Hello, It's Me

by Wendy Markham

  Or so he believes.

  Then he sees her expression, her eyes alight with laughter.

  “I’m so damned glad you didn’t listen to me,” she says, clinging to his shirt. “I’m so glad you didn’t stay away forever.”

  “I couldn’t. I never meant to.” He kisses her mouth, her neck, her throat, feeling her quiver in his arms. “I was always coming back. I was waiting for the right time.”

  But is this the right time? He was supposed to wait. He thought he needed more time, that she needed more time . . .

  “I can’t believe this is really happening,” Annie says softly, and he banishes his misgivings to the back of his mind, to be dealt with later. Or never.

  “It’s really happening.” He kisses her again.

  “I wish we were alone together,” she whispers hotly in his ear.

  His body taut with desire, Thom pulls back and looks around at the deserted yard. “We are alone.”

  “In broad daylight,” she says with a laugh, capturing his hand, swinging it in her own as she pulls him toward the house. “Come on, the kids are inside. They’ll be so surprised to see you.”

  “I brought them presents.”

  “Oh, no, Thom—”

  “Shh. Just small presents. And I brought you these.” He hands her the roses. “I wanted it to be honeysuckle, but I couldn’t find any. Do you know how hard it is to find blooming honeysuckle in Montauk on short notice?”

  “In late August? Impossible?” she asks with a laugh, sniffing the armful of red blooms.

  “Oh, I know a florist that has it back in the city, but I didn’t have time to stop there. I just wanted to get out here, Annie. To see you. I didn’t want to waste another second.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t.”

  “So am I.” He pulls her close again, crushing the roses between them.

  It’s happened so fast.

  Too fast? Annie wonders, fighting a hint of uneasiness. She turns to watch a beaming Thom, seated at the kitchen table with Trixie cuddled on his knee, applaud wholeheartedly as Milo demonstrates yet again that he can now tie his sneakers.

  One minute she and the children were here alone; the next, Thom has slipped into their lives as easily as Milo’s shoelaces now slip into a sturdy knot.

  Annie turns back to the stove, where she’s sautéing onions and peppers and tomatoes in olive oil, creating some kind of concoction to feed the hungry brood at the table.

  Thom wanted to take them out to dinner, but Annie insisted on cooking. She isn’t sure why she felt the need; it’s been so long since she actually prepared a meal.

  But it feels good. It feels right. All of it.

  Listening to Trixie telling Thom how excited she is to be starting kindergarten next week, Annie reaches past the stack of unpaid bills on the countertop, reminding herself that she has to get to them tomorrow. She grabs the salt and pepper shakers and liberally sprinkles some of each into the pan, then tosses in some fresh oregano sprigs she picked earlier from the overgrown herb garden.

  A little of this, a little of that. It’s how she always cooked, back when Andre was alive.

  Sometimes, her improvised recipes turn out brilliantly, sometimes, disastrously.

  You just never know until you taste it.

  Annie lifts the wooden spoon to her lips and nibbles a bit of tomato and translucent onion.

  “Well? How is it?”

  She turns to see Thom watching her, wearing an infatuated expression that sends delicious shivers to her core.

  Annie smiles and nods. “I think it’s going to be good.”

  Sitting on the porch swing with Annie nestled into his side, Thom feels as though he’s come home at last.

  It’s amazing how easily things have fallen into place today. He never expected it . . . not really. All the way out here, he told himself that he’d better be prepared for rejection.

  Now here he is, with Annie in his arms, just the way he dreamed she would one day be. He’s told her all about the house he bought, and the seafood company he’s going to oversee.

  He hasn’t come right out and said it, but she must know that he’s done it all for her, that she’s going to be a part of his life from now on.

  There will be plenty of time for promises. Plenty of time for everything.

  But he can’t help wondering if maybe, he should have waited, the way he planned.

  “What are you thinking about?” Annie asks, lifting her head from his shoulder to look at him in the flickering light of the citronella candle.

  “I’m thinking that I’m getting awfully sleepy,” he lies, telling himself that it’s time to stop worrying, that he did the right thing, coming out here impulsively.

  She smiles. “I’m sleepy, too.”

  “It’s a long drive back to Manhattan.”

  “Especially when you’re sleepy.”

  “Yes,” he agrees, with an exaggerated yawn. “I guess I’d better get started.”

  “I guess,” Annie agrees. Then, thoughtfully, she says, “Or . . .”

  “Or?”

  “Or you could stay.”

  “Do you have to go?” Annie asks, lifting her head reluctantly from Thom’s bare chest, feeling him shift his weight beneath her. “Can’t you at least stay until morning?”

  “It is morning,” he says softly, stroking her hair.

  Annie shifts her gaze to the bedroom window, where the sky beyond the whirling box fan is bluish-gray with the promise of dawn.

  “But you can’t go yet. We have a lot to talk about,” she tells him, burrowing closer to him beneath the thin sheet that covers them. “You have to tell me more about your new townhouse, and your new company.”

  “And you have to tell me more about your cookies and your seashell sculptures.”

  She laughs at the ridiculous juxtaposition of her baking and artwork with his multimillion-dollar real estate and multibillion-dollar business deal.

  “There’s nothing to tell, other than that my stuff is suddenly selling,” she says, and presses a kiss against his bare chest, marveling at how natural it feels to wake up in his arms, here in her bed.

  “That’s because you’re an incredibly talented woman,” Thom informs her, and the compliment fills her with pride.

  It’s too good to be true, she can’t help thinking again. All of it. Him being here, her art and cookies selling, his plan to move into a real house and take a less demanding corporate position . . .

  She can’t help feeling as though the effervescent bubble of happily-ever-after is in danger of bursting at any moment.

  It’s just because of all you’ve been through, she reminds herself. But look how far you’ve come. Look what you’ve accomplished on your own.

  She really is a survivor.

  Of course she’s going to feel a little insecure for a while. But it will wear off. She just has to trust Thom, and believe in him.

  “I want to hear about your renovation,” she tells him. “Are you really going to take time off from work and do the whole thing yourself?”

  “Well, maybe not all of it,” he admits. “I was thinking that I’ll definitely need some help with the decorating.”

  “You’re going to hire a decorator?”

  “No. I thought that since you have such an artistic flair, you might want to help me pick out some paint colors and furniture.”

  “Me?”

  “Sure. I want the place to look homey, like this place.”

  Annie chuckles. “In that case, I’m sure Milo and Trixie will be glad to come over any time and throw some toys and crumbs around.”

  They laugh, and kiss, and cuddle until Thom reluctantly rolls away from her to lean up and check the bedside clock.

  “I really have to go,” he says with a groan. “I’ve got to be back in Manhattan by eight for a meeting.”

  “But that’s hours away,” Annie protests, sitting up to embrace him from behind. She wraps her arms around his chest and presses her naked breast
s against his back, kissing his neck.

  “It’s going to take me hours to get there in rush hour,” he says, then moans softly as she nuzzles his shoulder.

  “Come on . . . can’t you reschedule the meeting for a little later?”

  He shakes his head, then shudders as she allows her fingers to dance lightly down his chest. “No, I can’t reschedule. Cut that out, Annie! Do you know what you’re doing to me?”

  “Yup.”

  With a groan, he turns toward her and takes her into his arms again, flipping her gently onto her back. “Maybe I can call Mavourneen and have her reschedule the meeting for eight thirty.”

  And just like that, the bubble bursts . . .

  Just as Annie knew it would.

  “Mavourneen?”

  “Mmm. My secretary.” Thom’s stubbly cheek grazes her shoulder as he kisses the nape of her neck.

  Mavourneen.

  Annie bites her lip, her thoughts racing. Maybe she’s jumping to conclusions. Maybe she’s being ridiculous. Maybe it’s her wayward imagination leading her astray once again.

  Thom’s mouth travels upward to devour hers, but only for a moment.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks, lifting his head as he senses that she’s no longer receptive.

  She has to ask. She has to.

  “What kind of name is Mavourneen?”

  “Irish.” He looks puzzled. “Why?”

  “I thought so.”

  Annie rolls away from him abruptly, taking the tangled sheet with her.

  “Annie, what’s wrong?”

  She shakes her head, fumbling with the sheet in her trembling hands, attempting to wrap it around her naked body to shield herself from him.

  “I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out before,” she whispers, mostly to herself.

  “Figure what out? What are you talking about?”

  “It was you. You bought my shell sculptures in Sag Harbor, didn’t you!”

  He’s silent.

  It’s just as well. She doesn’t need an answer.

  She knows. “You’re the one who’s behind all this so-called success I’ve had. The sculptures, and the cookies . . . What are you doing, paying your rich friends to order stuff so that the poor widow can support her two fatherless children?”

  “No, Annie, it isn’t like that. I didn’t have anything to do with the cookies. I swear.”

  “I don’t believe you. Devonne Cambridge told me that an Irish woman bought all my sculptures and ordered more.”

  “All right yes, I had Mavourneen go out and buy the shell sculptures. We sent them to the board members and shareholders at Saltwater Treasures after they accepted our preliminary offer. It was a business transaction, Annie. Corporate gifts that happened to be more suitable than anything else I could have bought. I didn’t do it out of pity.”

  Yes, he did.

  He manipulated her, thinking she’d never figure it out.

  He likes a challenge. He said it himself, back in the beginning. If he wants something he can’t have, he goes after it.

  She’s nothing more to him than one of the billion-dollar companies he so determinedly acquires.

  “Annie, please listen to me. I didn’t do half of what you think I did. You did it all yourself.”

  “So you’re saying that you had nothing to do with the other orders that have been pouring in for my sculptures?”

  He hesitates.

  Damn him. Damn him, for thinking he can control her destiny without her ever finding out.

  “Maybe I pulled a few strings in the beginning. Maybe I told a few people about them. But I never—”

  “Pulled a few strings? You’re a goddamned puppeteer, Thom,” she hurls on a gut-wrenching sob. “Get out of here.”

  “Annie—”

  “Don’t touch me. Get away from me. I can take care of myself.”

  “I never doubted that. I just wanted to help you.”

  “I don’t need your help. I don’t need you. Just go.”

  “Please don’t do this, Annie.”

  “Go!”

  After a moment, she hears the bed creak behind her, feels his weight lifting off the mattress.

  She doesn’t turn around to see him swiftly pull on the clothes he discarded in the heat of passion mere hours ago, doesn’t utter a word of farewell as his footsteps approach the door, then linger.

  “You’re wrong about me,” he says softly. “Yes, I wanted to help you. But I only did it because I’m in love with you, Annie. You and the kids. I love you.”

  She stiffens.

  He loves her?

  Her and the kids?

  She shakes her head, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  Tell him, a voice screams inside of her head. Tell him that you love him, too. Before it’s too late! Tell him!

  But she isn’t sure. Is she?

  Does she really love him?

  Is she capable of loving a man who isn’t Andre?

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

  Tell him, Annie! At least tell him you forgive him!

  She opens her mouth.

  But he’s already going, moving swiftly down the hall, his footsteps pounding down the steps.

  Stop him! Before he leaves! Hurry, Annie!

  “Thom!” she calls, leaping from the bed, hurrying to the top of the stairs, just in time to watch the screen door close behind him.

  She didn’t even hear it open.

  WD-40.

  Outside, his car engine turns over.

  Standing in the doorway, wrapped in a sheet, Annie watches him drive away.

  Part Four

  September

  Chapter 21

  Mommy! I’m afraid!”

  “It’s okay, Trixie,” Annie calls, raising her voice above the incessant wind and driving rain. “Get back into the house.”

  “But I’m scared! The lights keep flickering!”

  “I’ll be right there. Go!”

  Standing in the back porch, Annie watches her daughter scamper back into the kitchen, then gazes again at the view beyond the screens.

  The hurricane made landfall early this morning, bringing with it the disarming marine scent of displaced tropical moisture. The sky hangs low beyond sheets of driving rain and violently swaying branches, an ominous shade of charcoal better suited to December twilight than a September Saturday afternoon.

  Annie clutches the cordless telephone in the shelter of her open jacket to protect it from the rain that splashes through the screens like buckets of water bailed from a sinking boat.

  Just one quick call.

  That’s all she needs. Just one quick call, just to hear his voice, and then she’ll return to huddle with her frightened children until the storm is over.

  She says a quick prayer and begins dialing with a trembling finger.

  The phone rings once . . . twice . . .

  And then the receiver goes dead.

  “Mommy!” Milo screams through the window.

  “Mommy! The lights went out!”

  “It’s okay.” Annie tosses the useless telephone aside and hurries back inside to her children. “It’s just a power failure because of the storm. Mommy’s here. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  Standing in the one southern-facing window of his seaside home that isn’t covered by plywood, at his insistence, Thom gazes at the towering green-black waves on the Atlantic and worries about Annie.

  Did she and the children escape to a shelter before the storm hit?

  It’s one thing for Thom to remain here in his stone fortress against the advice of the local authorities who came knocking early this morning.

  It’s quite another for Annie and the children to ride out the storm alone in their little house by the water.

  No, the coastal evacuation isn’t mandatory. But the authorities at Thom’s door warned him in no uncertain terms that it would be risky to stay where he was.

  “Don’t worry about me, gentlemen,” he said calmly. “
I’ve taken successful risks all of my life. In fact, it’s what I do for a living.”

  “Yeah, well, you don’t know what you’re up against this time, Mr. Brannock. I’d hate to see your luck run out now.”

  Thom didn’t bother to tell the man that it already has.

  “Sing the ‘Hakuna Matata’ song again, Mommy,” Trixie begs, seated on Annie’s lap on the couch.

  “Again?”

  “Please? I’m afraid.”

  “It’s going to be okay, Trixie. I promise.” Annie flashes a reassuring smile at her daughter, followed by a worried sidelong glance at the windows overlooking the porch.

  Maybe she should have covered them with plywood, the way Andre would have.

  Maybe she should have brought the children to Merlin’s last night, the way he begged her to when he called.

  Maybe she should have done a lot of things differently.

  “‘Hakuna Matata,’” Trixie urges again, in the plaintive little-girl tone she adapts whenever she’s feeling vulnerable.

  It’s all Annie can do to keep the tremor out of her own voice when she asks, “How about something else this time, sweetie?”

  “But ‘Hakuna Matata’ makes me feel like I’m not worried about the storm.”

  “I have a better idea. Let’s go eat all the sweet stuff in the freezer before it melts.”

  “Like ice cream?” Trixie asks hopefully.

  “Ice cream, Popsicles, that frozen chocolate cake you guys made me buy—”

  She breaks off as a savage gust of wind violently shakes the house.

  “Is the storm almost over, Mom?” Milo asks, frightened, leaning against Annie’s side.

  “Almost,” she lies.

  Outside, there’s a thunderous snap and boom as yet another tree limb breaks off and crashes to the ground.

  The children cower against her, whimpering.

  “Mommy, I don’t like this.”

  “It’s going to be okay, Trixie.”

  “When is Thom coming back?” Milo asks abruptly.

  Thom. She knew that topic was bound to come up again sooner or later.

  She told the children when they woke up yesterday morning that he’d gone back to the city. Naturally, they wanted to know if he’d be back that evening, and if not then, when? Annie managed to sidestep their questions for the remainder of the day, distracting them with storm preparations like assembling candles, matches, and flashlights on the kitchen counter, putting away the outdoor furniture, filling the sinks and tub with water.