She couldn’t finish her dinner. She got up and walked quickly out onto the streets. There was a light drizzle that warped and distorted all the street lights and neon signs. The world around her looked fuzzy. The world inside her was twisted and sick. She walked to her hotel, head down, feeling out of place for the first time in a city that was not, in fact, her new home.
Back in her room she locked the door and put the chain across it, something she had not done yet in her time there. She washed her face, changed into her pajamas and went to bed. The morning would be better. She would go back home. Things were going to be fine.
She listened to the city outside pulse and thrive. She would miss it, of course, and maybe she would come back. But not for Dean. For herself.
I’ll go many places, she told herself. She would travel and live a life, somewhere outside of Rockland, even.
That sounded good to her.
28
Annie looked at the reflection of her face in the glass. Her wrinkles were more noticeable now. She didn’t mind. Her mother always said that wrinkles were just a road map of a life.
Annie’s road map wasn’t as exciting as she once had hoped it would be, but, she didn’t care about the wrinkles anymore. She’d long stopped trying to look her best, to seem interesting. She stopped, as they say, trying to land a man. She was fine being single. She was fine with her life. Wasn’t she?
She touched her face, the skin loose and sagging. She sighed, heard the door open and forced a smile. Remembering the tip she had gotten all those long years ago, put on a smile, keep his moral up. She adjusted herself in her seat, straightened her blouse, worried that she looked like an old librarian, picked the phone up off its cradle and waited. He sat down and smiled at her. Never a smile of joy, never a pleasant smile. She nodded to him, waited for him to pick up the phone which, in his own time, he did.
“You look old and awful,” he said without preamble. “You look older every single time I see you.” Her smile faded slightly, and she looked down at the table in front of her. It was true, she knew it. She looked old, haggard, dried up. He, on the other hand, seemed eternally young. He looked the same way he did back in high school, so many years ago now. He still had all his hair, still thick and blonde. His face was unchanged, no lines around his eyes or his mouth. He was youthful and energetic.
How was this possible? Most people in prison developed a gray pallor, a look of being aged before their time. Except Parker.
“You still look good, Parker,” she said to him and he smiled widely, leaned back in his chair, tipping it off the floor. “You look the same.”
“Thanks to you, just feeding off your misery, Annie,” he said, accenting the hateful nickname. She felt sick. “You keep coming to visit, you stay in town, you let your life pass by, and I thrive on it. I feel your guilt, Annie, I feel it all the way out here, behind these walls and bars, I feel your guilt and I get stronger and I stay young. Do what you love, they say, and you’ll live a long, happy life. Well, I love making your life miserable. I love that you can’t let go, and my life is great.” He laughed, and she looked around the room, but no one else was there. She was the lone visitor.
“I’m glad I can make you happy, Parker,” she heard herself say, from a distance. She was far removed from herself. Watching herself sit there again, sit across from him, listen to him pick her apart. Watch him smirk and laugh. Watch him take joy in her misery. Why did she still come? Why did she feel compelled to visit him?
“Why didn’t you just die?!” she suddenly shouted through the phone. She heard it in her ears, ringing in her head. “Why didn’t they just execute you?” Then she froze, the phone pressed against her ear. How would he react to that? Would he yell, would he slam the glass, would he...?
“Now, Annie,” he said, slowly, gently, “what would your life have been like if I had gone and let them give me the injection? Who would you have to talk to? Who would you have to visit? Who would you be living life for if I wasn’t around?” She tried to speak, tried to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. It felt all too familiar, like a never-ending loop of film. Week after week, she would come, sit and listen to him take another tiny piece of her life. Why couldn’t he have been executed? Then I would be free.
“No, you wouldn’t, Annie,” he said, hearing her thoughts now, hearing the very heart of her. “You’ll never be free because you believe me. You believe that I killed her because of you. You believe that you’re at fault, and you know what? You are, Annie, you are. It’s your fault that I’m here. It’s your fault that Connie is dead. It’s all your fault. You know that. That’s why you come back. That’s why you stay, why you have no life, no husband, no kids, nothing. And, Annie, if they had killed me, I would have taken your chance for absolution to the grave. Be thankful I’m still here, Annie.” Her body shook, and the tears started again. Every time. “Are you thankful, Annie,” he hissed into the phone, “are you?” She looked into his eyes, and they glowed. He rose off his chair and floated in front of her.
“Are you thankful, Annie? Are you grateful that I’m still here for you, Annie, are you?” She turned from him and there, behind her in the room was Dean. She dropped the phone and ran to him and threw her arms around him.
“You’re here,” she whispered, pressing her face into his neck. “You’ve finally, finally come for me.” She stepped back and looked up but, she looked into Parker’s face. He was laughing. He was holding her. Parker was holding her. He was no longer safely behind the glass but was there, in the room, his arms around her.
“Are you thankful, Annie?” he asked and she pulled away.
“Are you…Annie?” She heard a knock on the door.
“Huh, Annie?” She tried to go to the door, to let the guard in, but Parker had hold of her arm. The knocking continued.
“Annie? Answer me…Annie.” She struggled. She tried to call for help, but her voice failed. The knocking continued.
“Annie?” The knocking...
“Anne?” A voice finally broke through. She suddenly sat up. She wasn’t in the jail. She was in bed.
“Anne?” The knocking came again. She froze, not sure if she was awake or still in a dream. She looked around. She was in her bedroom at home.
“Anne?” She got out of bed and crept slowly to the door.
“Yes?” she asked, her voice hushed. “Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Anne.” She unlocked the door to see who it was. When she saw, she was sure she was still dreaming. How could this possibly be? She stood, swaying on her feet, confused, unsure.
How could he be there? How could he have found her? How did he know?
She stared, speechless. Finally, he spoke.
“Hey there, Anne,” Dean Moore said.
29
“Happy birthday, Anne.” Dean held out a Christmas-y bouquet complete with fragrant pine branches and peppermint twist roses.
“How did you—?”
“You birthday was in your file.” Annie buried her nose in the flowers, then frowned at him.
“Dean, you never called me back, and you show up here now, and it’s wonderful but—” He held out his hand.
“You mom made some coffee and I stopped at the bakery on my way here. Will you come downstairs and talk with me?” How could she say anything but yes?
“Well,” she put on a teasing tone, “you’d better have a good explanation, Mr. Moore.” He laughed and led her down the stairs.
They sat at her parents’ kitchen table, sipping coffee and nibbling on fresh croissants. Dean told her how, right after her graduation ceremony, he’d been called into one nightmare after another. It started with a shooting in a mall. Fifty-five people had been either killed or wounded. He set up a temporary office in the mall, among the business offices and people came and went for days. The killer had shot himself so, there were no answers, nothing really to do to help anyone. After that there was—unbelievably—another rape and murder at another high school, this time du
ring summer break. He had felt useless, stuck, foolish and sick of it. So, he took some time off.
Annie was moved, listening to his story, and sympathized completely. But finally she had to ask. “Is that why you didn’t return my phone calls?”
“When? During the summer? Or just the last couple of weeks?”
“Well, both, I guess.” Annie braced herself for the worst, but then again, he was sitting here, and had brought her the most beautiful flowers she’d ever received so…
“It wasn’t appropriate, Anne, professionally, I mean. Not right after your graduation. I also was fairly sure you’d give up on me after a while, find some nice young man here.” Annie just looked at him.
“You’re kidding, right? About finding another guy?” Dean looked at her, suddenly serious.
“Anne, you went through a lot, and your little quips about transference? You were right to catch yourself in that way. I was proud of you.”
“Then why didn’t you—”
“Tell you?” She nodded. “Same reason. Professional ethics. I had no business leading you on.”
“You wouldn’t have been leading me on.”
“Exactly.” She blinked.
“You mean…?”
“I had some very strong feelings for you, too, Miss Anne Stewart. But I respected you too much—and myself—to let something happen between us prematurely.”
“And things have changed now?” He reached out and kissed her hand.
“The only thing that has changed is time. And circumstances. I heard you’ve been working with the psychologist I recommended.” She nodded. “Well, I got some professional help myself. I needed to make sure my feelings for you weren’t temporary.”
“And you found out they weren’t?” she said, batting her lashes. In answer, Dean nodded and laughed. “So, why didn’t you return my calls this last month?”
“I lost my phone.” Annie was flabbergasted. “Yep. Left it somewhere, and no one returned it. I felt like an idiot, but I wasn’t seeing clients, so…” He shrugged and lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. “I may be a decent counselor, but I’m still just a guy sometimes, and guys do stupid things like losing cell phones.” Annie swatted him playfully.
“So how did you find me?” Immediately Annie realized that was a stupid question, considering not only were her parents listed in the phonebook, but in a little town like Rockland, everybody knew where everybody else lived anyway. “I guess I should ask, why are you here now?” Dean put down his coffee and took both of her hands in his.
“I saw the news report.” Annie didn’t have to ask which one. “Listen, Anne, I need to go.” She couldn’t keep her face from crumpling. “No, no,” he said hastily, “I need to go to the bed and breakfast and pack a bag. You need time to do that, too.” Now Annie couldn’t help her heart beating faster.
“Where are we—going? She managed. Then she heard her father from the living room.
“Elope with my daughter to Niagara Falls, young man,” her dad bellowed, “and you’ll never work in this town again.” Annie and Dean both dissolved into laughter. When they’d calmed down, Dean took her hand in his and looked at her, serious once more.
“I’m going with you to the prison, and we’re going to finish things with Parker.”
***
“You know,” Dean said, facing Annie in their seat on the train, “I’ve never been on a train before, isn’t that embarrassing?” Annie reached for his hand.
“Please,” she said, “the list of things I’ve never done would put you to shame.” Dean laughed and pulled her over to sit beside him.
“In good time,” he smiled at her, “all in good time.”
He put his arm around her and, leaning into each other, they watched the world roll by.
30
“What the fuck do I care how she feels,” Parker spat into the phone. Dean sat and looked at him through the glass, the phone to his ear, Annie at his side. “Huh? Tell me, why the fuck should I care?”
“Because, Parker,” Dean said, his tone even and direct. “It’s time for things to change. People need to heal and move forward with their lives. You know this, Parker. You need to man up and take responsibility for what you did.” Parker was bouncing in his seat, rocking back and forth, his eyes on Annie. He looked like he would break through the glass.
“Look at me, Parker,” Dean said softly, but Parker ignored him. “Look at me Parker!” Parker’s eyes shot to Dean. “Stop being a complete ass. Tell Annie you’re sorry, admit that she had nothing to do with your actions, and we’ll all move forward.”
“But what’s in it for me,” Parker asked, a smirk spreading across his face. Dean lifted one finger, wait. Then he hung up the phone and turned to Annie.
“Anne, I’d like you to leave us alone for a few minutes.” Annie’s first reaction was to insist that Dean tell her why. But something in his eyes told her to honor his wish.
Once Annie was out of earshot, Dean sat again and picked up the phone. He leaned in toward the window.
“Here’s the deal, Parker,” he began, his voice even, but with an edge that made Parker blink.
“I love Annie and, in time and with a great deal of luck, I’m going to marry her. I can make her happy. I can take her on real adventures, build a home with her. Maybe even make a few dreams happen together. We will, I have no doubt, be very happy together. Annie Stewart won’t forget you because she’s not like that. But in time, like everyone else in this town, she’ll let you fade into the past. At most, you’ll be an unpleasant memory. Your parents will be the only ones who visit you, and unless you get it together, you will die—maybe even in here—alone, bitter and miserable. I have no problem with that. I’ll recuse myself from further defense because you’ll be a conflict of interest—in the worst possible way.”
Dean watched Parker carefully. Parker’s face, once defiant and smug, began to change. His eyes grew misty, and his head began to hang lower.
“What’s in it for you, Parker, providing you start working on yourself, is having her as a friend. She could be the one person who forgives you, tries to understand you and continues to visit you. She could be the one person who helps you not feel like the animal everyone believes you are. That is what’s in it for you, Parker, the friendship of a good, decent, caring woman. I cannot think of anything that could be better or that you could possibly need more.”
Dean sat back and waited for Parker to respond, but Parker just sat there. Dean finally looked at the clock. The hour was drawing to a close. In a way, Dean himself began to feel ill, feeling that he had, once more, failed to get through to someone in desperate need.
Parker held very still, unblinking, so Dean said, “OK then. That’s it.” Dean hung up the phone and stood. He motioned Annie to come back so they could leave together. Suddenly, Parker thumped on the glass. When Dean saw tears in his eyes, he reached for the phone, but Parker waved him off.
“I want to talk to Annie,” he said through the glass, pointing at her.
“You go,” Annie said to Dean. “I’ll be all right. I’ll see you in a few minutes.” She hugged him, but he wouldn’t leave.
“Anne, I know you care about this guy, but I won’t allow it. We need to leave.” Dean took her elbow gently. “Please.”
Annie looked at Parker. She couldn’t read the expression on his face. She’d never seen such a thing. It wasn’t anger really. It was…
Whatever it was, it frightened her. So she gave Parker a formal little wave and allowed Dean to escort her from the room.
31
Annie didn’t visit Parker again.
She spoke at his first parole hearing, and she was honest. She still believed there was good in everyone, even Parker Levitt. But Dean also spoke, and Parker wasn’t so pleased after Dean was subpoenaed as a consult. The psychological tests conducted at the request of the prosecution overrode those of the defense so much that Parker Levitt faced possible life in prison without parole. Still, Annie
wanted to know if there was a chance.
“Everyone deserves a chance, Dean,” she insisted. “Can’t he be rehabilitated enough to visit his family at least?” Dean closed his eyes and sighed. Then he took his fiancée’s hands in his, and looked deeply into her eyes.
“Honey, don’t. Don’t ask. Trust me, Anne. I’ve seen a lot of these kinds of tests, and Parker’s responses were just…scary. So for my peace of mind, please stay away from him.”
A Small Town Dream Page 17