California Dreaming: Four Contemporary Romances (24 page)

“You can’t guarantee that.”

“No, I can’t control the world around us. I can’t change the fact that you lost your job, or that David’s in trouble with the law or that Fred was a jerk. But I can control myself. I can be your partner no matter what happens and I’ll never let you down.” He looked into her eyes. “Give us a chance, Annie.”

Could she trust him? Would he still like her when he really got to know her? Or would he believe she wasn’t good enough, like every man in her life before him? Right up until his death, her dad had told her no one would ever marry her. She’d proved him wrong by marrying Fred. But Fred had turned out to be a drunk. When Fred was drunk, he got nasty. Once he’d told her the same thing her father had — she didn’t know how to make a man feel like a man.

“I think you’d better go,” she said.

Distress settled on John’s face; his eyes and mouth drooped. “You’re wrong, Annie. I don’t know how to prove it to you, but I’ll figure it out. I’m not giving up.”

“Just go, John,” she whispered. She picked his hat up from the table where he’d left it and handed it to him.

He held her shoulders gently and kissed her cheek. “I’ll be back.” He walked down the steps and out the front door.

Annie slumped down on the couch.
Am I being a total fool? What if Carol’s right and I am good enough, lovable enough? What if I just make lousy choices in men? Maybe there’s a man out there who can love me the way I am.

Maybe that man is John.

Annie leapt up from the couch and began to roam the living room, picking up papers, glasses, and coffee cups. She straightened pillows and magazines. Her tidying travels carried her to the kitchen. Once the cups and glasses were in the dishwasher, there was nothing else to do. She’d have to find something else to distract her from questioning her entire life.

Wandering into the bedroom, she spotted the journal she’d picked up at Carol’s request. A raised painting of the face of a beautiful woman, long tresses woven with flowers and birds, adorned the cover of the still-blank pages. She’d picked it because the picture made her think of possibilities — an attitude she could use.

She stared at the blank page for a while and then began with words that Carol had suggested. “I want … ”

I want a hot chocolate.

I want a million dollars.

I want peace on earth.

I want to stay in California.

I want to love … John.

The journal fell into Annie’s lap with the last sentence she wrote. There it was — the truth. She wanted to love John. No, the truth was she was already falling in love with him.

Annie sighed and put the journal on the bed.
What was the use of wanting things so badly with no way of getting them?

She picked up the book and hurled it across the bed. The pen went flying after it, carried to the far wall. Grabbing a pillow, she curled around it and once again broke into loud sobs. Would she ever stop crying? Images of her life tumbled through her mind. Her father on the good days … and the not good days. Looking him over when he walked in the door, checking to see if he was hitching up his pants in a particular way — her indication that he’d had too much to drink and she’d better remember to lock her bedroom door.

The memory of that horrible night when she’d found her father. She pushed that memory back into the dark corner of her mind where it lived.

Falling in love with Fred, escaping Michigan for California … their first few happy years together. Her joy at pregnancy, her fear as Fred began to drink more. The absolute horror when she realized she was checking his sobriety when he walked in the door, just as she had with her father. But she couldn’t lock Fred out of their bedroom.

Annie cried and cried, her pillow soaking up her tears and muffling her sobs. Finally, she lay in a fetal position around the pillow and fell asleep again, exhausted. She roused herself when David came home a few minutes before curfew.

“Did you have a nice night?” she called as she went to lock the front door, something her son could never remember to do.

“Yeah. Kerry makes the periodic table look simple. It still seems dumb to need to know it, but I think I’m ready for the test.”

“That’s good,” she said as she went into the hall to give him a hug goodnight.

“What’s the matter, Mom?” he said.

“Nothing. Why?”

“You look terrible. Like you’ve been crying or something.”

“Thanks. Must be allergies.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’m okay. Thanks for asking.” Annie held her son close, warmed by his concern. Elizabeth was right. She’d done a good job.

The next morning, Annie groaned when she saw her reddened eyes in the mirror. Cold water and make-up concealed the worst of the damage, but the bags under her eyes were a dead give-away to anyone who cared enough to look. Fortunately, no one at work cared at all.

Driving over the hill took all of her remaining patience. She’d left a little later than usual and had been stuck in the worst of the traffic as a result. It was stop and go from the summit of the range to the town of Los Gatos where the road widened out. Traffic like that took all of her concentration — a fender-bender was all too easy. After she pulled into the office parking lot, she decided she was grateful. No time to think meant no time to wonder if she was doing the right thing.

She slipped into her office and booted up her computer. Quickly she scanned her e-mail. Damn. Nothing from Jim in New Jersey. She’d gotten an e-mail from him the week before saying he still didn’t have the approval from Conrad. The director was on a business trip in Europe and not responsive. She had wondered briefly if Jim was telling the truth, but had squashed the thought like the gnat it was.

Time was running out. She needed to know if the job was hers. She dashed a note off to Jim, telling him she was still interested, and reminding him that she needed to know before her termination became official. What else could she do?

Perhaps she needed to let the universe know her intention to accept the job. That might speed the process up.

Oh, God, I’m talking to the universe. I’ve been living in Santa Cruz too long.

Still …

She grabbed a crumpled piece of paper from her purse. Her list was somewhat worse for wear. She carefully checked off the things she’d completed.

✓ Tell David

✓ Tell Fred

✓ Find out details from
Randy
NJ Director Jim Borzetti

✓ Connect with new boss in New Jersey

Start transfer process

Call realtor

Contact corporate housing for help to find an apartment in New Jersey

Hold a garage sale

Pack

Move

✓ Pay Parking Ticket

✓ Call Public Defender

Clean garage

Nearly half were checked off. Of course, they were no longer in any kind of order, but she should be satisfied. Why wasn’t she?

Maybe if she called a realtor, she’d feel like she was moving things along as best she could. Pushing aside her doubts about the wisdom of a move to New Jersey, she looked up real estate firms in Santa Cruz on the Internet. Recognizing a name, she called the office and left a message for her acquaintance. The woman agent called her back at noon.

“This isn’t the best time to sell,” she said.

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Will the company help? Is there someone I should be working with?”

“I don’t know. I’ll check into it.” Another item went on the list as they made an appointment for the realtor to view the property.

By three in the afternoon she’d run out of things to do in the office. Many of the employees who were scheduled for lay-off didn’t even bother to come in any more. She figured she’d get to that point eventually if the job from New Jersey didn’t come through, but she wanted to wait as long as possible. Staying home would mean admitting defeat, and she wasn’t ready to do that yet.

Besides, staying home gave her too much time to think.

Still, it would be nice to go home early — maybe stop in Costanoa and get a cheese pizza as she and David used to do in the old days. She didn’t have to pick up her son from soccer practice until seven, so there was plenty of time. She sent an e-mail to her boss, letting Randy know she was leaving, threw her briefcase together, and headed out the door.

An hour later, box in hand, she walked out of the pizza store. She headed toward “her” bench behind the concrete stone wall. Two slices of cheese pizza and a bench with an ocean view. It didn’t get much better than that.

As she passed Crystal Visions, the local mystic shop, the smell of patchouli oil snagged her attention. A sign in the crystal-filled window stated, “The psychic is in.” She shook her head and continued her purposeful stride to the ocean.

When she got to the bench, she sat and opened the pizza box, savoring the sweet aroma of oregano and crushed tomatoes. The gooey cheese almost slid off her slice, but she nabbed it with her forefinger, willing to suffer the sting of heat for the succulent combination.

She and David had always had cheese pizza when they came down here for their weekly jaunts before her son became a teenager and declared his dissatisfaction with all things Mom-organized. She’d kept a supply of plastic pails to build fragile sandcastles and a shovel so David could attempt to dig to Asia when the mood struck him.

Sighing, Annie took a bite of pizza. Letting the warm flavors fill her mouth, she thought about the sign she’d seen at the Crystal Visions. She wondered what a psychic reading would be like.

Her slices of pizza finished, she walked toward her car, aware there was still plenty of time before she had to pick up David. She passed the bookstore, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the plate glass window. Sea air had made her hair curl haphazardly around her face. She looked crazy enough to be someone who went to a psychic. Why not?

The tinkle of small chimes announced her arrival. She made her way back through the candle-cluttered shop to the cashier and paid for her session.

Instead of the henna-haired woman with flowing robes that she’d pictured, the psychic was a trim, middle-aged brunette with glasses who was dressed in neutral tailored slacks and blouse. Annie seated herself at the small round table and waited to be told what to do.

“Your first time with a psychic?” the woman asked.

Annie nodded.

“And you don’t really believe, do you?”

“Not really.”

“That’s fine. My name is Patricia. I believe I have a gift, but you don’t have to. You can use whatever I tell you however you want. Ready to begin?”

“Yes.”

“Let me hold your hands. Close your eyes and try to relax.”

Annie did as she was told. She felt a tingling in her hands, but figured it was nerves.

“You’re very troubled,” the woman began.

No brainer there,
Annie thought. Her face probably looked haggard.

“And you’re taking good steps to work through it. A woman is in your life. She’s very capable. You’ll do well to trust her.”

Annie almost opened her eyes. How the hell did she know about Carol? She heard the squeaks as the psychic shifted in her chair.

“There’s another woman coming into your life. Someone who is close to you by blood. But you’ve never met her. She has something important to tell you.”

Well, at least it’s not a tall dark stranger,
Annie thought, cynicism returning full force.

The psychic went on to talk about family and false lessons learned, but not much of it made sense to Annie. The fifteen minutes passed quickly and the woman told her to open her eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“A little disoriented.” Annie blinked her eyes several times to remove the fog that seemed to surround her.

“One more thing before you go,” the woman said. “I think you need to do two things to help you make the choices you need to make. The first is to find someone who does bodywork — your pain is buried deep in your tissues; you need assistance to release it. The second is to write out your life story.”

“Okay,” Annie said, ready to agree to anything to end the session. She looked at her watch, trying to recapture reality and looked up to find the psychic looking intently at her.
It’s like she can see my soul. No, that’s not possible. I don’t really believe in this.

“I hope you get something to ease your pain,” the woman said, smiling gently. “I enjoyed meeting you. You have a lot to offer the world.”

“Thanks.” Annie rushed from the store, anxious to escape the unfamiliar territory of tarot cards and multi-limbed Hindu
Vishnus
.

After she picked up David, she slipped into jeans and tee-shirt and checked her personal e-mail. A note from Facebook caught her eye. Vaguely, she remembered setting up an account on the site, but didn’t spend much time there. Too many of her friends were hooked on games like Farmville and she wasn’t interested in their latest imaginary purchase.

The note contained a friend request from Beverly Gerhard.
Weird.
Annie clicked through to view the request. The Facebook photo showed an older woman with slender features and a faint resemblance to her father. The only information given was that she lived in Georgia. Maybe she was a second cousin once removed — whatever that meant. She didn’t appear to be a stalker, but people lie on the Internet all the time. What the heck — time to live dangerously!

Annie clicked the Accept button to access the rest of the information. She learned that Beverly had once been a modern dancer in New York, retiring to teach at the University of Georgia in Athens. She appeared to have lots of friends, but no other Gerhard relatives. Who was she? Another thought struck her. Could this be the relative the psychic had mentioned?

A shiver ran from Annie’s head to her toes.

It was after eleven
P.M.
in Georgia. She probably wouldn’t hear anything until the morning. Shrugging her shoulders, she put it out of her mind and checked through the rest of her e-mail.