A Letter for Annie. Laura Abbot

beside Annie’s well-used Honda, wishing he had not let the old lady get to him. She had skillfully used both flattery and her failing health as inducements for him to take on this work. Ever since, he’d been cursing his gullibility and stupidity. He did not need this job. He did not want this job. And, especially, he did not want to be on the same planet with Annie Greer, much less in the same house.

      He let Bubba out for a brief run, then had him hop into the truck bed. “Stay. Be a good boy, fella. Stay.” As if sensing the undercurrent in his master’s voice, Bubba’s ears perked up. “Yeah, I know. I’m not the happiest camper.” Kyle grinned wryly, then picked up his tool chest and plodded toward the cottage, noting, without conscious effort, the loose guttering on the ocean side. Hopefully there wouldn’t be that much on the repair list. But the sagging front door, the weatherworn shingles and the loose shutters were not good omens. He set down the chest, took a deep breath and rapped on the door.

      When Annie answered his knock, she stood aside and directed him to the living room. He nodded coolly, then brushed past her. Geneva sat before the bay window. Two chairs faced her and on the table between them was a typed list. Without a word, Annie indicated he should take the chair closer to the window. Then she perched on the other, as if poised for a quick getaway.

      To Kyle’s relief, Geneva broke the tension. “Well, young man, I’m delighted you’re here. My niece has gone over the house thoroughly and prepared a list.”

      As he read, the silence was broken only by the melodic tinkling of an outdoor wind chime and Geneva Greer’s oxygen tank. Beside him, Annie sat primly, back straight, fingers laced, jaw rigid. Yeah, well, she wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to be here.

      Still, the house lured him. He took in the crafted mantel and staircase, the patina of the hardwood floors, the high ceilings, the beveled glass in the built-in break-front. This house was a woodworker’s paradise.

      “Well?” Geneva studied him with alert blue eyes.

      “It looks like a complete list, although I’ll have to inspect everything myself.”

      “I would expect that. I’m prepared to pay well for you to complete this job quickly. As you know—” she paused, as if summoning strength “—I have little time left to enjoy your handiwork. And it is your handiwork I want.”

      He heard Annie’s quick intake of breath, but still she said nothing.

      “I’ll have to leave occasionally to check on my men. Yours isn’t the only project we’ve got going.”

      “Understandable, but I want the best, so I’d prefer that you do the bulk of the work.”

      “I’ll try.” He rose to his feet, wondering if he’d lost his senses. “Perhaps Annie will give me a tour and point out what needs to be done.”

      When Annie stood, a fragrance like summer roses engulfed him, taking him back to senior prom and the two dances he’d had with her. The two dances Pete had grudgingly relinquished to him. And if Pete had known what was going through Kyle’s head, he would have never let Annie within ten miles of him.

      “We’ll start outside,” she said, as she led the way to the front door.

      OUT ON THE PORCH, her turtleneck sweater offering little protection against the raw wind, Annie wanted to push Kyle away, avoid the man who represented her demons. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, somehow release the panic welling in her. Yet her loyalty to Geneva took precedence. “This is on the list,” she said, indicating the rickety porch railing.

      Hugging herself against the chill, she waited while he tested each post. When he finished, she walked around the side of the house and pointed at the guttering.

      “I saw that earlier,” he said.

      She was grateful when the tour continued in this manner: him carefully appraising each flaw, her accommodating him only so far as was necessary. When they came to her bedroom, though, she stopped in the doorway, blocking his entry. She didn’t want him in her space, violating her privacy. Just thinking of his having personal knowledge of her worktable, her bed, her toiletries laid out on the dresser made her feel exposed.

      He came up beside her, crowding her with his hard, toned body. “Excuse me,” he said, “but isn’t this where the ceiling leak is?”

      More in an effort to get away from him than to allow him entrance, she stepped away. He strode into the room, dwarfing the dainty rocker by the door. She pointed to the northwest corner. “Over there.”

      As he studied the telltale signs of water damage, she watched for any change in his expression. Any time now he would ask her the question hanging between them: Why did you treat Pete so heartlessly?

      FOR DINNER THAT EVENING Kyle fixed a frozen pizza, then grabbed a bottle of beer and settled on his dilapidated couch to watch the Mariners game. Bubba, quite a pepperoni fan, made a pass at his plate. “No way, buddy. You had your supper. Alpo. Yummy.”

      Bubba gave up and settled, head on his paws, under the small kitchen table.

      Kyle took a swig of beer and fixed his gaze on the screen. Bottom of the seventh inning. Two outs, two men on base. He let his mind wander to the upcoming weekend. Friday night’s company softball game. Then the party at the Nemecs’ to celebrate Rosemary’s birthday. His Saturday fishing date with Buzz Royer, the company electrician.

      Then, diabolically, his thoughts turned to Annie. Her aloof behavior. The way she’d looked at him in her bedroom, as if he were an intruder bent on no good. Her whole snow-queen routine would get old. Because the hell of it was he was going to be spending considerably more time than he liked at the Greer cottage, which had been neglected too long and needed a great deal of work. He didn’t appreciate her treating him like the bad guy. He wasn’t the one who’d run away. He wasn’t the one who’d devastated Pete. Sure, Kyle had his own sins to atone for, but he’d stuck by Pete to the end.

      Still, one thing was for damn sure. Before Kyle finished with the house, he’d get some answers from her. She owed him. More important, she owed Pete and the Nemecs.

      He tossed back the rest of the beer, then glanced at the TV. Bottom of the eighth? Hell, he’d missed more than half an inning. He swung to his feet and snagged a second brew from the fridge. Enough about Annie, he told himself. You don’t need this aggravation in your life. Tomorrow, weather permitting, he was working outside. He would concentrate on the job. Put her out of his mind. Exactly where she belonged. Where she always should have belonged.

      AFTER SUPPER Annie undertook the task she’d been putting off—making an inventory of food supplies. Although Carmen had left a well-stocked pantry and some frozen casseroles, Annie would have to make a trip to the supermarket, even if a raging case of cabin fever was preferable. For a change of scene and to work off tension, she’d been walking on the beach each afternoon while Geneva napped.

      Annie was compiling a grocery list when the phone rang. The warmth of Nina Valdez’s voice was a balm. “Your friends are missing you. So am I. And the customers? They’re always asking after you.”

      Annie doubted she had left such a void in the lives of Bisbee residents. Maybe in Nina’s, though. “I miss everyone. I wish I were there.”

      “How is she, honey?” Nina’s voice registered concern.

      “I’m not really sure.” As she talked, Annie carried the phone onto the front porch and curled up in the swing. “She isn’t giving me all the details and for now, she’s holding her own. But I can see it’s a struggle for her, and one day she’ll have to give in.”

      “Do you have help?”

      An onslaught of loneliness blindsided her. “Mmm, not really. Not now. But Carmen will be back soon.”

      “Have you considered hospice care?”

      Nina might as well have socked her in the stomach. Hospice. The word floated in her awareness like a circling vulture.