perfect together.”
I’d thought so, too.
We were far from perfect, only I didn’t discover that until after his funeral.
Vi reached across the table and took my hands in hers. “I don’t blame you for trying to find that close bond again. Give me a little while to think about this. I’m sure in time I can accept that you’ve found another man to love you. I certainly can’t blame you for wanting to get married again.”
I’d dreaded this most, but I’d come this far, it wasn’t time to back down. “Tony is moving in tomorrow, but we don’t intend to get married.”
Vi’s face flushed, and she pulled her hands away. She made the sign of the cross and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, I saw disbelief and shame.
“This is a disgrace to Paul’s memory.”
CHAPTER 2
T wo weeks later on my way home from work I stopped at the florist and arranged for a bouquet of red roses to be delivered to Violet. Since she was the most stubborn woman I’d ever met, I knew she wouldn’t make the first move. I’d missed her. I signed the card, Love, Annie. Now it was up to her to respond.
I pulled my white Volvo into my driveway next to Tony’s silver Porsche. I owned a modest three-bedroom cape in Gray, Maine, a small town on the outskirts of Portland. After Paul died, I’d used some of the money from his life insurance to re-decorate and try to wash away some of the painful memories. I’d moved out of the master bedroom and chose the smaller room which faced my backyard and my flower garden. I’d added a sunroom off the deck and invested in a hot tub, something I’d wanted for years but Paul had considered frivolous.
I’d felt a deep sense of power the day the hot tub had arrived. Although I suspected my purchase might have been partially an act of defiance, it was also a milestone: the day I started to take charge of my life.
Tony owned a house in Saco that he planned to rent on a month to month tenancy. Neither of us was willing to surrender our independence.
As I opened the kitchen door, the spicy smell of oregano and thyme teased my nostrils. Tony stood at the stove, his broad shoulders hunched as he stirred the pasta sauce. He turned and smiled at me. Due to the steam, a stray lock of his deep brown hair curled over his forehead. He hated that his hair waved, but I loved running my fingers through the thick, silky strands.
“How’s my Italian?” I asked, walking toward him for the kiss I craved. “I’m famished.”
“I’m horny.”
“What else is new,” I said with a laugh.
“You’re to blame, always giving me that ‘she-devil’ look.”
I laughed. “What you see is the look of a starving woman.”
“Starving, huh, in more ways than one, I bet.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“When it comes to you, I am,” he said, wrapping his arms around me. His lips claimed mine in a kiss filled with need and passion.
Tony pulled away a little and leaned his forehead against mine. “That’s some welcome. Say the word, and I’ll abandon this meal.”
“Not so fast, Bucko.” I playfully wrenched free. “What’s a woman gotta do around here to get fed?”
“She needs to stop seducing the cook,” he said with that crooked grin I loved.
I undid the top two buttons on my blouse and exposed a little of my white slip. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”
“You’re a wicked tease,” he said, lifting his right eyebrow. “You’d better plan on tipping the help…if you know what I mean.”
“Incorrigible…”
“That’s because you’re a wanton sexy hussy.”
I glanced down at my gray pinstriped business suit. “I’d hate to think how you’d react if I were wearing a camisole and garters.”
“That’s an interesting premise. Go ahead, I dare you….” His smile deepened. His eyes darkened a few shades.
“I hate to disappoint you, but I was planning on changing into jeans and a flannel shirt.”
“You’ll look sexy no matter what you wear.” He picked up the wooden spoon and winked.
“Hold that thought,” I said as I turned and walked through the living room and into my bedroom.
In the short time we’d been living together, I’d come to enjoy the camaraderie. And the dynamite sex. More than lovers, we were friends. Tony made me happy.
We completed each other….
But I’d thought the same thing about Paul.
How could I trust my judgment?
The following Friday morning after a meeting, my administrative assistant Roberta greeted me. “Here’s a list of the people who called while you were out. The Thompsons are hoping to close early next week.”
“Please call them back and set up an appointment for Tuesday.” I took the tablet she handed me and glanced down. One name stuck out. Violet Jacobs. My heartbeat quickened.
“Thanks,” I said, hurrying into my office and shutting the door.
I braced myself as I punched in the number. Vi was a gracious woman. She wasn’t the type of person who’d call to argue or reiterate that I was a disgrace to her son’s memory. Though I was certain her opinion of my situation hadn’t changed, I was hoping we could get beyond that.
“The Jacobs residence, Violet Jacobs speaking.”
Violet had lived alone for years, since she’d ordered her cheating husband to leave, yet she’d insisted on answering the phone as though others resided in her house.
“Vi, it’s Annie.”
I heard her inhale a slow breath. “Annie, how nice to hear from you. The roses you sent are beautiful. How thoughtful of you.”
“I wanted you to know that I still care,” I said, swallowing back the knot in my throat.
“I’ve missed you, too. I was hoping you could come over for lunch tomorrow. Alone, just you and me…like old times.”
Clear and to the point.
Tony wasn’t welcome.
But I was willing to compromise. Plus, Tony had to work tomorrow. His architectural firm was preparing a bid on a new mall. “Yes, is noon good for you?”
“Perfect.”
We spoke for a few more minutes about incidentals: the rising cost of gas, oil heat and the weather. Once we’d exhausted topics
