On Thursday morning, he decided to forego his morning swim and begin the work on the creek. He’d worked for a couple hours to remove the boulders and rocks so he could replace them.
He’d just finished placing the large boulders in the creek, and was ready to pile smaller ones on them when he heard his name called. Looking up, he saw Annabelle hurrying toward him. About that time Mudd streaked past him followed by the monster cat, Mudd bellowing, the cat screeching. Both animals landed in the creek, paddling furiously. Mudd would drown if that cat didn’t scratch him to death.
“Come,” he called, reaching toward Mudd. About that time the boulder moved. He tried to grab it, but it rolled into the creek. His foot kept slipping and so did his hands and the next thing he knew he fell on his back into the creek and waved his arms trying to steady himself and find Mudd.
He finally got on his feet and looked around. Mudd was crawling up the muddy bank. Symon rather resented Annabelle standing there, in her dry denim shorts and T-shirt, her long hair blowing freely in the breeze, pointing and laughing.
Mudd climbed up the bank without his help, the now-skinny drenched cat sat near Annabelle staring at Mudd, and Symon stood in the creek sopping wet, swaying with the current. His consternation turned to helpless acceptance and he began to laugh, too.
But then, Mudd, living up to his name, slipped in the mud, straightened and started shaking like he was at a disco. Simon was yelling, “No. Don’t.”
Too late.
Annabelle was screaming bloody murder and trying to get away from his muddy foot, which plopped right on her shoe, and she was waving an envelope high in the air. She kept screaming and stepped right over on the slippery muddy bank, and then was coming toward him in the creek.
Symon caught her best he could, ended up on his backside in the chest-high water, still holding on to her. He was trying to hold her up above the water. One arm went around his neck and the other was still in the air. “Not the letter,” she wailed while he held her, which wasn’t easy to do in the fast-flowing creek.
“It’s wet,” she moaned. “It’s from the editor.”
She seemed frantic. He wasn’t exactly calm himself. “Don’t worry. They have copies. You can get a copy.”
He managed to get up and set her on her feet, but she clung to his biceps and he steadied her at her waist.
“But this is the original. And they like it. Said put some recipes in it. They want a proposal.”
“A...proposal?”
She nodded.
He nodded. “I...we...can do that.”
She smiled widely as her amethyst eyes looked into his. He saw her lips tremble. She was cold. He should lead her out.
He thought, Save Anna, save Anna. And what came from his mouth was a whispered, “Annie.”
She was clinging to him. The current seemed stronger than the ocean waves He could not move back. All he could do was...hold her.
She looked at him. He looked at her. Her hair was stringy wet, her clothes were sopping wet.
“I’ve never been in the creek before.”
“Nothing to worry about,” he lied. “Panfish just swim right on by.”
He should help her out of there. He should swim out. Climb up the muddy bank and shake himself. He felt rather shaky now. And it wasn’t from the fast-flowing creek.
She moved and he thought maybe she thought the same thing. Not so. She moved closer and looked up at him and suddenly mud and cold seemed more like moonlight and roses and a dreamlike existence.
She had water on her face and a speck of mud.
He said the only thing he could say in a situation like that. “You look...muddy awful.”
“Thank you,” she said, “you, too.”
Her arm moved to his shoulder to balance. He touched her face, her lips, and she moved closer if that were possible.
As the current flowed through him, he was helpless to do anything but ride the waves, give in, go with the flow, not fight it, just experience the feeling.
He couldn’t think, only taste the sweet lips, feel them move against his own, feel her body pressing close, and then as he shivered in the cold creek, he felt her warm breath and the movement of her chest as if breathing were as difficult for her as for him.
“Annie,” he breathed.
Her face moved back only far enough that he could look into it, at her sweet lips, as they said, “You called me Annie.”
“Yeah. You just seem like an Annie right now.”
“I feel like it.” She had a little catch in her soft voice. “Right now.”
“Annie,” he breathed again as her hand came up and touched his cheek, and her fingers were near his lips and touched them, and then her lips were touching his, and he didn’t know how a person could be boiling the water while his brain was frozen, but his arms and his lips were not frozen and nothing, nothing else mattered except holding, tasting sweet Annie.
She didn’t try to get away.
Sure, it was fantasy, but he lived in a fantasy world, could imagine anything, and perhaps he was imagining, dreaming this. But he ceased to think and just—
Then reality came in the form of a voice saying, “Hello. I thought I heard screaming. But I can’t figure out who needs help.”
As if he were a kid in a classroom, he felt like raising his hand when he heard Miss B’s voice. But even as he and Annabelle moved apart, he needed to hold on to her. He took her hand and led her down the creek where it was shallow and they could walk out.
Miss B looked down and said, “Looks like SweetiePie had a bad hair day.”
Annabelle reached her and said, “I fell.”
Miss B said, “That happens.”
Chapter 19
She knew the trial was over and the Yarwood firm had won the case. Wes called and said, “I have some great news, Annabelle. Let’s celebrate. I’ll make reservations at Elizabeth on Thirty-seventh.
She already had reservations but not about where to eat. “Oh, that sounds great.” It was considered by many as the best restaurant in Savannah. “Maybe they will give me some recipes for my book.”
In her lost letter, the editor said she wanted Annabelle to add some recipes in her nutrition chapter. So, both she and Wes both had something to celebrate.
She told herself the whole time she was getting ready, laying out the red cocktail dress that Wes particularly liked, that she wouldn’t think about it. She’d gotten carried away in the moment.
Annabelle answered the front doorbell and there stood Wesley, looking much like he had when she first met him. The tension was gone from his face. That trial had done a number on him. But he was back, her fiancé, and wearing a dark blue suit, light blue shirt and a mixed blue tie. Those colors always made his expressive eyes even bluer.
“You look wonderful,” she said.
“And you, my lady, gorgeous as always.” They’d learned long ago about when and how to kiss before a pageant or going out. Tonight she wore a glossy lipstick. He looked at her lips, then leaned forward as she turned her face for his kiss on her cheek. “More later,” he promised. She nodded and smiled.
She didn’t want to think about kissing right now. It had been a mistake. A moment of gratitude expressed because...because she’d been excited about the letter and the creek water had pushed her. Wesley simply hadn’t kissed her enough. She’d been like a beggar... Oh, she had to stop that. Quit thinking about it. Quit explaining it. It was over. Now, she would enjoy an evening with her fiancé. Like they used to do before work and life got in the way. The weeds.
Yes, it was good being treated like a queen by a handsome man who loved you. And they didn’t talk about the case. He said he got a bonus and he’d share with her over dinner.
He drove to Elizabeth and led her inside. And when he said
, “Reservation for Powers-Lippincott,” they were seated in a windowed corner of the living room at a table covered with a white tablecloth like the others. Looking at the grand fireplace, she remembered his bringing her here last Christmas. He’d given her a heart necklace with a small diamond in the center on a silver chain.
She touched the necklace. It had been a promise of more to come, and a life they’d live together.
She felt herself drifting into her thoughts and forced them away to look at him. His blue eyes held a loving expression, as if he too were thinking of the necklace and that memorable night. It had snowed on the way home. She’d felt warm later in his embrace.
Now, however, she felt a slight shiver. The air-conditioning could chill a person coming in from the humid summer heat outside.
“Lobster appeals to me tonight.” He looked over at her. “What about you?”
As long as it wasn’t panfish. “Sounds perfect.”
Just relax and eat, she told herself.
And that’s what she did when the lobster was set before them along with the garden side dishes that featured the chef’s special flair, after Wesley said the blessing and she thought, Forgive me, amen.
He began talking about another firm that wanted him to join them as junior partner. “After the guilty verdict came down, he called and offered me the job.” He lifted a hand. “I know this means leaving your dad’s firm.”
She shook her head. “It’s not his anymore. They just kept the name.”
He nodded. “The bonus I mentioned is the opportunity to join Claggett.”
“Claggett?” Her fork halted halfway to her mouth and she forgot about good etiquette. “That’s the most—”
“Exactly.” His grin spread across his handsome face. “At Claggett, there’s room for promotion. One of the partners is going to retire in a few years. They’re more politically savvy. I have a chance if I want to go into politics. I can give notice at Yarwood. Doesn’t it all sound just right, Annabelle?”
“Perfect,” she said.
His smile waned and he leaned back at the edge in her voice. “Wes, I’m a little tired of perfect. I’m tired of being single. Of waiting forever for...what? More money? Security? Sometimes, I want to go back to the days when we just cared about—” She put a hand to her forehead. This was ridiculous.
“Love and each other?” he said.
She looked across at him. “I know all the sayings like you can’t live on love, all that stuff, but—” Oh, how foolish could she be. She sounded as if she was begging for his love. They knew they loved each other. And he’d brought her here. This special occasion. “Sorry,” she breathed.
“No problem,” he said. “Maybe you mean something like this.”
He pulled his hand from his suit coat pocket and held a small black velvet box. He opened it and let her look.
“Wes,” she breathed. Just when she was about to say she was tired of all this—well, she had said it. She’d been on the verge of giving up on him. On them. But for what reason? They’d planned. They’d agreed.
She kept staring at the beautiful diamond in a white gold setting. One she’d liked when they’d looked at rings several times. He took it from the box and reached for her hand and slipped it on her finger.
Of course it fit. They’d measured.
“Will you be my wife?” he asked.
Well, of course. This was what they’d planned for over three years. Almost from the first night her daddy had brought him and his parents to dinner. They’d liked each other. They were right for each other. They fell in love. Life interfered, but they were sensible.
And now, the perfect way. It was time for this. Past time.
“My dad says he can swing a down payment on a house. I’ll make enough for payments. You can use your trust fund as you wish.”
Before this, he’d said no.
His was wonderful news. She had news, too. And after all the help she’d received, she couldn’t just—
“What about my teaching? My book?”
“We can work that out.”
He was right. There was no real reason to wait any longer. She’d been told there were always weeds that pop up.
That little book idea was just a weed. What was a book proposal compared to a marriage proposal? Not that there had to be a choice.
She and Wes needed to get on with their lives. Like they’d planned. She remembered how excited she’d been, before her parents died, about the possibility of an engagement. A wedding.
Weeds of loss and grief and growing up had popped up and invaded. She needed to get back.
There was nothing else to do, no reason for anything else. She looked into his waiting blue eyes. “Yes,” she said.
Chapter 20
Since it was Friday night and Annabelle had her Saturday morning class, Wes didn’t stay after he walked her to the door. “We’ll need to get this in the paper,” he said, holding the hand that held their commitment. “Claggett is pleased that I’ll be married. I think that helped cinch the deal.”
Her dad had made remarks like that concerning a man in his firm getting divorced. They preferred married and settled. “And I need to let Aunt B know.”
Of course he would tell his parents. Probably already had. After their long kiss in which she reminded herself he was a good kisser, he left and she called Aunt B who told her to come over.
She showed the ring to Aunt B.
“It’s beautiful. Wesley,” she said slowly, “finally gave you a ring. What’s wrong, hon?”
As if she didn’t know. Neither had mentioned it, but Aunt B had seen her in the creek.
“About yesterday. I slipped and—”
“Everyone slips at times.”
“Not you.”
“Oh, yes,” and the way Aunt B said those words sounded like it wasn’t just popping out with a wrong word or something. “I have. Seriously. It’s something you and I need to talk about. Soon. But not right now.” She held Annabelle’s hand and looked at the ring.
“We’ve waited a long time for this,” Annabelle said.
“Yes, you have. You and Wesley have been very sensible. Waiting for the right time.” Aunt B must have seen the quiver in her lips. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”
“You’ve been in love, right? I think I only saw your husband a few times.”
“Neither you nor your parents liked him so they didn’t visit often. You were young and in little pageants then anyway, so busy. But to answer your question. I was in love as a teenager. But I learned that it wasn’t really love. Or it was being in love with love, or the emotions that are part of becoming a woman. And with Brandley, the man I married. I was attracted to him. I was in my early forties then. He was acceptable to my parents because of his family’s social standing and background.”
Annabelle relaxed into the easy chair. She liked Aunt B talking with her personally. She’d often thought Aunt B didn’t have a lot of things to talk really personally about.
“Oh, we had a grand honeymoon, even if I did pay for it. But I didn’t mind. At that age and having been alone so long, I didn’t mind if I had to buy a husband.”
Aunt B smiled wanly so Annabelle did, too. “I didn’t know all that.”
“Well, there was never the time to say it. But love. Yes, there are many kinds of love. Even Brandley was a form of love. We often say love for how we feel about anything from a pair of flip-flops to the Lord. Only you can decide what your heart wants and what you want from a man you want to love. And it looks like you have decided.”
Annabelle nodded and looked at the ring.
Aunt B was right. It sure looked like it.
She made sure she returned to Jones Street before either Megan or Lizzie would get home from their jobs. She didn’t have
a cold, but she took one of those cold pills that made her drowsy. For a while she thought that wasn’t going to work, but she finally drifted off and awoke with the sun’s rays teasing the window as if trying to compete with the brilliance on her finger.
Hearing Megan and Lizzie in the kitchen, she got out of bed, washed the drowsy from her face, brushed her teeth, took a deep breath, and trekked into the kitchen.
“What’s with you?” Lizzie said. “You never sleep in. We wondered if we should check on you since your door was closed when we got home.”
“Slept like a stone,” she said. “Had a big night.”
They stared as she climbed up on a stool and laid her hand on the island. Megan gasped and Lizzie screamed. “Finally.”
“We haven’t set a date.”
They each came over and hugged her. She thought she might cry.
“I need coffee.” She started to rise.
Megan waved her down. “I’ll get it. You still look kind of sleepy. You okay?”
“Sure.” She felt her lips tremble and hoped the coffee would come soon. Megan brought it.
“You know,” Lizzie said, “you’ve been uptight about having to wait so long before getting married, not seeing Wesley enough, being bored, uncertain. And now that you have what you wanted you’re the most happily depressed-looking person I know.”
“No. Of course I’m happy about this. It’s just...”
“What?”
“I...have a secret.”
Megan said, “Just one?” as Lizzie flipped her hands out, palms up, and said, “Doesn’t everybody?”
Annabelle shook her head. “This one’s what Aunt B would call a doozy.”
“Oh, boy.” Lizzie looked at her like she was chocolate fudge. “Spill it.”
“I...kissed him.”
“You—?” that was all Megan could get out.
“You gotta be kidding,” Lizzie said.
Annabelle shook her head. “Not just a...kiss. I mean, this was—”
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