On Mystic Lake Part 23

"The old Beauregard place. Now, that certainly pinpoints it for me."

"You remember the old house at the end of the lake road? An old friend of hers lives out there now."

Blake got a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. "What's going on, Hank?"

There was a pause, then Hank said, "You'll have to figure things out for yourself, Blake. Good luck."

Good luck. What the h.e.l.l did that mean? What the h.e.l.l did that mean?

By the time Blake had asked directions to the lake road and got back in his car, he was irritated as h.e.l.l. Something was not right here.

But then, things hadn't been right in a long time.

He'd first realized that something was wrong about a month ago; he'd stopped being able to concentrate. His work had begun to suffer.

And it was little things, nothing really. Like the tie he was wearing today. It was wrong.

It was a stupid, nonsensical thing, and certainly no one would notice, but he he knew. When Annie had bought him the two-thousand-dollar black Armani suit, she'd chosen a monogrammed white s.h.i.+rt and a silk tie of tiny gray and white and red stripes to go with it. It was a set, and he always wore them together. He'd realized a few weeks ago that he couldn't find the tie. He'd torn the bedroom apart looking for it. knew. When Annie had bought him the two-thousand-dollar black Armani suit, she'd chosen a monogrammed white s.h.i.+rt and a silk tie of tiny gray and white and red stripes to go with it. It was a set, and he always wore them together. He'd realized a few weeks ago that he couldn't find the tie. He'd torn the bedroom apart looking for it.

"I hope you're going to pick all that s.h.i.+t up" was what Suzannah had said when she'd seen the mess.

"I can't find the tie that goes with this suit."

She'd eyed him over the rim of her coffee cup. "I'll alert the press corps."

She thought it was funny that the tie was missing, and that he needed it so much. It had occurred to him that maybe it was at the cleaner's somewhere, his favorite tie, his necessary necessary tie. tie.

Annie would know where it is.

That had been the beginning.

He flicked on the car's Bose stereo, wincing as some hick country song blasted through the speakers. He flipped through the channels, but nothing else came through clearly. Disgusted, he turned off the radio.

The road unfurled in front of him, steeped in shadows in the middle of the day and battered by silver rain. After a few miles, he began to see flashes of the lake through the trees. The pavement gave out to a gravel road that turned and twisted and finally led him to a huge clearing. A bright yellow house sat primly amid a front yard awash in brightly colored flowers. A red Mustang and a police car were parked beneath an old maple tree.

He parked the car and got out. Flipping his collar up again, he strode across the yard and bounded up the stairs, knocking hard on the front door. It opened almost instantly, and a little girl stood in the opening. She was wearing a pair of Gortex overalls and a baseball cap. In her arms, she held a raggedy old doll.

Blake smiled down at her. "h.e.l.lo. I'm-"

A man appeared suddenly behind the child. His hands rested protectively on the girl's shoulders and drew her back slightly into the house. "h.e.l.lo?"

Blake stared at the tall, silver-haired man, then craned his neck to look inside the house. "Hi. I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm looking for Annalise Colwater. Her father, Hank, told me she'd be here."

The man tensed visibly. His eerie blue eyes narrowed and swept Blake from head to toe in a single glance. Blake was somehow certain that the man's eyes missed nothing, not the expense of his Armani suit nor even the oddness of his tie. "You're Blake."

Blake frowned. "Yes, and you are . . ."

From somewhere inside the house, Blake heard the clattering of someone running down stairs. "I'm ready, you guys."

Blake recognized Annie's voice. He sidled past the silent man and child and slipped into the house.

Annie saw him and skidded to a stop.

He almost didn't recognize her. She was wearing yellow rain gear and a big floppy hat that covered most of her face. The boots on her feet had to be four sizes too big. He forced a big smile and opened his arms. "Surprise."

She threw an odd glance at the silver-haired man, then slowly her gaze returned to Blake. "What are you doing here?"

He looked at the two strangers; both were watching him. Slowly, he let his arms fall to his sides. "I'd rather not discuss it in public."

Annie bit on her lower lip, then sighed heavily. "Okay, Blake. We can talk. But not here."

The girl whined and stomped her foot. "But Annie-we were gonna get ice cream."

Annie smiled at the child. "I'm sorry, Izzy. I need to talk to this man for a while. I'll make it up to you, okay?"

This man. Blake's stomach tightened. What in the h.e.l.l was going on here? Blake's stomach tightened. What in the h.e.l.l was going on here?

"Don't make this hard on Annie, okay, Suns.h.i.+ne? She has to go for a minute." It was the man's voice.

"But she'll be comin' back . . . won't she, Daddy?"

The question fell into an awkward silence. No one answered.

Annie moved past the little girl and came up beside Blake. "I'll meet you at Ted's Diner and Barber shop in about ten minutes. It's right downtown. You can't miss it."

Blake felt as if the world had tilted. He looked down at her, this woman he barely recognized. "Okay. See you in ten minutes."

He stood there for an interminable moment, feeling awkward and ill at ease. Then he forced a smile. All they needed was a few minutes alone, and everything would be fine. That's what he told himself as he turned and left the house. He was still telling himself that ten minutes later as he parked in front of the cheesiest, sleaziest diner he'd ever seen. Inside, he slipped into a yellow Naugahyde booth and ordered a cup of coffee. When it came, he checked his Rolex: 11:15.

He was actually nervous. Beneath the Formica wood-grain table, he surrept.i.tiously wiped his damp palms on his pants.

He glanced at his watch again-11:25-and wondered if Annie was going to show. It was a crazy thought and he dismissed it almost instantly. Annie was the most dependable person he'd ever known. If Annie said she'd be someplace, she'd be there. Late, maybe; harried, often. But she'd be there.

"h.e.l.lo, Blake."

He snapped his head away from the window at the sound of her voice. She was standing beside the table with one hip c.o.c.ked out and her arms crossed. She was wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and a sleeveless white turtle-neck, and her hair . . . it looked as if someone had hacked it off with a weed-eater.

"What did you do to your hair?"

"I think the answer is obvious."

"Oh." He frowned, disconcerted by the sight of her and by her answer. It was flip and unlike her. He'd imagined this moment-dreaded and looked forward to it in equal measure-for weeks. But whenever he'd imagined their meeting, it was with the old Annie, impeccably dressed, smiling wanly, a little nervous. This woman standing in front of him was someone he didn't recognize. "Well, it'll grow back." Belatedly, he got to his feet. "It's good to see you, Annie."

The smile she gave him was reserved and didn't reach her eyes. She sidled into the booth and sat across from him.

With a quick wave of his hand, he signaled a polyester-clad waitress, who hurried to the table. Blake looked at Annie. "Coffee?"

"No." She drummed her fingernails on the table, and he noticed that she was wearing no polish and that her nails were blunt, almost bitten-off short. And on her left hand, in the place where his ring belonged, there was only a thin band of pale, untanned skin. She smiled up at the waitress. "I'll have a Budweiser."

He stared at her in shock. "You don't drink beer." It was a stupid thing to say, but he couldn't think of anything else. All he could focus on was the ring she wasn't wearing.

Another false smile. "Don't I?"

The waitress nodded and left.

Annie turned her attention back to Blake. Her gaze swept him in a second, and he wondered what this new woman saw when she looked at the old Blake. He waited for her to say something, but she just sat there with her new haircut and her no makeup and her terrifyingly ring-less finger and stared at him.

"I thought we should talk . . ." he said-rather stupidly, he thought afterward.

"Uh-huh."

Another silence fell, and into the quiet, the waitress came to the table. She placed a frosted mug of beer on a small, square napkin, and Annie gave her a bright smile. "Thanks, Sophie."

"You bet, Miss Bourne."

Miss Bourne? The address left him winded. The address left him winded.

"So," she said at last, sipping her beer. "How's Suzannah?"

Blake winced at the coldness in her voice. He knew he had it coming, but still he hadn't expected anger. Annie never got angry. "I'm not living with her anymore."

"Really?"

"Yes. That's what I wanted to talk to you about."

She stared at him across the rim of her gla.s.s. "Really?"

He wished he'd rehea.r.s.ed this more, but he hadn't expected her to make it so difficult. In his mind, it always went the same way: He swept into a room and she hesitated, then smiled and cried and told him how much she missed him. He opened his arms and she hurled herself at him . . . and that was that. They were back together.

He tried to gauge her emotions, but the eyes he knew so well were shuttered and unwelcoming. He tripped through the words uncharacteristically. "I made a mistake." He slid his hand across the table.

"A mistake." She drew her hand back.

He heard the censure in her voice and knew what she meant. It was a mistake to be late on your Visa payment; what he'd done was something else entirely. The way she looked at him, the soft, reserved sound of her voice-not Annie at all-punched a hole in his confidence, and he began to feel as if something vital were leaking away from him. "I want to come home, Annie," he said softly, pleading with her in a way he'd never pleaded in his life. "I love you, Annalise. I know that now. I was a stupid, stupid fool. Can you forgive me?"

She sat there, staring at him, her mouth drawn in a tight, hard line.

In the silence, he felt a spark of hope ignite. He scooted around the vinyl booth and came up beside her, staring at her, knowing that all his heart and soul was in his eyes and hoping to h.e.l.l that she still cared. Memories of their life together swelled inside him, refueled his confidence. He remembered a dozen times he'd hurt her, birthdays he'd missed, nights he hadn't come home, dinners that had been ruined by his absence. She had always forgiven him; it was who she was. She couldn't have changed that much.

She stared straight ahead, her eyes wary and filled with a pain he knew he'd put there. He gazed at her profile, willing her to look at him. If she did, if she looked at him for even a second, he'd see the answer in her eyes. "Annie?" He took her hand in his, and it was cold. "I love you, Annie," he said again, his voice choked. "Look at me."

Slowly, slowly, she turned, and he saw then that her eyes were flooded with tears. "You think you can say you're sorry and it's all over, Blake? Like it never happened?"

He clutched her hand, feeling the delicacy of her bones and the softness of her skin. "I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you."

She closed her eyes for a second, and a tear streaked down her cheek. Then she opened her eyes and looked at him. "You did me a favor, Blake. The woman I was . . ." She drew her hand away from his and swiped the moisture from her cheek. "I let myself become a nothing. I'm not that woman anymore."

"You're still my Annie."

"No. I'm my my Annie." Annie."

"Come back to me, Annie. Please. Give us another chance. You can't throw it all-"

"Don't you dare dare finish that sentence. finish that sentence. I I didn't throw anything away. You did, with your selfishness and your lies and your wandering d.i.c.k. And now you've figured out that little Suzannah wants to be your lover, not your wife and your mother and your doormat and you come running back to me. The woman who'll take your s.h.i.+t with a smile and give you a safe place where nothing is expected of you and everything goes your way." didn't throw anything away. You did, with your selfishness and your lies and your wandering d.i.c.k. And now you've figured out that little Suzannah wants to be your lover, not your wife and your mother and your doormat and you come running back to me. The woman who'll take your s.h.i.+t with a smile and give you a safe place where nothing is expected of you and everything goes your way."

He was stunned by her language and her vehemence. "Annie-"

"I've met someone."

His mouth dropped open. "A man?"

"Yes, Blake. A man."

He slid back over to his seat. He took a long gulp of his lukewarm coffee, trying to get over the shock of her statement. A man? Annie with another man? A man? Annie with another man?

The silver-haired man with the sad blue eyes.

Why was it that in the months they'd been apart, he had never considered such a thing? He'd always pictured her as quiet, dependable Annie, mothering everyone, smiling and laughing and trying her hand at some G.o.d-awful craft or another. He'd pictured her sewing and decorating and pining. G.o.dd.a.m.n it-mostly, he'd pictured her pining away for him, inconsolable. He looked up at her. "Did you . . . sleep with him?"

"Oh, for G.o.d's sake, Blake."

She had. Annie-his Annie, his wife wife-had slept with another man. Blake felt a surge of raw, animal anger, a fury he'd never known before in his life. He wanted to throw his head back and scream out his rage, but instead, he sat very still, his hands fisted in tight, painful blocks beneath the table. Now things were different, very different, and he had to proceed with the greatest caution.

"An affair," he said quietly, wincing at the sound of the word and the images it brought to mind. Annie, writhing in pleasure, kissing another pair of lips, touching another man's body. He pushed the horrible thoughts away. "I guess you did it to get back at me."

She laughed. "Not everything revolves around you."

"So . . ." What in the h.e.l.l did you say at a time like this? He wanted to put his fist through a plate-gla.s.s window, and instead he had to sit here like a gentleman, pretending it didn't hurt like h.e.l.l, pretending she hadn't just ripped his heart out and stomped on it. "I guess . . ." He shrugged. "I guess we can forgive each other."

"I don't want your forgiveness."

He flinched. They were the same words he'd thrown at her a few months ago, and they hurt. Sweet Jesus, they hurt.

"I'm sorry, Annie," he said quietly, looking up at her. For the first time, he truly understood what he'd done to her. In his arrogant selfishness, he hadn't really thought about what he'd put her through. He'd sugar-coated his behavior in the vocabulary of the nineties: I need my s.p.a.ce; there's no I need my s.p.a.ce; there's no reason to stay together if you're not happy; you'll be better reason to stay together if you're not happy; you'll be better o f without me; we've grown apart. o f without me; we've grown apart. And he'd believed all of it. Now, he saw his mistake. The words were meaningless excuses for a man who didn't think the rules applied to him. He'd acted as if their marriage were an inconvenient enc.u.mbrance, an irritating lien on property you wanted to develop. The words that truly mattered- And he'd believed all of it. Now, he saw his mistake. The words were meaningless excuses for a man who didn't think the rules applied to him. He'd acted as if their marriage were an inconvenient enc.u.mbrance, an irritating lien on property you wanted to develop. The words that truly mattered-love, honor, and cherish, till death do us part till death do us part-he'd slapped aside as if they meant nothing.

He felt the first wave of honest-to-G.o.d shame he'd ever experienced. "I never knew how it could hurt. But Annie, I love you-you can believe that. And I'm going to go on loving you for the rest of my life. No matter what you do or where you go or what you say, I'll always be here, waiting for your forgiveness. Loving you."

He saw a flash of pain in her eyes, and saw the way her mouth relaxed. For a heartbeat, she weakened, and like any great lawyer, he knew how to pounce on opportunity. He touched her cheek gently, forcing her to look at him. "You think I don't really love you, that I'm just the same selfish p.r.i.c.k I always was, and that I want you because you make my life easier . . . but that's not it, Annie. You make my life complete."

"Blake-"

"Remember the old days? When we lived in that beach house in Laguna Niguel? I couldn't wait to get home from work to see you. And you always met me at the door-remember that?-you'd yank the door open and throw yourself into my arms. And how about when Natalie was born, when I crawled into that narrow hospital bed with you and spent the night-until that bony old nurse came and threw me out? And how about that time on the beach, when you and I made sand castles at midnight and drank champagne and dreamed of the house we would someday own. You said you wanted a blue and white bedroom, and I said you could paint it purple if you wanted, as long as you promised to be in my bed forever. . . ."

She was crying now. "Don't, Blake, please . . ."

"Don't what? Don't remind you of who we are and how long we've been together?" He pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped the tears from her face. "We're a family family. I should have seen that before, but I was blind and stupid and selfish, and I took so much for granted." His voice fell to a throaty whisper and he stared at her through a blur of his own tears. "I love you, Annie. You have to believe me."

She rubbed her eyes and looked away from him, sniffling quietly. "I believed you for twenty years, Blake. It's not so easy anymore."