Heroes Are My Weakness(103)

As Barbara gathered the girls in her arms, Annie saw the tears running down her powdery cheeks. Theo noticed, too. He shot Annie a frown and closed his hand around her arm. “Let’s get out of here.”


THEO’S CAR BLOCKED THE SUBURBAN in the driveway. “How did you figure it out?” he said as they came down the front steps.

“A woman’s perspective. Once you told me about the lease, I knew it could only be them.”

“You understand that you have them over a barrel, right? You’re going to get the cottage back.”

She sighed. “Looks that way.”

He heard her lack of enthusiasm. “Annie, don’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“What you’re thinking about.”

“How do you know what I’m thinking about?”

“I know you. You’re thinking about giving up.”

“Not giving up exactly.” She zipped her coat. “More like moving on. The island . . . It isn’t good for me.” You aren’t good for me. I want it all—everything you’re not prepared to give.

“The island is great for you,” he said. “You haven’t just survived this winter. You’ve thrived here.”

In a way, that was true. She thought about her Dreambook and how, when she’d arrived here, so sick and broken, she’d seen it as a symbol of failure—a tangible reminder of everything she hadn’t accomplished. But her perspective had been shifting without her recognizing it. Maybe the theatrical career she’d imagined had never materialized, but because of her, a mute little girl had found her voice, and that was something.

“Drive out to the farm with me,” he said, “I want to check on the new roof.”

She remembered what had happened the last time they’d visited his farm, and it wasn’t the puppets she heard in her head, but her own survival instinct. “The sun’s out,” she said. “Let’s take a walk instead.”

He didn’t protest. They descended the rutted drive to the road. The boats in the harbor had been out at sea since dawn, and the empty buoys bobbed in the harbor like bath toys. She stalled for time. “How is the woman you helped?”

“We got her to the mainland in time. She has some rehab ahead, but she should recover.” The gravel crunched beneath their feet as he steered her across the road by her elbow. “Before I leave, I’m going to make sure some of the islanders start getting their EMT certification. It’s dangerous not having medical help here.”

“They should already have done it.”

“Nobody wanted the responsibility, but with a group of them training together, they’ll have each other’s backs.” He took her hand to guide her around a pothole. She drew away as soon as they reached the other side. As she pretended to fix her glove, he stopped walking and gazed down at her, his expression troubled. “I don’t get it. I can’t believe you’re thinking about giving up the cottage and leaving.”

How could he understand her so well? No one else ever had. She would start up her dog-walking business again; work at Coffee, Coffee; and book more puppet shows. The thing she wouldn’t do was go on any more auditions. Thanks to Livia, she had a new direction, one that had been taking shape inside her so gradually that she’d barely known it was happening. “There’s no reason for me to stay,” she said.

An SUV with a missing door and bad muffler roared past. “Sure there is,” he said. “The cottage is yours. Right now those women are falling all over themselves trying to figure out how to give it back to you in exchange for your silence. Nothing’s changed.”

Everything had changed. She was in love with this man, and she couldn’t keep staying at the cottage where she’d see him every day, make love with him every night. She needed to rip off the bandage. And go where? She was healthy now, strong enough to figure something out.

They began walking toward the wharf. Ahead of her, the American flag flying from the pole between the boathouses caught the morning breeze. She stepped around a pile of lobster traps and climbed the ramp. “I have to stop postponing the inevitable. From the beginning, the cottage was only a stopgap. It’s time for me to get back to my real life in Manhattan.”

“You’re still broke,” he said. “Where are you going to live?”

The easiest way for her to raise rent money quickly was to sell one of the Garr drawings, but she wouldn’t do that. Instead she’d call her former dog-walking clients. They were always traveling. She’d done house-sitting before. If she was lucky, one of them might need someone to stay with their animals while they were gone. If that didn’t work, her former boss at Coffee, Coffee would probably let her crash on the futon in the storage room. She was physically and emotionally stronger now than she’d been five weeks ago, and she’d figure it out.

“I already have money coming in from the resale shop,” she told him, “so I’m not completely penniless. And now that I’m healthy again, I can get back to work.”

They bypassed a length of chain attached to one of the granite mooring posts. He leaned down to pick up a loose stone. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“Don’t you?” She said it easily, as if he’d revealed nothing of any importance, but her muscles tensed, waiting for what would come next.