessee. It said he died in 1992, of cancer, and that he had one son. That’s all I know.”
Anna nodded. It all felt so bleak, she didn’t know what to say.
And then Cathy told her, “Not leaving with Robert that night is my greatest regret in life. Maybe it would have seemed reckless, crazy—but sometimes you have to take chances. I always wonder what would have happened if I had. Maybe something awful. But maybe something wonderful. And either way, it would have been living, and it would have been better than asking myself ‘what if?’ ever since.”
On impulse, Anna reached out and covered Cathy’s hand with her own. “Thank you for being so open with me. Reading your stories has meant a lot to me, made me feel connected to both you and the house. I’m fixing it up and planning to open it soon as a bed-and-breakfast,” she explained.
The news seemed to lift Cathy’s mood, change her focus. “That’s nice to hear. It’s always been too big a house for the very few people who have lived there. It’ll be nice that more people get to enjoy it.”
“I’m glad you like the idea.”
“Do you think maybe I could come see it sometime?” Cathy asked. “When it’s finished? I’d like to see what you’ve done with the place.”
And Anna nodded, deeply pleased. “Absolutely. I’d love for you to be my very first guest.”
Then Cathy squinted slightly, her head tilted to one side. “But you didn’t do all that work by yourself surely? It’s such a large house.”
So Anna shook her head. “A couple of friends helped me some on the interior. And I’ve also had help on the outside. From a guy . . . friend,” she concluded, sounding more sheepish than she liked.
Which had clearly given her away, because that’s when Cathy said without the slightest hesitation, “More than a friend. You love him. I can see it in your eyes.”
Anna just blinked. “It’s that obvious?” Then she sighed. “I used to be so much cooler.”
But Cathy only laughed. “I’d rather be in love than be cool.”
Anna wished she could deny the truth, but her truth had changed somewhere along the way, so she had no choice but to say, “Me too.”
“Never before had she confessed that she loved him.”
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Gaston Leroux, The Phantom of the Opera
Twenty-four
Anna left Cathy with mixed emotions. She was happy they’d met, happy that she thought she’d added a little unexpected light to Cathy’s life. But she couldn’t help being sad that Cathy had spent her life alone, it seemed, and not by her choice.
Rather than going straight home, she stopped at Creekside Park—bypassing the ball fields and the area where the carnival was held each year, which was currently being turned into a makeshift arena for the demolition derby. She instead went to the pretty area that ran along Sugar Creek, the paved path lined with wild daisies that led to a little white gazebo much like the one in Miss Ellie’s garden. She wanted to do some thinking in a peaceful spot that wasn’t on Half Moon Hill.
She understood completely why Cathy, at sixteen, had made the choice to stay with her family. Robert had truly had nothing to offer her but his love, and who could say if it would have ultimately been enough for a girl who’d lived a comfortable, secure life up to that time? And yet she hated that Cathy harbored regrets about the decision. It seemed to Anna like it had simply been a no-win situation thanks to Cathy’s hard-hearted father.
But the things Cathy had said to Anna still echoed in her mind. You have to take chances. It would have been better than asking myself “what if?” ever since. “Ever since” was a damn long time.
Yet unfortunately . . . Anna was pretty sure she knew the answer. If Duke loved her, too, he wouldn’t be planning to leave.
And still . . . you’ve never told him how you feel.
And she wondered now if she should.
If she should just throw caution to the wind and do it.
And that way, if he still chose to move on . . . well, she’d never have a “what if?” She might end up all the more humiliated and heartbroken by making herself all the more emotionally naked in front of him, but . . . at least she’d never have to wonder if it would have made a difference in some way.
The idea of it, at a time when she already felt heartbroken and fragile and exposed, was scary as hell. It felt almost as if she’d be saying to him: Go ahead, hurt me a little more, kick me when I’m down. And maybe it was a terrible idea because maybe she’d end up so broken inside that she’d never be able to put herself out there with a man again.
And that was the question: Was it better to take every chance, play every last card, reach into her chest and put her heart on the table right in front of him? Or was it wiser to accept defeat, cut her losses, lick her wounds, and keep what little remained of her dignity so that she wasn’t completely destroyed?
She soaked up the sun, listened to birds sing, watched a monarch butterfly flutter lazily past, and then she asked God for some guidance. After which she got in her car and drove back to the house—arriving just in time to see Duke backing down a small ladder that leaned against the front porch. And when he turned to her, he wore a big smile that set her heart beating faster.
The very sight inspired her to smile back as she got out and walked over to where he stood. “Why are you smiling?” she asked. Maybe he’s realized he wants to stay. Maybe he’s going to open up to me right here and tell me so. Maybe he loves me, too.
“It’s done,” he said.
“Huh?”
“The house.” He motioned toward it. “A few finishing touches to put in place, but I just nailed in the last piece of trim, Daisy. And it looks pretty damn good if I do say so myself.”
Oh Lord. Already? It was done? Completely?
She looked up at her home. And it was . . . beautiful. The soft, buttery yellow seemed as happy as the sun that shone down on it, and the peach and white trim gave it the warm, welcoming storybook feel she’d hoped. It was hard to believe this was the same old house she and Duke had started working on just a few months ago.
“It’s perfect,” she told him.
The only thing not perfect about it was knowing this signaled . . . the end.
That night, one question burned inside her. When are you leaving?
But she didn’t ask. Because she couldn’t bear to.
So instead, when Duke came in after dark—having said only that he was working on some last touches in the garage—she asked him something else. “Would you like to go with me to the demolition derby tomorrow night?”
He stood washing his hands at the first floor bathroom sink. And when he looked up at her, she knew the answer before he gave it. “Sorry, Daisy, but no way.”
She took a deep breath, tried again. “I’m sure Lucky would love to have you there. And . . . and I would, too.” And when he said nothing more in reply, just kept washing his hands, she added, “Don’t you think it’s time you got out in public a little?”
He turned off the faucet, dried his hands on a towel. “No.”
“Why not?”
He looked tired, irritated. “Lotta reasons.”
“Like?”
“Damn it, woman, you are still sassy as hell sometimes.” He just shook his head, as if in disbelief. “But for starters, too many people. Like your other brother, Mike—remember him?”
Anna drew in a deep breath, let it back out. And told Duke something that had hit her all the more fully today in the park. “Maybe I don’t care if he knows about us, like I told you before. And maybe you shouldn’t care, either. Maybe it’s just time to . . . come out of the dark, be real, be honest.”
They stood there staring each other down. She was challenging him and he clearly felt it. But finally he said, “I’m being honest—with you. I’m not going. For a lotta reasons, like I said.”
She let out an exasperated huff. “What other reasons?”
And that’s when he curled his hands into fists of frustration and his eyes widened. “Jesus, Daisy, think about it! It’s a bunch of cars crashing into each other. You think I want to see that? Hear those sounds? You think I want to be reminded of the last time I heard them?”
Oh God. Anna sucked in her breath. She’d never even thought . . .
And now she felt like the most insensitive person alive. She pursed her lips, lifted her eyes back to his. Her voice came out softer than intended. “I’m sorry, Duke—I forgot. That it would be anything like . . . that.”
“It’s okay,” he said quietly, then looked away, his expression dark now, eyes more vacant.
And she wasn’t sure it was okay at all. In fact, maybe this was one reason he was ready to leave. Because she was so damn pushy with him and he wasn’t a man who liked being pushed. Into going where he didn’t want to go. Or . . . feeling something he maybe just didn’t want to feel.
Part of her wanted to throw caution to the wind and tell him she loved him right here and now. She wanted to tell him that she loved him enough to take away everything that hurt him, that she loved him enough to make everything okay if he’d only let her.
But she just couldn’t. Because what if she was wrong? Because for her love to make everything okay, he’d have to love her in return. And that seemed more doubtful all the time.
Anna spent the bulk of the next day doing things inside the house. Because it would be time to open her business soon. And as she went from room to room, making lists of any remaining items each needed, and then started to organize the first floor room she was turning into an office, she thought of Cathy and hoped she would like what Anna had done with the place.
Duke was working in the garage again, but she didn’t know on what. Mainly, she was trying not to think about him. And when that didn’t work, she was trying to accept that . . . well, nothing was going to change here. He really was going to leave, possibly any day now. For all she knew, she could come home from the demolition derby tonight to find him gone.
That’s what you get for falling in love with an unpredictable man. And one who’s been hurt from too many angles to let himself love. And for a while she’d been so bold as to think she could change that—but she’d finally stopped deluding herself.
As the day went on, she h
eard hammering outside, coming from the front of the house, so she assumed he’d finished up whatever he was doing in the garage and was maybe replacing her mailbox. She’d picked up a new one—a plain, simple one of matte silver metal—a few weeks ago. And if she was right, well . . . she thought it might possibly be the very last task he had to do for her. And her heart broke a little more.
But she tried to push the emotions aside. She tried to, instead, be thankful for all he’d done to help her, and for all the unexpected joy he’d brought into her life at a time when she’d needed it. Yes, that was a far better way to view the whole thing than to concentrate on the fact that he was leaving. And that she would feel empty without him. And that she’d always wonder what could have been if he’d only . . . Oh, stop it already.
You’re going out tonight. You’re going to have fun. Or she would try her best anyway. She just wished she could quit hurting inside. After all, he wasn’t even gone yet. If it was this bad now, how awful would she feel once he’d actually departed?
She was almost ready to leave for Creekside Park when Duke came inside and found her in the foyer to say, “Daisy, can you come outside? I’ve got something to show you.”
She looked up from where she stood digging in her purse for her keys. “Is it the mailbox? I thought maybe I heard you hammering a new post into the ground.”
If she wasn’t mistaken, he was trying to hold in a smile. “Just come outside and see.” And he looked incredibly cute wearing that particular expression—but she tried her damnedest not to notice.
He held the front door open for her as she stepped through—and then she drew up short, stopping on the porch, as she took in what she saw next to the driveway. Indeed the new mailbox stood in place of the old one—and above it, on an extended wooden post, hung a sign: Half Moon Bed & Breakfast. Below the sign even hung a small placard that said Vacancy, with a little removable wooden No hanging in front of it. While the thick post was natural wood, both the mailbox and sign had been painted a dark blue color, with golden yellow words, and each was accented with an array of small yellow painted stars and a half moon. The lettering looked professional and stylized. It was like she’d imagined, but so much better.