Forever (12 page)

What if he couldn’t talk her into giving him one more chance?
Jeezus.
His imagination was running wild. There could be a dozen “important” things she wanted to talk about. It was this thing with Annie making him feel guilty. And he hadn’t even done anything wrong. Not really. And besides, he was only going to see her one more time. Then he’d straighten up his ass and do whatever it took to make Julie happy again.

Still, the lead in his stomach told him this was not a night to look forward to. He attacked the last of the paperwork on his desk. Work was as good a distraction from his dread as anything. A few minutes later, Bonnie brought him a fresh cup of coffee and two of her homemade snickerdoodles, and he wondered, not for the first time, how she detected his moods.

As he worked, Annie kept intruding on his thoughts. It was near noon when he decided to phone her. One last time, he reminded himself. “Good morning, Annie. Do you work today?”

“No, why?”

“I’ve got to drive up to Anderson to take care of some business, but I wondered if we could get together for a few minutes later this afternoon. I looked at that book on longrifles last night, and I wanted to show it to you.”

“All right. Um . . . there’s a park, about two blocks south of the Cineplex; do you know it?”

“I’ll find it. After I see how my day’s going, I’ll call to let you know what time I can meet you there. Okay?”

What he’d done didn’t hit him until two seconds after he ended the call. What happened to his photocopy plan?
Shit
. At least she’d suggested the park as a meeting place, but the Coach House was a mistake he wouldn’t have repeated anyway.

So the park was good. The park was out in the open, in the daylight, nothing hidden. And that was as it should be. That’s what he wanted.

* * *

Though Annie left her house immediately after Tom’s second call, she found him waiting in the parking lot when she arrived. He motioned her to come to his truck. She hesitated, not wanting to ruin the new dress she wore. Tom drove a black Ford pickup, which he kept clean on the outside, but from her experience with men who worked out of their trucks, she pictured the inside caked with construction dirt and cluttered with empty cigarette packs and fast food trash.

Reluctantly, she walked around to the passenger-side door. He reached across the seat and opened the door for her. As it swung open, her jaw dropped. “It’s spotless.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m compulsively neat.” He grinned, though he clearly meant it as an apology. “It’s the only thing I inherited from my mother.”

Annie heard the edge in Tom’s voice as if it pained him to speak of his mother, but she would never ask why. That wasn’t any of her business. “So,” she said, climbing into the truck, “what did you find in your father’s book?”

“Well, I’m not sure how much this will help you understand what these visions are all about, but I think it’s interesting.” Tom reached into the back seat. “I brought the book because I wanted you to see the photos. This one is close to what I remember Jacob holding in his hands. It’s called a Lancaster rifle because that’s the county in Pennsylvania where the style originated.”

Tom thumbed through the pages as he talked, pointing to photos to illustrate his words. “They call them longrifles because the barrels were up to forty-six inches long. They had a flintlock action and were known for accuracy, but after about 1830, some of them were converted to caplocks—a percussion rifle. Look at these beauties. Back then, one like this cost a man half his annual wages.”

Because he held the book between them on the center console, she leaned closer to get a better look at the photos. His body heat warmed her left side. She breathed in the faint scent of his aftershave. As he read aloud, she stole a look at his face. He kept his eyes on the book as though she wasn’t even there. Couldn’t he feel how much she wanted him?

Annie sat back upright. As he recited the text, Tom traced his fingers across a two-page color photo, but she only half-listened. He was in his own place, not there with her.

“Tom?”

In mid-sentence, he ended his monologue on hand-carved stocks but didn’t look up.

“You don’t believe you were Jacob in a past life, do you?”

He replied, his voice flat and barely above a whisper, “I don’t know who I am.”

A chill scurried up her spine. “What did you say?”

Tom blinked twice, then looked up from the book and turned toward her speaking in his normal tone. “No. I don’t feel the reincarnation thing like you do. I mean, I’ve seen things through Jacob’s eyes, and felt things through his body, but that kind of stuff happens in dreams too. Do you think all your dreams are glimpses of past lives?”

“These aren’t dreams, Tom. We’re
awake
when they happen. But even if we were asleep, what we’ve experienced is too real, too detailed to be just dreams. Besides that,
Jacob really existed
. We’ve seen his name on historical records.”

“Yeah.” He nodded and closed the book with a sigh. “I guess I don’t have any frame of reference for something like this. I like to have the facts and figures. I tend to see things in black and white.”

“Why do you think that man shot you?”

“Shot
Jacob
,” he said. “I don’t have—”

“Okay then, can’t you tell me what
Jacob
felt when he turned to face his killer?”

“I’d say he was pissed.”

Annie ignored Tom’s sarcasm. She was irritated enough that he wouldn’t accept that he and Jacob were the same person. How could he act as if what happened to Jacob didn’t even matter?

“. . . as Maggie?” he asked.

“I’m sorry. What?”

“I asked you what Maggie felt in that first vision.”

“Terrified. She’d hoped they could get away before he found out.”

“He?”

“Well . . . I don’t know who he was, I didn’t even get a clear look at him, but I knew he wanted to see you dead. That man—” Suddenly, her heart raced out of control. The cab closed in on her. She jerked the handle to open the door. “I can’t . . . air . . .”

She stumbled blindly away from the truck and into the park. Tom caught up, guiding her onto the path. As they strolled the depth of the park, she breathed deeply, exhaling her anxiety. In single file, they entered the small woods on the far side of the park. Annie was in the lead. After a few steps she looked over her shoulder, but instead of Tom . . .

Jacob smiles and reaches for me, and I rush into his arms. He kisses my lips, my throat. His fingers find my hair, and I help him loosen it from the pins. He buries his face in the thick waves, murmuring in my ear.

“I love the scent of you. On the darkest night, I could track you by this scent.”

Annie stood in Tom’s arms. Arms he’d wrapped tightly around her, enveloping her, holding her as though he wanted to fuse her body to his.

“I love you,” he whispered, lips pressed against her hair.

He wouldn’t let her pull away. She allowed him to hold her, melted against him, and for that moment, it was as if they
were
fused. Annie felt herself as Maggie and Tom as Jacob. Finally, Tom had accepted their relationships, past and present.

He loves me. That’s all that matters.

Tom kissed her gently until she responded, and then his mouth took possession. He pressed one hand at the back of her neck, tangling his fingers in her hair. With a gentle tug, he lifted her chin, pulling his lips away from hers to trace them along the pulse line on her neck. The tip of his tongue chased the vibration of a moan as it rose in her throat, then plunged again to follow the curve of her collarbone. His lips caressed her bare shoulder before sliding up to her ear.

“I don’t want to leave you again,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire, “but we must be careful for a while longer.” He drew back to gaze in her eyes. “Do you believe that I love you?” Before she could answer, he kissed her again. “I need you. I want to stay with you . . . but I—”

“No!” Annie jerked away. She couldn’t bear to hear Tom say he had to go home to his wife. It nearly choked her to say, “I understand.” Reality had slapped her in the face again. She was a fool! He belonged to someone else, not her.
That’s
what she had to deal with. She stepped back. “I’ll talk to you . . . later.”

Surprise and confusion warped his features. “Wait . . .”

She edged past him, and he reached a hand toward her. When she felt the brush of his fingertips against her arm, she turned and ran, nearly blinded by tears. At the edge of the parking lot, she stopped and looked back across the park. Tom had followed her out of the woods only a few yards and stood just outside the tree line, head bowed. She turned away.

Annie passed the black Lexus, now parked next to Tom’s truck. She was sure the driver of that car, silhouetted behind the dark-tinted windows, had watched her tearful flight up the park path and would be the good Samaritan type, calling out to her, asking if she needed help. But only silence followed her. After she reached her car and slid into the driver’s seat, she looked across the park again. Tom’s position was exactly the same. In the couple of minutes she sat there crying, he didn’t appear to move a muscle.

Tom rubbed his eyes. He must have dozed off waiting for Annie to show. He glanced around the truck in all directions. The parking lot was empty. He checked his phone to make sure he hadn’t accidentally put it on mute. No. And no missed calls or text messages from her. He’d waited for over an hour. His father’s book lay on the passenger seat. Apparently, Annie had decided against this meeting.

That was good. It made it easier for him to move on. Move
back
, to be precise. Back to reality.

* * *

It was a minor miracle Annie made it home without getting a speeding ticket or causing an accident. During the drive, she passed through phases of anger, then acceptance followed by despondence that turned to hope—all of them accompanied by tears. By the time she walked through her front door, she’d settled on anger. She was angry with herself, Tom, God, men in general, life itself. Hate, with a good dose of self-pity boiled up within her, and that made her angrier. Self-pity frightened her. It felt like drowning.

Annie screamed every curse word she’d ever heard—and a few she made up in the heat of the moment. Her anger vented, she sank to the middle of the living room floor. It was then she saw Kate standing in the doorway from the kitchen, her face red as she tried to stifle her amusement. She failed, and after a few seconds, Annie joined in, laughing until fresh tears rolled down her cheeks.

When the laughter subsided, Kate sat on the floor beside Annie. “What was
that
all about?”

With a sigh, Annie tipped her head back and studied the ceiling for a moment. “I’m having hallucinations, and I’m in love with a married man.”

“Well, first of all,” Kate said, “I don’t think you’re having hallucinations, and secondly, I don’t believe you had a choice in who you’ve fallen in love with.”

With a groan, Annie collapsed forward and rested her head on her knees. “I don’t need support for my fantasies, Kate.”

“What you
need
is to understand why you’re having these visions. After my last customer today, I let Sherry do my nails, and I told her what’s been happening to you. She thinks you should see a psychic.”

Annie sat upright, “You’ve
got
to be kidding.”

“No, I’m not. Just listen. You weren’t hallucinating. You said Tom saw the same things, and from what you read online it sounds like you were seeing scenes from a past life, right?” Kate didn’t wait for a reply. “So, maybe a psychic could tell you more about that past life.”

“I really don’t think I want to know more about it.” Annie stood, and started for the kitchen. “I just want to forget it.”

Kate followed her. “No, you don’t. Things like this happen for a reason. Don’t you want to know why Tom’s in your life?”

Annie stopped in front of the stove and lifted the pot lids to check what Kate was cooking for supper. It appeared to be normal food with no tofu or sprouts in sight, though Kate could be sneaky. She smiled and took her sister’s hand.

“Thank you for trying to help, Kate. And yes, I do wonder why Tom’s been brought into my life, especially since he’s married. It’s like fate is torturing me. But I think it’s best to drop this all now, before it gets any more complicated than it already is.”

“You mean you’ll take your little broken heart to bed for a month?”

Annie gasped from the sting of that remark. “How could you say that to me?”

Sweeping past Kate, she stormed to her room, slammed the door, and fell across the bed. Fearing she might never stop if she allowed herself to cry, she lay silently on her back, drawing circles with her fingertips on the plum satin duvet.

Kate’s words flamed in her ears. When Gary admitted he was sleeping around and she’d better accept it if she knew what was good for her, she’d done exactly what Kate accused her of doing. It had taken his death to shock her back to life. Today, after she left Tom at the park, she was so hurt she almost stopped at the theater to quit her job. She’d been that close to withdrawing again.

“But I
didn’t
quit,” she said to the ceiling, “and I’m not going to run from life again either.” She was a new person now, a stronger person. Really.

When she and Gary met, she was nineteen, he twenty-three. He was charm personified. His heart-breaker smile, ice blue eyes, and blond hair stole a beat from the heart of every woman who saw him. When Gary chose her, she became the envy of all her friends.

But he was like the girl in the nursery rhyme—
very good when he was good, but when he was bad, he was horrid
. And toward the end of their marriage, he was horrid a lot.

By then, she’d grown used to his sweetness turning to neglect and deceit and then cycling back, but eventually his horrid side won out. She had the scars to prove it. The visible ones were caused when she “provoked” him by asking something like where a big chunk of his pay had gone, or why an empty condom wrapper was under the car seat. Some of her hidden scars were caused by lying about how she’d gotten the visible scars. Lying even to herself in the beginning. But the deepest scar was from the erosion of her self-esteem. When she lost the job she loved—the one thing in her life she thought Gary couldn’t spoil—that erosion reached down to the bone.