“I guess so. So they didn’t like the kid after he grew up, or what?”
“Sarah eventually had her own son, Isaac. Ishmael didn’t treat him so well.”
“Don’t think I need imagination to figure that one out.”
Beka laughed. “I guess not. Anyway, eventually Sarah got so angry that she insisted that Abraham send Hagar and Ishmael away. They were sent into the wilderness.”
“Tell me again now, why would you want to look at a painting of that story?”
“Look in the sky. See the angel?”
Ann did see it, hovering above the trees in the background. “Yeah, what about it?”
“At the very darkest times of my life, I know that there are angels watching over me.”
Ann knew that Beka’s faith ran deep, even though they rarely talked about it. “Doesn’t seem to be doing her any good.”
Or you and Gracie any good
.
“He will. In just a second, she’ll hear his voice, telling her that her son will be a great nation. She’s going to find a well of water in the very next scene. That angel, he’s with them, even though they don’t know it yet.”
A picture flashed through Ann’s mind of the handful of angel pictures currently in her top dresser drawer. She couldn’t quite bring herself to throw them away, as much as she really wanted to. One picture in particular showed Ann looking toward the sky, much like Hagar was doing now, with an angel in the background. “I . . . I’ve got to get back to the office.”
Beka reached over and hugged her. “Do you have any idea how precious you are?”
“Precious? I think I’m offended.”
Ann saw the red hair a second before she saw the face, but the recognition was instant. Yet—it couldn’t be.
“Well, hello, Ann. What a treat to find you here.” Eleanor Light approached from the left, wearing a beige pantsuit and a smile. “Checking out some Corot paintings? He’s one of my favorites.”
“Mine too.” Beka smiled. “I’m Beka, by the way.”
Eleanor extended her hand. “Eleanor.” She looked at Ann. “Somehow I don’t quite believe he’s one of Ann’s favorites.”
“I like the one with the letter.” No reason not to be polite.
Beka shoved her arm. “You do not. You told me you hated it.”
“Ah,” Eleanor said. “Perhaps that was before she saw the next ones—they can be a bit more shocking than the first.” She moved forward as if to study the painting of Hagar. “Funny, I’ve always found that when a piece of art disturbs me, there’s something in it I need to learn about myself. I wonder what this one is trying to teach us?”
“To stick with modern art.” Ann tried to laugh, but it didn’t work. Time to change the subject. “What brings you to New York?”
“Oh, I’m here on business for a few days. I thought it would be nice to visit the museum while I was here.” Eleanor moved closer to the painting of Sodom and Gomorrah. “Interesting, isn’t it, the different jobs that angels have. This one is destroying a city; this one is helping an outcast in the wilderness. A rather diverse job description.” She looked at her watch. “Oh dear. I hate to be rude, but I have to run. It was awfully nice to have met you, Beka.” She squeezed Ann’s forearm. “See you soon, I hope.” She turned and walked briskly from the room.
Beka sighed. “Wow, she has the most beautiful hair. It’s the exact same hue as that burnished-copper Moroccan wedding tray I just bought for the Browns’ loft. I showed it to you, right?”
“Let’s get out of here.”
“Eleanor was right. You
are
disturbed.”
“Back to the office. Now.”
Through the spotless floor-to-ceiling windows, Ann watched scores of well-dressed people mill around the new lobby. As she climbed out of the cab, she questioned the wisdom of not bringing a date. She was certain that she wouldn’t know anyone here, and she was not in the mood to make small talk. In fact, she wasn’t in the mood to talk at all.
She wished she’d thought of calling Richard. He was always good for an evening out on the town. Somehow he could work a room at a party, taking all the pressure off Ann to do so, yet he never came across as obnoxious. He was one of her favorite dates for an event like this and was usually available for last-minute calls. But she wanted to get in and out as fast as she could, and things always got more complicated when there was another person to consider.
“Welcome. I need your name, please.” A woman in a black pantsuit stood at a table near the door.
“Ann Fletcher.”
The woman smiled in a knowing way. “Ms. Fletcher, right.” She looked down the list of names and made a check mark. Then, gesturing toward the guests, she said, “Bars are set up on both sides of the lobby. Feel free to have a look around.” She smiled. “Enjoy yourself.”
“Thank you.” Ann walked toward the bar, trying to decide whether having a couple of drinks to take the edge off tonight was worth feeling sluggish tomorrow. Definitely. The bartender wore a black vest and white shirt. “What’s your poison?”
“Chardonnay, please.”
He turned around and lifted a green bottle out of an ice bucket, the cork already removed and lightly resting on top. Before he could pour, a voice from behind Ann said, “Don’t give her that. Ann is a special guest; she gets the good stuff.”
The man nodded without saying a word and reached beneath the counter. Ann turned to face Patrick Stinson. “That’s really not necessary.”
“Of course it is. If we’re going to be working together for the foreseeable future, I want to make certain that you are treated well when you are in my territory, just like you’re taking good care of me in yours.” His eyes were a deep shade of brown framed by dark lashes. Everything about him was . . .
perfect
.
Yes, she definitely should have brought a date. “Thanks. I’m looking forward to our upcoming projects.”
“As am I.” He lifted his glass in a silent toast and Ann clinked her glass against his. “I’m thinking that later on tonight—”
“Patrick, you’ve outdone yourself. This is the best building yet.” The man in an Armani suit made just enough distraction to break the magnetic pull of Patrick Stinson.
Time to move elsewhere
. She mumbled something about seeing someone across the room and made an escape while she had the chance.
“Hi, I’m Meredith. You must be the new stager.”
Ann looked at the breathtaking blonde who had just stepped in front of her and wondered who she might be. “Yes, I’m Ann Fletcher. I’ll be working on the Stinson Towers project.”
Meredith tossed her golden curls over her bare shoulder. “What do you think of the condo setups for this place?”
“I haven’t walked through yet, but I’ve seen pictures. To tell you the truth, I’ve never seen anything so amazing.” Ann could have added, “I am totally unworthy to follow in these footsteps and scared out of my wits,” but she didn’t. She settled for, “Incredible attention to detail.”
Meredith stared at Ann long and hard, as if trying to decide whether or not to believe her. Finally, she said, “I’m the one who designed them.”
Ann felt the heat on her cheeks. It seemed wrong to be at the party to celebrate the job done by the person her company was replacing, but it certainly hadn’t been her idea. “Well then, I’m especially glad to meet you. I think you are extremely talented.”
Meredith nodded, but her eyes looked doubtful. “Maybe you can keep his attention longer than I did. I wish you the best of luck.” She flung her hair over her shoulder and walked toward the bar.
Ann watched for a few seconds. Sour grapes? Or yet another legitimate warning to keep a distance between herself and Patrick Stinson?
“Ann, you’re looking lovely as always.” Margaret’s fourth husband came to stand beside her.
“Thank you, Edward. And where is your lovely wife?”
He shrugged and tossed back most of the contents of his martini glass. “She’s around here somewhere. You know Margaret.”
“Yes, I do.” Ann smiled, as if it were cute that Margaret avoided her husband at parties, or that she needed to because he drank to excess in social situations. She started to make an excuse to move on but saw Patrick heading their general direction. “So, Edward, do you want to take a tour with me? I’ve been dying to check this place out and would love some company.”
“Sure. Let’s make a little stop at the bar first.”
Two hours and several bar stops later, Ann managed to make it out the door and flag down a taxi. As it pulled to the curb, she heard a voice behind her. “Surely you’re not leaving so soon. Was my party not exciting enough for you?”
“It was perfect. I’ve got an early flight in the morning, so I’m sneaking out a little early.”
“You’re leaving town while my job is getting started?”
“I’ve got to get back to Charleston for a few days—estate issues.”
He nodded. “You know, I’ve been thinking about some real estate down south. Maybe we’ll have to talk project ideas after you get back.”
Ann nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ll still be working on your project, even while I’m down there.”
“Good, I wouldn’t want you to forget about me while you’re gone.” There was no subtlety in his tone. This was going to be tricky.
Ann looked at him as if he’d just recited tomorrow’s weather and said, “Enjoy the rest of your party.” She climbed into the cab and waved good-bye to the handsome Patrick Stinson.
Ann pulled her rolling suitcase through Charleston International Airport, stood in the line at the car rental counter, and drove to the house, all while functioning on autopilot. There were things to be done, and she was doing them by focusing on the next task ahead. It was the only way she could move forward.
She turned into the driveway of Sarah’s house and let the tires follow the two narrow strips of concrete separated by grass that was overdue for mowing. She hit the brakes. Her autopilot clicked off, and reality burst through. And Ann was forced to navigate it alone. Not until this very minute, when she looked at the outside of the gray stucco house that had been her home for most of her growing-up years, did the full impact of her aloneness . . . the absolute finality of it . . . hit her. She was alone. She was always going to be alone. The only two people who had ever loved her were gone forever—Nana, who died of cancer several years ago, and Sarah just two weeks ago. Ann was a thirty-year-old woman with an entire lifetime of aloneness in her future.
Sobs exploded from her chest while she sat in the driveway, her car still running. The subconscious mind had a terrible sense of timing. Why couldn’t it be when she was back in New York? In her own apartment? With other ways to cope?
“Annie, you oh-kay?” The voice was slightly muffled by the driver’s-side window, but she could still tell it was Keith’s. When she looked up, his face was a half inch from the glass, and both his hands were cupped above his eyes and pressed into the window.
Ann barked out, “I’m fine,” without bothering to lower the window. She slowly eased off the brake, and when she was certain she wasn’t going to run over Keith’s foot, she rolled forward until she reached the small detached garage. She reached inside her carry-on bag to find the remote. Fumbling beneath her wallet, her iPod, and her latest design magazine, she finally grasped the plastic box and pushed the button. She watched the old wooden door rise slowly, then she eased the car inside. She turned the engine off and prepared for the next assault by Keith.
“You look sad.” Sure enough, Keith had followed her, his face now plastered against the driver’s-side window. His hands were planted a few inches from where they’d left smudges just seconds ago. In the weird light filtering into the garage, his face looked pale. Very pale. It brought back a flash of her dream in New York.
Ann slowly pushed the door open, careful not to hit him. She wiped her hands across her face and climbed from the car. “Hi, Keith. I’m glad to see you, but I’m really busy right now. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
She moved past him toward the front door. Once she was inside the house, she could lock the door and cry alone.
“Oh, Ann, I’m so glad to see you. We hoped you might be back sometime soon.” Tammy’s drawl seemed thicker than usual, maybe because Ann had just spent the week in New York, or maybe just because she was in a hurry, which made her notice the drawn-out speech.
Ann turned her face away. Keith might be easy enough to trick, but Tammy would take one look at her and know that she’d been crying. “Yeah, I’m just back here to do some work on the house. The sooner I get this place fixed up, the sooner I can get it on the market.” Ann opened the screen door and put her key into the lock.
The silence that followed made her believe that Tammy must have taken the hint or had been offended enough that she’d left. She peeked over her left shoulder to confirm. Instead, she saw Tammy standing at the foot of the steps, her mouth agape. “You’re going to sell the place?”
Ann turned the key. “Well, yeah, there’s no one to keep it up. It’s silly for me to hang on to it.” Ann walked inside and tossed her purse on the kitchen table, knowing instinctively that Tammy and Keith would follow.
A musty smell had invaded the place. It had been empty for less than two weeks, and it seemed that the lack of an inhabitant was already taking its toll. She heard Tammy’s footsteps behind her and had a brilliant idea for a new tactic. “I know you want to keep the neighborhood nice, and I’d hate for you to be stuck next door to a house that no one is tending. The lawn’s already a mess, and see how this place smells? It’s only been a little over a week since I was here.”
“I guess I’d just assumed . . . just hoped . . . that maybe you would consider moving back here. I know this house has been in your family for a long time; I thought you might want to hang on to it for a while.”
There were very few things about her past that Ann cared to hang on to, not the least of which was a traditional Charleston homestead. She shook her head and said simply, “I don’t think so.” Let Tammy make of that what she would.
“That’s too bad, then.” Tammy didn’t say anything else, but didn’t make a move to leave either. This woman took a hint slower than anyone Ann had ever met.
“Well, I’m going to bring in my suitcase now, go do some grocery shopping, that kind of thing. So I’ll see you later, okay? Thanks for stopping by, bless your heart.”