A Letter for Annie. Laura Abbot

didn’t want to revisit the past, even as a means of healing. In Bisbee she had avoided the issue; here, it confronted her everywhere.

      When she reached the cottage, Geneva was dozing in her chair, her veined hands resting on a stack of photographs in her lap. In repose, the crepelike skin on her face sagged and she looked every one of her eighty years. Her chest worked to pull in air, and with each exhalation, a ragged sigh escaped her lips. Annie smoothed back the wisps of hair on her forehead, and then went into the kitchen to make a fruit salad and warm some soup for supper.

      “Annie?”

      “I’m in the kitchen.” She lowered the heat on the stove and went into the living room.

      “I must’ve dropped off. Did you have a nice walk?”

      Erasing the image of Margaret’s stony face, Annie nodded.

      “Could we eat in here on trays?”

      “No problem.”

      “After supper I want to give you more of the family history and it’s just easier to stay here to eat.”

      The truth, but not the whole truth, Annie suspected. Each day, in increasingly obvious ways, her great-aunt was failing.

      Famished from skipping lunch and walking on the beach, Annie wolfed down her supper. Geneva, on the other hand, moved fruit around on her plate before finally spearing a chunk of pineapple and eating it. She did better with the soup, but still left half a bowl untouched. “I’m finished,” she said, dabbing her lips with her napkin.

      “Auntie G., you need to keep your strength up.”

      “I’m trying. But who are we fooling? I’m not going to live forever.”

      Annie seized the opening. “What have your doctors said?”

      Geneva gazed directly into Annie’s eyes. “That I’m terminal. Complications from my weak lungs and congestive heart failure will ultimately make breathing nearly impossible and affect other systems.” She handed her tray to Annie. “That’s why we have to make the most of the time I have. Starting with tonight.”

      In the kitchen, blinking back tears, Annie rinsed the dishes and quickly loaded them in the dishwasher. Nina had tried to warn her and she’d understood the seriousness of Geneva’s situation, but hearing the word terminal from her great-aunt made the prospect unavoidably real.

      “Do you remember your grandfather at all?” Geneva asked when they were settled in the living room.

      “I saw him only a few times. When Daddy died, he came to the funeral. He brought me a doll. But I never played with it. It reminded me too much of the day of the funeral and the way the house smelled sickeningly of flowers and macaroni and cheese.” Annie recalled looking up at her tall, slender grandfather with his gray hair and sad blue eyes. The man who had come not just to comfort her with a doll, but to bury his son.

      Geneva stared into space before continuing. “When Caleb was born, I thought he’d been created solely for my entertainment. I was four and, from the beginning, mothered him. Summers here at the ocean were magical. I loved holding his little hand and leading him down to the beach for family picnics. As he grew older, he was a natural athlete who shared my zest for adventure. One day just before World War II we hiked so far down the beach we didn’t get home until nearly dark. Our mother was frantic.” She smiled at the memory, then was quiet for a moment, the hiss of the oxygen a reminder of how far removed she was from that time when she and her brother had romped at the shore.

      She shuffled through the photographs, handing Annie one of a skinny young man in a swimsuit balancing on a rock, waves crashing around him, a delighted grin on his face. “He was such fun. He had a talent for friendships and a wicked sense of humor.”

      “What about my grandmother?”

      “Jody? Like Caleb, she thrived on seeing new places, trying new things. They were married in 1951 just after they graduated from college.” She sorted through the pictures until she found one of her brother in a white dinner jacket gazing adoringly at a dark-haired young woman with short, curly hair and a pixie-like grin. “Here they are. During the Korean War, Caleb joined the Marines. While he was overseas, Jody lived here in the cottage.”

      “I never knew that.” Annie tried to picture the young woman living here alone, isolated, worrying about her husband.

      “Practically the minute Caleb returned home, Jody got pregnant and nine months later, along came your father. Shortly after John’s birth, Caleb was hired by a New York City bank and they moved.”

      “That explains why they didn’t often get to Oregon.”

      “One reason.”

      Something in Auntie G.’s tone grabbed Annie’s attention. “Another reason?”

      “You may as well know. Caleb and Jody didn’t care much for your mother. They found her attractive enough, but, well, somewhat superficial. Not well suited to John.”

      Annie wished she could defend her mother, instead of acknowledging the fairness of the judgment. “What about Daddy? Did he love her?”

      “Yes, I think so. He did everything he could to please Liz.”

      Annie knew the outcome before she voiced it. “But it was never enough for her, right?”

      “Oh, child, what are we doing probing into the long-ago relationships of other people? Marriages are what they are.” She paused, then sighed. “I’m so tired. Please help me to bed.”

      Annie assisted her great-aunt to her feet and followed close behind with the oxygen tank as Geneva slowly made her way to the downstairs bedroom.

      Once she had helped her into bed, Annie sat for a long time in the silence of the living room, poring over the photographs of her family—the family that now consisted only of her beloved Auntie G. and herself. She knew it was a matter of a few short weeks until that family would be reduced to one. Loneliness—so acute it was physically painful—washed over her.

      KYLE FINALLY GAVE UP trying to sleep. He’d been tossing and turning since four in the morning, the sheets a tangle around his legs, his pillow lumpy and warm. Bubba’s snores added to his insomnia. He’d had the nightmare again. The one about Pete. Damn Annie, anyway. Seeing her had been like picking at a scab and reopening a wound.

      He sat on the edge of the bed holding his head in his hands, once again picturing Pete pausing that fatal few seconds to look at Annie’s photo. Why couldn’t Pete have moved on? Forgotten the high school sweetheart who’d punted him without an explanation? But no. Pete had carried the torch up to the instant he was killed. Oh, sure, after they’d finished Guard training, Pete had tried to find Annie. He’d talked to everyone who’d ever known her, interviewed the bus station agent and pored over cab company records. But he’d gotten nowhere. Her stepfather, George Palmer, was as clueless as Pete. And since Geneva Greer had not been living in Eden Bay at that time, Pete had no idea how to contact her. It was as if Annie had dropped off the face of the earth. But Pete never gave up. He lived as if he expected Annie to turn up on his doorstep any day. And the hell of it was, Pete would have welcomed her, no questions asked.

      Kyle lurched to his feet. What in blue blazes was the matter with the woman? Seeing her here in Eden Bay infuriated him. Why had she waited so long to return? Crap, now he had to consider what to do about the damned letter.

      Stumbling into the kitchen, he made coffee and turned to see Bubba standing in the bedroom doorway yawning. “Yeah, I know. Too early. Sorry, buddy.” When he went outside to retrieve the morning paper, clouds scudded across the sky and a cool breeze ruffled the scraggly bushes in front of the mobile home. Kyle drew a deep breath before going back in. Bubba lay on the floor eyeing him curiously. Kyle shrugged. “Hell if I know why I can’t sleep, fella.”

      When the coffee was done, he poured a cup and settled on the sofa to read the Sunday ball scores. But he couldn’t concentrate.

      He