His Best Friend's Wife

by Lee McKenzie

  Annie scrolled through the list of contacts on her phone—her very short list of contacts—and stopped when she reached Rose’s name. Rose! Of course. Rose worked the breakfast and lunch shifts on weekdays at the café. Isaac didn’t know her very well, and to be honest, Rose hadn’t exactly warmed up to him. For some reason, Annie felt a tad uneasy about asking her half sister to child-sit on her day off. But after all she had done for Rose, helping her settle into Riverton, get a job, find a place to live—not to mention going to bat for her with the rest of the family—she shouldn’t feel guilty about asking. But was she feeling guilty, or was it something else?

  The memory of Rose at Emily and Jack’s wedding flashed across her mind: completely intoxicated, having to be carried upstairs; the young woman’s bleary-eyed hangover the morning after. She remembered Jack and Emily cautioning her about putting too much faith in Rose because they thought she was covering up a substance-abuse problem. Even her father and CJ had reservations about her. All Annie saw was a scared and insecure kid—even though she was technically an adult—who had grown up in desperate circumstances and with none of the advantages the rest of them had enjoyed.

  Come to think of it, Paul was the only person who hadn’t offered any warnings about Rose. He had seen her at the wedding. He was a doctor and Rose herself had told Annie that she had seen him when she went to the clinic with that terrible bronchitis. If anyone would know about or even suspect a drinking problem, it would be Paul. And yet he hadn’t said anything.

  Annie brushed aside everyone else’s concerns. She considered calling Rose, realized there was no point because she would still be at work, so she sent another text message.

  Hi, Rose. I have plans with Paul on Saturday. Could you come out to the farm and stay with Isaac? Everyone else is busy. You’d be doing me a huge favor! Annie

  There. It was done. If Rose was busy and couldn’t make it, then Annie would have to cancel. What other choice did she have?

  She set her phone on the narrow side table tucked between the two chairs, leaned back and flexed her ankles. She had forgotten how comfortable these chairs were. This would be a good place to sit while she worked on her weekly Ask Annie column. She quickly retrieved her laptop from the desk beneath the window and returned to the chair. She had started with two articles—or photo essays as Emily described them—on chickens and eggs. With the second one she had included her recipes for French toast and her asparagus-and-bacon frittata with photographs to illustrate the step-by-step instructions.

  After those, she had switched things up with a series of articles about the wedding. The first had been about the decorations and table settings, which had been elegant and understated in spite of it being an outdoor country wedding. Her second article had focused on the bride who was, after all, the reason people read the blog in the first place. Even Annie had to admit that her close-ups of the flowers woven into Emily’s stunning dark hair, their grandmother’s vintage cameo pendant around her neck and the classic solitaire in her engagement ring were quite remarkable.

  Her third and final wedding column had been about family gathered for the occasion. Emily and Jack gazing into each other’s eyes during their first dance as husband and wife was a portrait of a match made in heaven.

  The photograph she had taken of her father dancing with Libby had stolen the show. In addition to illustrating the joyfulness of the dance, Paul said she had captured the love blossoming between her father and this wonderful new woman in his life. If Annie had to make one prediction, it was that the Finnegan family would soon be celebrating another wedding.

  She could practically hear CJ’s and Isaac’s laughter every time she looked at the picture of the two of them doing an offbeat hybrid of jive and line dancing. Isaac’s curls, which had been tamed for the ceremony, were wildly tousled and his tie askew. CJ had kicked off her shoes and was dancing barefoot, her long blond hair flying around her.

  Someone in the family—although no one would confess to having done it—had used her camera to take a photograph of her dancing with Paul. Annie had spent more time than she would ever admit studying that picture, examining the way her hand fit so well into his, how he was exactly the right height for her to rest her cheek against his shoulder, how his lips had brushed her hair at the exact moment the camera had captured their moment.

  The only person missing from the family shots was Rose. Annie had poured over the photographs she and others had taken. In every single one of them, Rose had a wineglass in her hand, a wineglass to her lips, or she was at the bar getting another glass of wine. If her half sister had noticed she had been left out, she hadn’t said anything. Annie felt beyond guilty—and even a little shocked to discover she had a self-righteous streak—but Emily had agreed it was her column and should reflect her values. Their readership expected no less.

  Her phone jingled, announcing an incoming text message, pulling her back to the present. She picked it up and snapped her laptop shut.

  Sure I can babysit. What time? RD

  Annie considered responding, and then decided to call Rose instead. She must be on a break or maybe even finished for the day.

  “Hey,” Rose said when she picked up.

  “Hi, Rose. Thank you so much. I really appreciate you doing this for us.”

  “Yah, well, I didn’t have any plans so no probs.”

  No probs? Annie momentarily closed her eyes and took a long, slow breath. Her initial thought was to question whether this was the kind of influence she wanted for her son. Her second thought was to chastise herself for the first thought and to remind herself she needed to be more charitable, to give Rose a break. The poor kid’s had a tough go of things, she told herself.

  “Oh. Thank you, Rose. Do you need a ride out here in the morning? I can ask Paul to pick you up and give you a lift. Or would you like to come out on Friday and spend the night?”

  “Nah. Thanks, though. I have, you know, plans in town on Friday. My car’s running okay, though, so I can drive myself out in the morning. What time?”

  “Nine thirty,” Annie said. “I hope that’s not too early.”

  “Nah, that should be fine.”

  “All right, then. I’ll see you on Saturday. I’ll be sure to leave lunch for you and Isaac.”

  “Sure. Whatevs. Oh, gotta run. Break’s over.”

  Yah. Nah. No probs. Whatevs.

  Annie sighed. While she understood Rose’s life had been a tough one, she wasn’t a kid anymore. She was a young woman in her early twenties with a family willing to support her. But before that could happen, she had to lose the attitude and then she had some serious growing up to do.

  “Would you listen to yourself? ‘Serious growing up to do.’ When did you turn into an old lady?”

  Isaac would be fine with Rose. She and Paul would be away only for the day. Just a few hours, really. He was taking her into the city, they were going for lunch and then he had a surprise for her. He had also promised to have her back here in time for dinner. What could go wrong in a few hours?

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  ON SATURDAY MORNING, Paul congratulated himself as he drove up the driveway to the Finnegan farmhouse. He had a sense that this excursion was pivotal. Spending hours with Annie in a place that was unfamiliar to both of them—this was the day he would make it with her...or break it. And he had every intention of making this day the turning point in their relationship. He intended to pull out all the stops, and make her realize he was the one. The next one. But not second best.

  He pulled into the roundabout, attempting to sing along to a familiar song on the radio by a band whose name he couldn’t remember. He slowed when he spotted Rose’s rusted rattletrap. He parked next to her car and stepped out of his, noting the accumulation of empty junk-food wrappers, take-out boxes and cigarette packages littering her backseat, the overflowing ashtray in
the front console. No bottles, empty or otherwise, that he could see, but even Rose had to be smart enough to keep those out of sight.

  The sky was overcast and the morning air had a bite to it as he climbed the steps of the veranda. Chester was snoozing on the welcome mat. Paul opened the screen door and nudged the old dog, who slowly heaved himself onto all fours and made his way down the veranda in an arthritic amble and disappeared around the side of the house. Paul’s knock was met by another dog’s bark and a young boy’s whoop. The door flew open and he was greeted by Isaac, who was gripping his dog by the collar.

  “Uncle Paul! Down, boy,” he commanded the dog. “Stay down.”

  “Hey, Isaac.” He reached out, ruffled the boy’s curls with one hand and scruffed the border collie with the other. “How’s your new dog? Is he settling in?”

  “Yup. Chester doesn’t like him, though. Mom says he’s too ramb—ramb...?”

  “Rambunctious?”

  “That’s it. He’s too rambunctious for an old dog.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Beasley.”

  Paul smiled. “Good name. And I’m sure Chester will come around, once you teach Beasley some manners.”

  “Auntie CJ is helping me train him. She trains horses, too.”

  Paul stepped inside the house and shut the door against a gust of chilly fall air.

  “Then I’m sure she’ll have Beasley saddled up before you know it.”

  Isaac let out a loud shriek and, still clinging to the dog’s collar, raced up the stairs. “Giddy up, Beasley! Giddy up!”

  Laughing, Paul made his way to the kitchen in search of Annie. Instead he found Rose languishing on a stool at the island. She had on a pair of distressed blue jeans that had more holes than denim and a Guns N’ Roses T-shirt with a fringed hem. She was dumping spoonfuls of sugar into a cup of coffee, stirring after each addition. A large black knapsack sat on the floor next to the stool. It looked suspiciously bulky.

  “Hey. How’s it going?” she asked, her bored tone indicating she didn’t actually care.

  “Everything’s going well. How are you?”

  “Fine.”

  “Where’s Annie?” he asked.

  “Upstairs getting ready. You’re early.” She coughed into the crook of her arm.

  He was five minutes ahead of schedule and she made it sound as though he’d committed a crime. “How are you feeling these days?”

  “Fine.”

  She didn’t look fine. She was too thin, too pale, too jittery, her cough too deep and phlegmy for her to be fine.

  “Not working at the restaurant today?”

  She shook her head. “Babysitting.”

  “Ah, I see.” Annie had asked her to come out here to look after Isaac? That was...unsettling.

  “I’ve never babysat before. Sure hope the kid doesn’t give me any trouble.”

  She was talking about Isaac as though he was just some...some kid, not her nephew. Isaac was one of the best and brightest little boys Paul had ever met. A real live wire, yes, but always polite, respectful, well-behaved. A testament to the way he was raised by two loving parents and a close-knit extended family. And yet Rose’s first go-to was to anticipate a problem.

  “I’m sure he won’t be any trouble.”

  Rose arched her eyebrows. “We’ll see.”

  Luckily, Annie walked into the kitchen, saving him from having to continue an awkward conversation with Rose. Annie looked amazing in slim-fitting black jeans and a sea-green pullover sweater with a green-and-gray print scarf looped around her neck.

  “Paul, you’re here,” she said. “Would you like to have coffee before we leave?”

  “No, thanks. We should get going.” All week he had been looking forward to spending this day with her—no interruptions, no obligations, just the two of them.

  “Okay.” She turned to Rose. “I’ve left a list of everyone’s phone numbers on the fridge door—mine, Dad’s, Emily’s and CJ’s. There’s leftover lasagna in the fridge for you and Isaac to have for lunch. You can warm it up in the microwave.”

  “Sure.”

  “CJ is down at the stable and then she’s going into town right after her students leave. My dad has already left and won’t be home until late this afternoon, and Paul and I will be back by dinnertime.”

  Rose drummed her fingers on the countertop.

  If Annie noticed, she didn’t let on.

  Paul wished he could tell the young woman the seven-year-old child she was here to look after had better manners than she did, but that would have been out of line and it certainly wasn’t the tone he wanted to set for his day in the city with Annie.

  “Isaac is up in his room right now,” Annie said. “He’ll need to take Beasley out at some point, and I’ve told him they need to stay in the backyard. No wandering off, not even down to the stable.”

  “Sure.”

  “There’s milk and fruit in the fridge and homemade chocolate chip cookies in the cookie jar if the two of you feel like having a snack.”

  “I can manage, okay? Now go. Have fun or whatever.”

  Annie gave her a quick hug. “Thanks, we will.” When she looked up at Paul and smiled, any reservations he had about Rose vaporized. “I just need to get my coat.”

  He followed her down the hallway to the foyer and waited while she pulled on a pair of gray riding boots over her jeans and reached for a gray jacket.

  “Let me help.” He held the garment and settled it onto her shoulders after she slipped her arms into the sleeves.

  “Thank you.” She angled her face up to his and gave him a smile that lit up the room.

  “All set?”

  She picked up her handbag and a pair of gloves. “I’m ready.”

  He had been ready for this moment since forever. He held the door for her and followed her out to his car.

  “Brrrr,” she said. “It feels cold enough to snow.”

  “It’s not in the forecast,” he said. “I checked.”

  She settled into the passenger seat and fastened her seat belt. “You thought of everything.”

  He slid behind the wheel and started the car. “I hope so,” he said. But the truth was he had only been thinking about her, about how well things were between them, especially since the wedding and how spending this day together would cement their relationship. He hoped.

  * * *

  “YOU’RE TAKING ME to an art gallery?” Annie asked. All week she had been trying to guess what he had planned for them today. Shopping at the Mall of America? She was not a fan of shopping and she intensely disliked a noisy, crowded mall. A Minnesota Twins game? She knew he liked baseball from hearing him and Jack talk about going to games when they lived in Chicago. Thankfully that’s not what he had in mind. She couldn’t see herself sitting in a ballpark on a day like this. She would not have guessed him to be an art aficionado, but visiting a gallery was by far the better option.

  “Not just any gallery. This private gallery specializes in photography exhibits.”

  “Photography?”

  “That’s right. You’ve taken some amazing photographs, and your Ask Annie column on Emily’s blog is a big hit. I thought you might like to see this show in particular. It’s called Snapshots of a Small Town.

  “Really? People come to a big-city gallery to see photographs of a small town?”

  “They don’t just come to look at them. They buy them, too.”

  Interesting. She gazed up at the sleek dark glass facade of the two-story gallery. Nothing about this building brought small towns to mind.

  Paul was holding the door for her. “Should we take a look?”

  “Yes, definitely. This is so thoughtful of you.”

  He held out his hand. She put hers int
o it, liking the way he gave hers a gentle squeeze before he laced his fingers with hers, then they went inside together.

  The gallery’s interior was as modern and chic as its exterior. The main floor was one huge space. A second-floor loft spanned the back half of the building. As soon as she stepped inside, Annie’s eyes were drawn from the gleaming dark wood floors to the high ceiling and subdued industrial-style lighting. Throughout the main floor, free-standing walls divided the huge space into smaller areas.

  Inside the entrance, the sales counter consisted of a clear acrylic desk. Its surface housed a small stack of catalogs, arranged with laser precision, a glass tray of business cards and a crystal vase of artfully arranged white freesia.

  “Welcome.” A tall woman dressed in a high-necked dress, opaque tights and stilettos—all black—seemed to appear out of nowhere. She selected the catalog on top of the stack without disturbing the ones beneath it and passed it across the desk.

  “Thank you,” Paul said.

  The woman glanced down at their clasped hands and smiled. “Enjoy the exhibit,” she said. “Be sure to let me know if you have any questions.”

  The images on the walls grabbed Annie’s attention and she found herself immediately drawn into the exhibit. The color photographs were displayed in simple black frames with white mats. She walked from one image to the next to the next, taking in the subject of each photo, the composition, the light, the angles.

  An old blue bicycle with chipped paint and a faded wicker basket leaned against the white clapboard of a shop with the word Bakery arching across the window. She could picture the cyclist stowing her purchases in the basket and riding home with the aromas of freshly baked bread wafting around her.

  A battered wooden tool box and a newly constructed birdhouse on a workbench. She could smell the sawdust, feel the texture of the wood. What color would the builder paint it? What kind of birds would move in and raise a family?