Angel Song (32 page)

It was amazing how far she’d deluded herself. It hadn’t taken long for things to return to their usual status quo and pull her right out of that. Just as well. All these delusions needed to stop if she was going to get on with her life.

The doorbell rang. She went to answer it, thinking that Tammy had probably already told Ethan she was back in town. She opened the door, a smile plastered on her face in spite of her herself, and found herself looking into the eyes of Eleanor Light.

“Hi, Ann. I just stopped by to see how things were coming along. Do you think you’ll have the place ready for an open house next weekend?”

“Next weekend?” Ann thought of the work she’d need to do before an open house, but what else did she have to do? “Sure, I’ll get it ready. I was just changing out the window treatments.”

“Ooh, can I see?”

“I haven’t got them all up yet, but the bedrooms are done. You’re welcome to see the progress.”

Eleanor walked in, her heels clicking across the hardwood floor. “These floors sure did turn out nice, I tell you what. That right there is going to be a big selling point.” She stopped walking and looked around the living room. “I thought you were painting this another color, something a little warmer.”

“Well, I tried it, but it just didn’t work.”

“Really? This house is so cozy and warm, it seems like a warm color would be the perfect match.”

“I tried it; it didn’t work, okay?” The loud irritation in Ann’s voice surprised even her.

Eleanor took a step back and smoothed an imaginary wrinkle in the sleeve of her jacket. She continued to smooth it long after the point of uncomfortable silence had been reached.

Ann finally said, “You wanted to see the window treatments in the bedrooms, right?”

“Absolutely.” Eleanor made no comment or expression to indicate she’d suffered an offense. She simply followed Ann to the bedroom.

“Oh, these are really pretty.” Ann turned to see Eleanor lifting a small section of the just-removed curtains that were lying across the bed. “I can’t remember what you had in here before, but these are perfect. Good job.”

“Eleanor,
that’s
what was in here before. I took them down to add these.” Ann unfurled one of the blinds so Eleanor could get the full translucent effect as it hung against the window. Ann loved the way it diffused the sun but did not completely block it. So clean, so modern.

She turned to Eleanor, ready to hear her approval. Instead, she saw her looking from the new blinds to the old curtains, a look of confusion on her face. It took her a long time to say anything, but finally she said, “What gave you the idea to change to these modern shades?”

“The homes I stage in New York are all ultra-modern. I thought it would put a little of me into this house.”

Eleanor nodded, her forehead wrinkled in thought. “I don’t want to be offensive about any of this—I mean, obviously you wanted the walls white too—but don’t you think white walls and white modern blinds are a bit . . . lacking in color? In warmth? This is Charleston, after all, not some high rise in New York.”

The words stung. Tammy’s similar comments could be dismissed as those of someone ignorant to good taste. Eleanor’s . . . well, she was a professional. Ann took a slow, deep breath and stated in a very calm voice, “I think there are varied tastes in Charleston, just as there are everywhere else.”

“That is true. There are some very modern homes in Charleston, where this would look not only beautiful but totally appropriate. This is your home and you can do whatever you think is best, but as your real estate agent, I’ve got to tell you that, to me, it looks as if this home is trying to be something it’s not—like a person putting on a front that says one thing, while deep inside she knows she’s something else. That doesn’t work for people and it doesn’t work in houses.” Her phone buzzed and she looked down at it. “I’ve got somewhere I have to be, but I wish you’d think about it, Ann. Don’t be afraid to let people see what’s really inside.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But she did know, and that thought terrified her more than anything she’d yet faced.

“Trying to be something it’s not
.” The phrase rang through Ann’s mind long past dinnertime. She was not trying to be something that she wasn’t; she was trying to be herself. But all of Charleston seemed to be conspiring against her. Well, this was a battle she intended to win. She was strong and independent, able to make her own choices, and didn’t need anyone else.

She walked into her old room.
I am my own person. I am not hiding.
I don’t need this room or anything in it
. She looked toward the wall socket and added, “Or anything that ever once was in it.”

That’s when she knew what she needed to do. She went into Nana’s room and found the rolled paper on the nightstand. If she was truly going to bid all this nonsense farewell, it was best to get as much closure as possible. She snatched up the roll.
I pulled you out of the garbage last time, but this time, there won’t be a second
chance
. She got into her car and drove like a crazy woman until she reached the Battery Walk.

The full moon made it easy to watch the intersection of the two rivers as they flowed together,
“forming the Atlantic Ocean
.
”
Remembering Ethan’s comment almost made her smile—but memories only caused pain, and it was time to purge as many of them as possible. Excess cargo could sink a ship—or a person. This little memento of her mother would be the first to go. She’d never even read the rest of it, and that was for the best. It was another piece of the past to be cut loose.

Ann extended her hand, watching the moonlight glow faintly on the paper. She began to loosen her grip one finger at a time. It was time to let this go. Let all of it go.

Her fingers seemed frozen in the bent position, in spite of her efforts to straighten them. She looked around, trying to force herself to relax. This was something she needed to do.

The sound of the ocean and the sight of the mansions and the Ravenel Bridge did nothing to make her task any easier. Finally, her pinky finger straightened, and her ring finger slowly began to follow. It was time to give the Atlantic Ocean one more chunk of broken dreams, like the pieces of wrecked ships that once dotted the sandy bottom. Just one more victim.

“Ann, is that you?” Eleanor’s voice was suddenly calling to her from farther down the walk. Several people turned Ann’s way.

“Hey, what’s she doing? Mama, she’s littering. Stop her.” The high-pitched voice came from a well-dressed family walking her way, including a young girl in a flouncy sundress and huge white hair bow. “You can’t drop that into the ocean. It’s pollution. Tell her, Mama,” the girl said in a nasally, irritating tone.

Ann was so shocked that she couldn’t think of how to respond, or even what to do. When she regained her senses, she clutched the paper—and ran. Hard. She didn’t stop running until she reached her car, jumped inside. and locked the door.

On the drive home, she began to laugh hysterically. What had that all been about? Like she was afraid of a six-year-old with a hair bow and her thoughts on pollution. And yet, it had thrown her so completely off course that here she was, pulling back into the driveway, letter resting on the passenger seat.

And what must Eleanor think? That Ann was a nutcase, most likely, and one pretending she was someone she wasn’t, as they were all so fond of saying.

She took a deep breath and decided to deal with this situation once and for all. Finish reading this letter.
Then
she could put it behind her.

She carried the roll back into the living room, turned on the lamp, and dropped sideways onto the sofa, leaning her back against the armrest and putting her feet up on the cushions. Slowly, she uncurled the paper and scanned down the page to where she’d stopped reading the last time. Only two paragraphs left. She rallied what was left of her courage.

I’m leaving you with Mama. She loves you both to pieces. I don’t know how I could bear it otherwise. I just feel like there’s this hunger inside me and no matter what I do, it never fills up. The only time the hunger numbs is when I’ve had a few drinks, or when I’m in a bar and see a man look at me in the way that says I’m something special. I wish I could be satisfied with something, anything, but I’m not. I’m still looking, still hungering. So I’m packing my bags and making a clean break. You’ll be better off without me.

Mama will take good care of you. I hope someday you realize how much I love you both. It’s just that I’m all broken inside, and I don’t have anything more to give you.

All my love,

Lorelei (your mama)

Ann recognized some of her own thoughts in her mother’s words. She understood the “clean break” principle. But from this perspective, reading it in her mother’s letter, it sounded a lot like quitting. Funny how it felt so much nobler when she was the one making the clean break. Is that what she was doing here? Quitting?

She rolled the paper up and put it back on Nana’s nightstand. Retreating to the sofa, she once again lay there wondering if something or someone was actually watching her right now. Someone who actually cared. With questions running through her mind, over and over, she found no relief.

Chapter 37

Ann dug the hole for the last of the petunias, glad to be done with this hot job. Tammy had been over to help, and Keith was lying on a lawn chair in the shade, looking at some of his books. He was coughing again and seemed a little lethargic.

“Ann, can I ask a favor?” Tammy asked. She was covered with potting soil and sweat. There was no way Ann could have refused her anything.

“Sure. Name it.”

“Keith and I need to run several errands this afternoon—I obviously need a shower first—but I’d promised Ethan I’d drop some homemade brownies by his house today. I don’t think I’ll have time to do it, so could I impose on you to deliver them for me?”

Ann hadn’t talked to Ethan since she’d arrived. She folded her arms. “You know, if this is your way of trying to get us together, it’s not going to work.”

Tammy looked at her with an expression of surprise, the picture of innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You can drop them off before he gets home. He’ll never even know it was you.” She almost smiled, but not quite.

“So, what, should I leave them on the front porch?”

“No, if you don’t mind, put them on his kitchen table. The back door opens right up into it, and it’ll be unlocked.”

“He leaves his back door unlocked?”

Again, Tammy looked a little too innocent. “Usually he does.”

Hmm. Tammy was definitely up to something.

“Come on, Keith. We need to get washed up for our trip downtown.”

“Okay, Mama. Annie, you want me to leave this book for you? It’s a good one. Clifford is just a puppy.”

“That is a great one, but I’ve already read it.”

“Really? Is it your favorite?”

“Uh . . .” Ann had a vague idea that Clifford was a red dog, but otherwise she was making this up as she went along. “Yeah, I think it might be.”

“Mine too.” He put the book into the little backpack he’d brought over with him. “Bye, Annie.” He waved and smiled as he left.

About an hour later Ann headed toward Ethan’s house.

She remembered the day when she and Eleanor had walked by it, and Eleanor had talked about how perfect the place was for him. Only now did it strike her as odd that she’d never seen the inside. She had been so many places with him, but never once to his own house.

She walked up the driveway, thinking how this white house, with green shutters and whale-shaped weather vane atop the chimney, looked as though it belonged in a Kellogg’s Corn Flakes commercial. Definitely charming in a down-home sort of way.

She went to the back door. Feeling a bit like a burglar, she tried the knob. It turned in her hand, and the door opened with a light push. Strange that he would leave it unlocked.

But then she saw the inside. A burglar would probably just turn and leave after taking one look. The walls were down to the studs, with rows of insulation showing and the occasional electric wiring. She stepped inside, into what must’ve been the kitchen. The countertops were missing, as were the doors on the cabinets. At least there was a fridge and stove. To her right, she spotted a plastic-covered table and set the brownies on it.

She walked back outside in a daze. How much time had he spent working on Sarah’s house—Ann’s house—while his own home went unfinished? He didn’t even have a place to cut vegetables in his kitchen, much less make brownies. The realization of what Ethan had done almost took her breath away.

Later that night she walked over to Tammy’s and sat down in her kitchen. “I took the brownies over to Ethan’s.”

“Great. I just couldn’t stand the thought of letting him down after I’d promised.”

Ann looked around. “Where’s Keith?”

“Asleep. Another big day.”

“Yeah.” Ann tugged at a loose string on the hem of her shirt. “I didn’t realize he was doing such an extensive remodel on his house.”

“When he bought that house last year, it was in terrible shape, looked like a bulldoze job to me. Of course, to Ethan, it looked like a project. So he dug right in, spending every spare minute working on that place. I thought he was crazy when he first bought it, but seeing what he’s doing, I think it’ll be something amazing when he’s done.”

“I’m sure.” Ann looked up at Tammy. “Let me guess, he more or less stopped working on it for the last couple of months because he was so busy working on my place.”

“Well”—Tammy wiped off a perfectly clean kitchen counter—“you could definitely say the work slowed down over there lately.”

Ann shook her head. “I wish I’d known. I wouldn’t have let him do that.”

“I’m sure he knew that, which is why he never told you anything about it.” Tammy rinsed out the blue sponge and set it beside the sink. “He’d do anything for you.”

Once again the point was driven home that Ann didn’t deserve Ethan.

It was time to do a professional walk-through. What would Ann recommend to the client who owned this house? Of course, the owners would not have been her clients; they would have been Beka’s, the traditional decorator of their group. Okay then, what would Beka say?