by Lexi Eddings
“Danny,” she said with a nod.
“Did you get the job?”
Anne shrugged. “Don’t know. There were a lot of people applying. They said they’d be making their decision by the first of next week.”
Come back to me, Annie. I’ll take care of you and our boy. I promise.
But he didn’t say that. His wife was stubborn. Once Anne set her feet on a path, she was hard to turn. He’d have to come at her sideways.
“I dropped by to see Carson, but he’s still napping,” Daniel said. “I hear he has a doctor’s appointment tomorrow morning. I’ll come by to take you.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“He’s my son, too. It’s my job to make sure he stays healthy.”
Her big brown eyes were sadder than a puppy that just piddled on the floor. Except he was the one who’d made the mess. His stupidity had yanked the roof from over his son’s head. Anne’s sadness cut him more than Celia’s rant had. Unlike her mother, Anne could make a man feel like a worm without a word.
“I moved out of the house today,” he said to fill the void.
She nodded. The bungalow on Crepe Myrtle hadn’t been much, but it was theirs free and clear. He mentally kicked his own butt up between his shoulder blades again. Losing a house in a card game was easily the dumbest thing a man could do.
“I rented a place over on Spruce Street.” It was a duplex instead of a house, but it had two bedrooms and a bath and a half. It would do until he got back on his feet again. “There’s a little yard where we can put Carson’s swing set. I know it’s not as good as the house, but—”
“Do you think all I care about is that house?”
“Isn’t that what this is about?”
Anne shook her head. “It’s not about losing our home. It’s about you not even stopping to think what might happen to Carson and me because you can’t resist the turn of a card.”
“If I’d won, you’d have been happy enough. We could have—”
“No.” She started walking toward the door. He fell into step with her. “Dan, whether you win or lose is not the issue. You’ve got a problem and you won’t admit it.”
His wife had left him. That was his problem. Admitting it wouldn’t make her come back to him.
“I don’t blame you completely,” she said. “From what you’ve told me, your dad had some addictions. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised when you turn up with one of your own.”
“I don’t have an addiction.” He didn’t smoke. He’d never done drugs, not even a single puff on a joint. He didn’t drink unless you counted an occasional cold beer on a hot summer day. “And I’m nothing like my father.”
It was one thing for him to wonder about how much he had in common with Lester Scott. It was another thing for Anne to suggest it. Revulsion made his stomach roll.
“You are like him in this, whether you know it or not. I checked a book out of the library and I’ve been reading up on it, trying to understand what drove you to play until you lost the house. They call it having an addictive personality. I’m not saying you’re a bad person, Dan. I know you’re not. Having the urge to gamble is not your fault. What you do with the urge is.”
She started to open the door, but he stopped her with a hand on the screen.
“Well, if that’s true, why don’t you come home and help me deal with it?”
“If I did, would you promise never to gamble again? And I mean give up everything. No poker with the guys. No trips to the casino for slots. You even can’t buy a lottery ticket. It would be like an alcoholic thinking he can stop with one drink.”
He opened his mouth, but then closed it without speaking. In all honesty, he couldn’t make that promise. Just the thought of never feeling the high of winning again made him take an involuntary step back.
Maybe he was no better than Lester. Abuse came in lots of disguises. Landing his family on the street was as bad as leaving bruises where they didn’t show.
And maybe the damage was slower to heal.
Anne gently pushed his hand aside and opened the door. “Well, that tells me what I need to know.”
“But I didn’t say anything.”
“Exactly.” She went into the house and hooked the screen door between them. “I don’t know why you’re still here, Daniel.”
“I’m here because I want you back, Anne. I love you.”
“You have a funny way of showing it.” She swallowed hard. “I heard your old girlfriend is back in town.”
“So?”
“So someone made it their business to let me know you’ve been to see her.”
Daniel closed his eyes and silently counted to ten.
“I swear, if gossip were an Olympic sport, Coldwater Cove would take the gold every time. Whoever told you I’ve been to see Lacy is not your friend,” he said.
“So it’s not true?” The hope in her eyes made his chest constrict.
“No, it’s true, but it’s not what you think.”
Heather Walker was probably the one who’d made sure Anne knew he’d seen his ex. She lived in an apartment over Gewgaws and Gizzwickies, same as Lacy. On the night he’d dropped by, Heather had been out on the iron deck the two units shared, watering a tub of newly planted petunias. The sidelong look she’d shot him was so cool, butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.
“My visit to Lacy was totally innocent, honest,” he said. “I was just checking on her. She’s been through some tough stuff back east, you know.”
Anne crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh, did someone gamble away her house, too?”
“Her dad asked me to stop by, so I did. Just to see if she’s all right.”
“And is she?”
Lacy was better than all right. She made him feel like he was eighteen again, when everything was sharp-edged and full of fire and so wretchedly important. When he looked at Lacy, he could still smell the tang of sweetgrass wafting in a breeze off the lake. He could feel the red earth beneath his back as the stars wheeled in a slow dance across the night sky. Lacy tempted him sorely, especially since he and Anne were on the outs.
But Lacy wasn’t his wife. He’d vowed to be faithful to Anne until he was dust. If he did nothing else right in this life, he wanted to stay true to that vow.
Daniel had been almost relieved when Jake arrived and gave him a reason to make a clean getaway. A man couldn’t be held to account for what he thought about, for what he was tempted by, but guilt stabbed him in the gut over thinking and being tempted all the same.
“I took a vow to love you, Anne, and only you,” he said. “I haven’t broken that promise.”
Her chin quivered and her eyes glistened, but she was determined enough not to let a tear fall. Still, he could see she’d been afraid he was unfaithful. She couldn’t depend on him. He felt as low as the soles of his boots.
“I wouldn’t hurt you like that, honey,” he said, willing her to sense how much he meant it. Winning her back was going to be harder than he’d thought. He’d broken her trust in one area and now she didn’t seem able to trust him about anything. “I’ll be back tomorrow at eight-thirty to go with you to Carson’s doctor’s appointment.”
Before she could object, he turned and strode back to the cruiser. Sometimes, it was best to withdraw from the field and live to fight another day.
* * *
Anne watched Daniel pull away from the curb and drive slowly down the block. She was so hollow inside she didn’t know how to name what she was feeling. Part of her ached to run after the cruiser and call him back. Part of her held firm. This was a fight worth fighting. She couldn’t go back to him unless she won it.
“Did you tell him?” Her mother came up behind her and put a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“No.”
“Lord knows I’ve no use for the man, but he deserves to be told. Might shake some sense into him.”
“He’ll find out sooner or later. Probably sooner.” It wasn’t a secret that
would keep. When she was carrying Carson, she hardly showed at all until the end of her fifth month. But this pregnancy felt different. Like a balloon that had been blown up once, she suspected her tummy would pop out a lot quicker this time.
If Daniel knew she was pregnant again, he’d say anything to make her come home. But even if he did, how would she know if he really meant it?
How could she ever tell whether it was her he wanted or if the only tie binding him to her was his children? After all, he was only coming back tomorrow morning for Carson’s appointment. Especially with Lacy Evans back in town, Anne needed to know Daniel loved her for her, not just because she was the mother of his son. Not just because he was chained to her by a wedding vow.
If she and Daniel couldn’t re-form their circle of two . . . if their love wasn’t enough to get Danny through this gambling problem . . . how could they ever hope to create a safe place between them, a sweet little hollow for their children to take shelter in?
Chapter 9
There’s nothing more relaxing for a man than spending a whole day in the company of his own thoughts. Unless it’s spending a day in the company of his own thoughts, a rod and reel, and the right kind of bait.
—Marvin Tyler, beloved husband of Mary, father of Jacob, Laura, Steven, and Mark
Jake cranked up the oldies station as he and Lacy headed east in his pickup on the highway that wound around Lake Jewel. On the town side of the lake, there was an expansive public park. Part of the Bates College campus was snugged up against its southwest cove. Once they passed the Coldwater Cove marina on the north side of the lake, thick woods rose up on either side of the drive.
Lacy had managed to get Thursday off from the paper, the same day that he was regularly free from the Green Apple. The fact that she was willing to arrange her life to suit his schedule was a good sign. All week, he’d been looking forward to being with her at the lake house.
With any luck, he could turn Thursdays into a standing all-day date.
Conversation flowed easily between them. Since his injury, it had been hard to talk to women for longer than he could make a cup of coffee last. Invariably, they wanted to hear him rehash what had happened to him in Afghanistan and how he felt about it. Even if he could name what he was feeling, what was the good in dredging it all up again?
Lacy treated him as if nothing had changed. If she had the slightest curiosity about his time in Helmand province, she kept it to herself.
Another good sign.
She was full of stories about her first week at the Coldwater Gazette. They were sure never to make the paper itself.
“Turns out, there’s a running feud between Wanda and Marjorie Chubb for some unknown reason,” Lacy said. “I don’t remember them being at odds when I wrote for the paper before.”
“They may have been and you didn’t notice. High school kids are generally too wrapped up in themselves to pay attention to what’s going on with the adults around them.”
“Speak for yourself, Mr. Big Stuff,” she said. “I was sort of invisible in high school.”
“No, you weren’t.” Mr. Big Stuff, huh? He liked that.
“OK, name one thing you remember about me.”
She’d been his best friend’s girl and therefore off-limits. He and Daniel always had each other’s backs, on the gridiron and off. But things were different now and he couldn’t very well bring up Lacy’s old boyfriend as an excuse for not remembering things about her in high school. He might be out of practice, but he was certain that was not the way to make points with her.
He pulled a nugget out of thin air. “I remember you played in pep band.”
“Oh, yeah. What instrument?”
“How should I know? They all sound like kazoos to me.”
She laughed. “I can see it now—the Fighting Marmots All-Kazoo Marching Band! They ought to book us for the Macy’s parade.”
Jake laughed with her. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d shared laughter with a woman that wasn’t forced.
“But anyway,” Lacy went on, “according to Georgina—the Queen Bee of Gossips at the Gazette—there is no chance Wanda will ever fire her longest-standing employee.”
“Why is that?” Jake asked.
“Not sure, but my theory is that since Marjorie is the captain of the Methodist prayer chain, she must know where all the bodies are buried.”
Jake chuckled. “She probably does at that, but Marjorie means well. I know it seems like she’s spreading gossip, but she really does care about people.”
When he first came home and was adrift in the sea of changes his new leg had made to his life, Marjorie and her like-minded friends had prayed for him daily. And let him know they were doing so. It chafed at him in the beginning that other people thought he needed prayer.
But then it started to feel good to know that there were people who stopped what they were doing to think about him and what he was going through. Then once he settled in at the Green Apple, the gaggle of self-proclaimed prayer warriors sort of loved him into attending the Wednesday night chapel service for people whose jobs wouldn’t let them go on Sunday morning.
He’d found a measure of peace there. And a community of folks who were willing to come alongside him while he found a way to feel like he belonged again.
“Oh, that’s right,” Lacy said. “You’ve gone all churchy on me.”
“Nothing wrong with finding a little faith,” he said. “Hey, what’s your problem? You were raised in that church.”
“Yeah, but I sort of outgrew it.”
“Nobody outgrows the need for something to believe in.”
“It’s not about faith. It’s just church itself. I mean, who needs everybody all up in everyone’s business?”
“So it doesn’t make you feel good to know you were being prayed for while you were in trouble back in Boston?”
“Of course not.” She glared at him as if he’d sprouted a second head. “The prayer chain is just Coldwater’s way of broadcasting my failures.”
“Everyone fails at something.”
“Yeah, I know. But it’s almost like they’re saying, ‘Who do you think you are? See? We knew you couldn’t cut it in the big wide world.’”
The prayer chain wasn’t saying that at all. That attitude was coming straight from Lacy herself. She evidently didn’t think she could cut it.
“What else happened at the paper this week?” Jake asked to change the subject. This was far too serious a topic for a first date.
She grinned. “I got the biggest kick out of some of the weekly notices sent to the paper. Did you see the one from the library?”
Jake shook his head. He didn’t take the Gazette, but now that Lacy was writing for it, he needed to fix that immediately. “I must have missed that one.”
“It went sort of like this.” Lacy closed her eyes, the better to remember the piece verbatim. “‘Head librarian of the Coldwater Cove Public Library, Rosa Mundy, reports that a certain patron has failed to return a book on time, along with two fishing rods. The borrower will be named in this report next week if the rods aren’t returned before Saturday. Mr. Mundy is planning to enter the bass tournament at Lake Jewel and needs the gear.’” Lacy chuckled. “Notice Mrs. Mundy didn’t seem a bit concerned about the book that’s overdue. And what kind of library loans out fishing rods?”
“Oh, that’s nothing. Henry Whiteside wanted to donate a chainsaw to the library once, but the town fathers put the kibosh on that. The town couldn’t afford liability insurance for a loaner saw.”
“Oh! Speaking of being able to afford something, that reminds me. I did some research on your mom’s Fiestaware and I was right.” From the corner of his eye, he saw she’d turned in her seat to face him so she could see his reaction. “How does eighty-five each sound?”
“Really?” he said, his brows arching. “That stuff is worth eighty-five dollars?”
“Only for the cobalt and mustard pieces,” she said with a grin.
“Mustard, huh? How ’bout that? I figured that might be what you’d call the yellow one.”
“You should have said so. See. You’re not color-ignorant after all.” Lacy punched his shoulder playfully.
The punch was OK by him. In Jake’s experience, if a girl gave him a swat, he was more likely to score than if she didn’t. Of course, that percentage was pre-Afghanistan.
“The red bowl is probably worth ninety-five because who doesn’t love red?” Lacy went on. “And—hang on to your hat!—your mom might get even more for the chartreuse.”
“The green one,” he said, happy to show her he remembered her four-dollar word for that particular shade.
“That’s right,” she said approvingly, “the light green one. You mom could get as much as four thousand for the chartreuse.”
“Four freakin’ thousand dollars? For a soup bowl? When you said the green one was worth more than the red, I was thinking maybe a hundred.” He never dreamed she meant a figure in the thousands. “Even eighty-five seems high for an old bowl. You’re kidding, right?”
“I kid you not. Serious collectors will pay serious money for the right items. Chartreuse pieces in that particular style are rare, because the design was discontinued shortly after Fiestaware introduced it in 1959. Factor in the excellent condition of your mom’s bowl and buyers will be willing to pay a premium for it.”
He shook his head. “Some folk have more money than sense. Of course, even if it’s worth that much, if Mom puts that kind of price tag on her stuff at Secondhand Junk-shun, people will think she’s crazy.”
“Well, all right. I doubt you can get that price here,” Lacy admitted. “But I have some contacts in Boston who would still do business with me. I bet I can find a collector for your mom’s pieces. Want me to check on it?”
“Heck, yeah.” If there was a chance his mom could bag that kind of windfall for an old bowl, he was all for it. “Mom’s booth hasn’t sold anything in a couple of weeks, but just to be on the safe side, I’d better call Phyllis Wannamaker and have her set those bowls aside.”