OF COURSE HE WAS RELIEVED. Annie had a lot of gall suggesting he wasn’t. A pregnant Annie would have screwed up his life in more ways than he could begin to fathom. He was irritable because of his work. He always got testy when his writing wasn’t going well, and it definitely wasn’t going well now. He’d killed off Diggity Swift a week ago and been blocked ever since.
He didn’t understand it. He’d never had a problem killing off a character, but now he couldn’t seem to garner any interest in Quentin Pierce and his band of miscreants. Today he’d actually been happy to get a call from Booker Rose about his hemorrhoids, and how whacked was that?
ANNIE KEPT THE PINK VELVET sofa and the beds, but shipped off most of the rest of the furniture, including the mermaid chair. She wrapped old blankets around the larger paintings and packed up smaller items in boxes she brought down from Harp House. Judy Kester’s son Kurt had to make two trips in his truck to get it all to the wharf. She paid him with the taupe armchair he wanted to give his pregnant wife for her birthday.
Since the new locks had been installed a little over a week ago, there’d been no more incidents at the cottage, although she couldn’t be certain whether the locks were responsible or the sign she’d hung. Once Theo was satisfied she could handle a gun, he’d made certain everyone in town knew she was armed, and she’d begun to feel safe again.
Theo wasn’t happy about the missing furniture. “I need a place to write,” he complained as he surveyed the nearly bare living room.
“You can go back to the turret. I’ll be fine here now.”
“I’m not going anywhere until we figure out who’s been behind this. It’s amazing what people tell me when I’m bandaging them up. I keep hoping if I ask the right questions, I’ll learn something.”
She was touched by his attempts to help her. At the same time, she didn’t want him to think she was leaning on him—expecting him to play the hero to her hapless heroine. “You’ve had enough of needy women,” she said. “You’re not responsible for me.”
He acted as if he didn’t hear her. “I’ll bring some furniture down from Harp House. There’s a bunch of stuff in the attic that nobody’s using.”
“But do I really need a mummified corpse?”
“It’ll make a great coffee table.”
He was more than true to his word. She expected him to show up with a desk and maybe an easy chair, but he also brought the round, drop leaf table that now sat in the front window along with four spindle-backed chairs. A small, three-drawer painted chest rested between two overstuffed easy chairs slip-covered in faded navy and white checks. He’d even brought a dented brass lamp shaped like a huntsman’s horn.
Mariah would have hated it all—especially the huntsman’s lamp. Nothing was modern, or even coordinated, but the place finally felt like what it was—a humble Maine cottage instead of an artsy Manhattan living room.
“I borrowed Jim Garcia’s truck in exchange for my medical services,” Theo told her. “He had a small accident with his power saw. These lobstermen are so damn stubborn. They’d rather risk gangrene than make a trip to the mainland to see a doctor.”
“Lisa was up at the house again,” Annie told him. “She’s still mad at you for not taking the jelly bean out of Alyssa’s nose. I did a Web search and showed her what could have happened if you’d tried to handle it yourself.”
“Three other people are pissed at me, but I’m already doing more than I’m qualified for, and they can just deal with it.”
Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he was becoming increasingly absorbed in island life. It must be good for him because he seemed to laugh more, and he no longer looked quite as tense. “You haven’t killed anybody yet,” she said. “That’s good news.”
“Only because I have a couple of doctor buddies helping me over the phone.”
She was so used to thinking of Theo as a loner that she found it hard to imagine him having friends.
AFTER ANOTHER LUSCIOUS BOUT OF sexual depravity, they fell asleep in their separate beds, something that seemed to annoy Theo more each night. A pounding on the door jerked Annie upright in bed. Shoving her hair from her face, she untangled her legs from the blankets.
“Don’t shoot!” an unfamiliar voice called out. She was glad someone was taking her sign seriously, but she still reached in her bedside table for the pistol.
Theo was already at the front door when she got to the living room. The early March winds had picked up and snow tapped against the front window. She kept the pistol at her side as he turned the knob. Judy Kester’s son Kurt, the one who’d helped her move the furniture, stood on the other side. “It’s Kim,” he said frantically. “She’s gone into labor early, and the medevac helicopter’s grounded. We need you.”
“Shit.” Not the most professional response, but Annie didn’t blame Theo. He gestured Kurt inside. “Wait here.” He passed Annie on his way to grab some clothes. “Get dressed. You’re going with me.”
Chapter Eighteen
THEO CLUTCHED HIS PHONE to his ear with one hand, the steering wheel with the other. “I know the weather’s bad. Do you think I can’t see? But we need a helicopter out here, and we need it now!”
The wind buffeted the Range Rover, and the taillights of Kurt’s truck gleamed like demonic eyes on the road in front of them as they followed him into town. Kurt said the baby wasn’t due for another two weeks and that he and his wife had planned to head to the mainland on Friday. “We were going to leave the kids with my mom and stay with Kim’s cousin near the hospital,” he’d said. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
Theo seemed to recognize that he was being unreasonable with the person on the other end of the phone because he calmed down. “Yeah, I understand . . . Yes, I know . . . All right.”
As he tossed his cell aside, Annie regarded him sympathetically. “Am I tagging along because you don’t want me to be alone in the cottage or because you need moral support?”
“Both.” His knuckles tightened on the steering wheel.
“Excellent. I was afraid you were bringing me along for my midwifery skills. Of which I have none.”
He grunted.
“All I know about childbirth is what I’ve seen on TV,” she said. “And that it’s supposed to hurt a lot.”
He didn’t respond.
“Do you know anything about childbirth?” she asked.
“Hell, no.”
“But . . .”
“I’ve had training, if that’s what you mean. But you might say I’m missing any real-life experience.”
“You’ll do great.”
“You don’t know that. This baby is two weeks early.”
Something Annie had already noted, but she attempted reassurance. “This is Kim’s third child. She’ll know what she’s doing by now. And Kurt’s mother will be able to help.” Judy Kester, with her ready laugh and positive attitude, would be the perfect person to have around in a crisis.
But Judy wasn’t at the house. No sooner had they taken off their coats than Kurt told them Judy was visiting her sister on the mainland. “And why should I have expected anything else?” Theo muttered.
They followed Kurt through a comfortably untidy living room strewn with kids’ detritus. “Ever since the school burned down, Kim’s been talking to me about moving off the island,” he said, shoving aside a pair of Transformer figures with his foot. “This sure isn’t going to make her change her mind.”
Theo stopped in the kitchen to scrub his hands and arms. When he gestured for Annie to do the same, she gave him an Are you crazy? look intended to remind him she was only there for moral support. He narrowed his eyes at her, his expression so ferocious she did as he asked, although not without protest. “Shouldn’t I stay here to boil water or something?”
“For what?”
“I have no idea.”
“You,” he said, “are coming with me.”
Kurt peeled off to check on his kids. Since they seemed to be sleeping
through the whole ordeal, Annie suspected he was doing whatever he could to avoid his wife.
She followed Theo into the bedroom. Kim lay in a tangle of orange and yellow floral sheets. She wore a threadbare pale blue summer nightgown. Her skin was blotchy, her frizzy auburn hair snarled. Everything about her was round and plump: her face, her breasts, and most of all, her abdomen. Theo set down his red canvas EMT kit. “Kim, it’s Theo Harp. And this is Annie Hewitt. How are you doing?”
She bared her teeth through a contraction. “How does it look like I’m doing?”
“It looks like you’re doing fine,” he said, as if he were the most experienced obstetrician in the country. He began unpacking his EMT kit. “How far apart are the contractions?”
The pain eased and she sagged into the pillows. “About four minutes.”
He pulled out a package of latex gloves and a blue bed pad. “Tell me the next time you’re having one, and we’ll see how long it lasts.”
His calm seemed to rub off on her, and she nodded.
A couple of celebrity magazines, some children’s books, and various tubes of lotion cluttered the glass-topped bedside table closest to her. The other held a digital alarm clock, a pocketknife, and a small plastic food storage container half-filled with pennies. Theo unwrapped the bed pad. “Let’s get you more comfortable.”
His voice was soothing, but the look he shot Annie told her if she even thought about moving from the room a terrible fate would befall her followed by an even worse fate, followed by total annihilation. Annie reluctantly went to the head of the bed, even less anxious to see what was going on than she suspected Theo was.
Kim was beyond modesty, and Annie doubted that she even noticed how carefully he slipped the bed pad under her hips and arranged the sheet across her knees. She moaned as an especially hard contraction claimed her. As Theo timed it, he gave Annie a series of softly spoken instructions detailing what he expected would happen and what he wanted her to do.
“Fecal matter?” she whispered as he finished.
“It happens,” he said. “And it’s natural. Be ready with a clean pad.”
“And a barf bag,” she muttered. “For me.”
Theo smiled and returned his attention to his watch. While Kim labored, Annie stayed by the head of the bed, gently stroking her hair and whispering encouragement. Between contractions, Kim apologized for bringing Theo out in the middle of the night, but she didn’t once question his obstetrical skills.
After about an hour, things got serious. “I have to push,” she cried, kicking the privacy sheet away and letting Annie see more than she wanted.
Theo had already slipped on the latex gloves. “Let’s take a look.”
Kim moaned as he examined her. “Don’t push yet,” he said. “Hold on.”
“Fuck you!” Kim screamed.
Annie patted her arm. “Attagirl. You’re doing great.” She hoped that was true.
Theo concentrated on whatever it was he was doing. With the next contraction, he encouraged her to push. “You’re crowning,” he announced, as calmly as if he were reporting on the weather. At the same time, Annie saw the beads of perspiration on his forehead. She hadn’t imagined anything could make Theo Harp sweat, but this was doing it.
The contraction eased, but not for long. Kim gasped.
“I can see the baby’s head,” Theo said.
A growl caught in Kim’s throat. He patted her knee and encouraged her. “Push . . . That’s great. You’re doing great.”
Annie’s reluctance to see the birth was gone. After two more strong contractions and with more of Theo’s encouragement, the baby’s head appeared. Theo cradled it in his hand. “Let’s get the cord out of the way,” he said softly, slipping his opposite finger inside and sliding it around the baby’s neck. “Annie, have a blanket ready. Okay, little one . . . Let me see that shoulder . . . Turn. That’s the way. There you go.”
The baby slid into his strong, competent palms.
“We’ve got a boy here,” he announced. He tilted the tiny, messy newborn to clear his airway. “Let’s give you an eight, little guy.”
It took her a moment to remember what he’d said about calculating the baby’s Apgar score in the first minute after birth and then again at the five-minute mark to assess the infant’s condition. The baby began to cry, a soft little mewing. Theo placed him on Kim’s abdomen, took the towel from Annie, and gently rubbed.
Kurt finally came into the room. He went to his wife, and they started to cry together as they took in the sight of their newborn son. Annie would have smacked Kurt in the head for not being there through the ordeal, but Kim was more forgiving. As she gathered the newborn to her, Theo massaged her abdomen. It wasn’t long before she had another contraction, and the globby mass of the placenta slipped out.
Annie tried not to look as she handed over the red disposal bag from Theo’s kit. He clamped off the umbilical cord and exchanged the soiled pad for a clean one. For a guy with a big trust fund and a lucrative book contract, he didn’t mind getting down and dirty.
The baby was a little small, but as a third-time mother, Kim handled him with confidence and soon had him nursing. Theo spent the rest of the night in an easy chair while Annie slept fitfully on the couch. She heard him get up several times, and once when she opened her eyes, the baby was asleep in his arms.
His eyes were closed, and the newborn curled protectively to his chest. She remembered the gentle way he’d dealt with Kim, saw his tenderness with the baby. Theo had been thrust into a daunting situation and handled it like a champion. Fortunately, there hadn’t been any complications, but if there had been, he would have kept a cool head and done what he needed to. He’d been a hero, and heroes were her weakness . . . Except this particular hero had once nearly killed her.
IN THE MORNING, KIM AND Kurt thanked Theo effusively as their older children—after Annie had fed them breakfast—climbed on the bed to check out their new brother. With the baby safely delivered and Kim doing well, there was no longer a need for helicopter evacuation, but Theo wanted Kurt to take his wife and the newborn to the mainland that morning to get checked out. Kim flatly refused. “You did as good a job as any doctor, and we’re not going anywhere.”
No matter how Theo pressed, Kim wouldn’t change her mind. “I know my body, and I know babies. We’re fine. And Judy’s already on her way back to help out.”
“Do you see what I have to deal with?” Theo said as they drove back to the cottage, his face creased with fatigue. “They have way too much trust in me.”
“Act less competent,” Annie suggested, instead of telling him he might be the most trustworthy man she’d ever known. Or maybe not. She’d never been more confused.
She was still thinking about him the next day as she climbed the steps to the Harp House attic. He’d told her to take whatever she wanted for the cottage, and she wondered if any of the seascapes she remembered remained up there. The hinges on the attic door moaned as she opened it. The place was right out of a horror movie. An eerie dressmaker’s dummy stood sentry over broken furniture, dusty cardboard boxes, and a pile of faded life preservers. The only light came from a grimy oriel window shrouded in tattered gray cobwebs and two bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling beams.
You don’t really expect me to come in here, do you? Crumpet squeaked.
Unfortunately, I can’t stay, Peter said.
Leo sneered. It’s a good thing somebody here has a backbone.
Your backbone is my arm, Annie reminded him, diverting her attention from a creepy plastic-shrouded doll collection that had once been Regan’s.
Exactly, Leo resneered. And here you are.
The attic held piles of old newspapers, magazines, and books no one would ever read. She stepped around a mildewed canvas sail bag, a broken patio umbrella, and a dusty Jansport backpack to get to some picture frames leaning against the wall. Cardboard boxes peppered with dead bugs blocked the paintings. As she began to move them aside, she s
potted a shoe box labeled PRIVATE PROPERTY OF REGAN HARP. Curious, she looked inside.
The box was filled with photos of Theo and Regan as children. Annie unfolded an old beach towel and sat on the floor to look at them. Judging by the crooked composition, they’d taken many of them themselves. They were dressed in superhero costumes, playing in the snow, making faces at the camera. The images were so endearing that a lump grew in her throat.
She opened the clasp on a manila envelope and found it stuffed with more photos. The first was of Theo and Regan together. She recognized Regan’s NO FEAR T-shirt from the summer they’d all been together and vaguely remembered having taken the photo herself. As she gazed at Regan’s sweet smile, the way she leaned against her brother, she was once again struck by the tragedy of her loss. The tragedy of all the losses Theo had endured, beginning with his mother’s abandonment and ending with the death of a wife he must have once loved.
She took in the tousled hair falling over his forehead and the arm carelessly draped around his sister’s shoulders. Regan, I wish you were here to explain your brother to me.
All the photos in the envelope seemed to have come from that summer. There were pictures of Theo and Regan in the pool, on the front porch, and aboard their boat—the same boat Regan had taken out the day she’d drowned. Annie was overcome with both nostalgia and pain.
And then . . . bewilderment.
She shuffled through the photos more quickly. Her pulse began to hammer. One by one, the photos drifted from her lap and scattered at her feet like dying leaves. She buried her face in her hands.
I’m sorry, Leo whispered. I didn’t know how to tell you.
AN HOUR LATER, ANNIE STOOD in the bitter wind next to the empty swimming pool. Long cracks fissured the concrete pool walls, and filthy piles of snow and muck littered the bottom. According to Lisa, Cynthia was planning to fill in the pool. Annie imagined her replacing it with the fake ruins of an English folly.
Theo didn’t see her as he emerged from the stable where he’d been grooming Dancer. He was her lover, this wildly seductive man she knew so well yet didn’t know at all. Gray snowflakes swirled like ashes in the gloomy air. A sensible book heroine wouldn’t have confronted him until she’d gathered her thoughts. But Annie wasn’t sensible. She was a mess. “Theo . . .”