Pieces of You (9 page)

The whiskey burned Annie’s throat. She coughed twice. “When were you going to tell me?”

“I was meeting with her today to figure out the best way to handle it. I didn’t want to just spring it on you.”

“I guess I saved you both a meeting.” Annie took another sip of whiskey, glad for the burn this time. It meant she was alive. She turned to the woman who had been her mother and voiced the question she’d carried inside for so long, “What happened?”

The woman set her empty glass on the edge of Quinn’s desk, her pale gaze shifting from Annie to Quinn, back to Annie. “I . . . this is very difficult.” She cleared her throat, clasped her hands together and began again. “I don’t expect you to understand or forgive me for what happened, but the least I can do is explain what I was thinking, what my life was like back then.”

“You left us, didn’t you?” Annie blurted out.

“I . . . had no choice.”

The room shifted. The world outside continued with the normal sound and motion of rush hour, but inside these four walls, time stopped.

“Of course, you didn’t have a choice,” Quinn said, throwing his hands up in the air. “Not after what happened to you. My God, you’re lucky to be alive.”

Their mother and Quinn locked gazes, the briefest exchange of something Annie didn’t understand. “What are you talking about? What happened?” A sinking feeling settled over Annie, threatening to pull her under.

“I’ll tell the story,” Quinn said. “It’ll be easier that way, won’t it?” He waited for their mother’s nod, and continued, “She went for a drive that day, no destination in particular, just to get away for a little while. She ran out of gas along Route 58 and started walking. A trucker picked her up and promised to take her to a pay phone.” Quinn stopped, his voice dipping. “But he didn’t. He abused her and beat her so badly she suffered a concussion. The shock was so great she blocked out everything that happened. Post traumatic shock syndrome. She told me the other day there are still huge chunks of time that are blank, and it’s doubtful she’ll ever remember what happened during that initial period, which is probably just as well.” He sighed, rubbed the back of his neck and said, “Annie, she
couldn’t
contact us. She didn’t know how.”

Tears fell down Annie’s face, from eyes, to cheeks, to chin. She clutched her mother’s cold fingers and murmured, “I am so sorry.” Her mother clasped Annie’s hand but her eyes remained on Quinn.

“After, when she got away, the shame was too great. She felt ruined. She didn’t think Dad would want her, didn’t think she’d have anything left to give us. It had all been stripped away by that bastard who abused her.” His voice rose, his gaze burning into his mother’s, “She wandered, stayed away for us, not for herself, not because she didn’t want to be with us, but because she couldn’t. She sacrificed herself so she could spare us.”

“And we never knew.” Pain consumed Annie.

“She thought it would be better if we believed she was dead.”

“Oh, Mom.” Annie sprang from her chair and buried her face in her mother’s lap. The tears started up again, scalding her eyes, her face, her neck, burning and cleansing at the same time. “I’ve missed you for so long. Stay with us, please, stay. Quinn and I need you. We can be a family, the three of us. We’ll help each other.” On and on the emotion spilled out. “You have to meet Michael, he’s my fiancé. I think you’ll like him. We’re getting married next April. You’ll be at my wedding. Our children will know their grandmother.” She sniffed, cleared her throat. “It’s a miracle.” Annie lifted her head and swiped at her eyes. “Two in one day. I sold a painting this afternoon for more money than I ever imagined. And now you’re here.” Laughter bubbled inside. “Wait until I see Sylvia, Quinn. Beware, indeed. Tonight we’re having a real celebration.” She kissed her mother on the cheek and murmured, “And you’re the guest of honor.”  

Chapter 10

“She’s beautiful.”

“Of course she is, what did you expect?”

Evie Burnes sipped her whiskey. “Nothing. It was merely an observation.”

What a mess.
Quinn tapped his pen against the side of his desk. He could use another drink, but he’d already had too many and in twenty minutes he had to get in a car and drive Evie Burnes to a celebration. In her honor. “She’s messed up, do you know that? Because of you, she’s messed up.” She looked so cool and unaffected, sitting there with a cigarette dangling from her fingers.

“She seemed fine to me.” She took a long drag from her Salem Light, blew out slowly.

“Of course she would. You don’t know her. She panics when Michael or I are ten minutes late, a full-blown won’t leave the window, calling cell phone, friends, anybody kind of panic that takes a good hour to settle down once she sees us and knows we’re okay. It comes and goes, worse when she reads about a disappearing parent, or now, when she’s working a case with a kid whose mother goes to the grocery store and poof, disappears.”

“I never meant to hurt her.”

“Save it. There’s nothing you can say to make it any better. Annie slept with your picture under her pillow for the first year so she wouldn’t forget your face. She even wore your perfume so she’d remember your smell until Dad made her stop because he couldn’t stand the torment anymore.”

She stubbed out the cigarette and reached in her handbag for another. “If it’s any consolation to you, I didn’t want to see her.”

“It isn’t.” The woman had nerve.

“You lied about me to protect her.”

“I’d kill to protect her.”

“I see.” She studied her unlit cigarette. “That doesn’t change things, Quinn. I still need your help.”

“Of course you do,
Rita.
Let’s keep our priorities straight, right?”

“Do you really think I would have come here if I had any other option?”

The coolness of her words chilled him. “An option? What an endearing term.”

“Just help me. Please. And I’ll leave.”

Annie had seen her, and now she thought Evie Burnes was back and his sister wanted that so much she didn’t care what was inside as long as the packaging resembled her childhood memories. Damn those eyes that gave it away.

“Give me back my name and you’ll never hear from me again.”

“Believe me, I want nothing more than to forget you ever came here, but now I’ve got to think about Annie. You aren’t going to desert her again.” A plan began formulating in his head. “You’re going to stay here for her, and when I’m sure she’s okay, you can leave.”

“But he’ll come looking for me.”

“He’ll never find you because we’re going to resurrect Evie Burnes from the grave.” She flinched and he almost laughed. The old name must harbor a certain amount of guilt, and he took pleasure in that. “I’ll take care of the papers.”

“My things, they’re at home.”

“Forget them. You walked away from everything the first time, this should be easier. It’s not like we’re talking about a husband and two kids. Or are we?”

 She shook her head.

“You can’t go back to wherever you came from. Your old ties are gone. Just like when you left Corville.”

“How long?” She pushed the words through tight lips.

“As long as it takes. A few weeks, a month, a year if she needs you, depends on you and her.”

“And then?”

“I’ll give you a hundred twenty-five thousand dollars to go away, and stay away.”

***

 The Stuffed Flounder
was dark and intimate. The lobster proved exquisite, the filet mignon a superb red-pink, the Dom Perignon a bubbling perfection. But something was very wrong. Eve had been surprised yet touched when Annie called to include her in this special celebration, though she’d not been privy to the exact details until she arrived at the restaurant and by then it was too late.

Being an artist herself, she knew the delight of the first major sale, the unequivocal thrill that surged through the body, sparking every nerve with the knowledge that a singular creation, a heretofore sheltered piece, had been accepted into the world and deemed so worthy as to receive a sizable monetary recognition. That was why she’d accepted the invitation tonight, but there was more to celebrate than Annie’s sale. Much more, or less, depending on which member of the party one spoke to . . . if they were speaking. Consider Quinn, seated next to her, sulking yet handsome in his subtle striped shirt and dark pants. He’d had far too much to drink already and had confined his speech to one word answers. She’d not seen this less polished side of Quinn Burnes before and wondered at the reason.

Then there was Michael Sorbonne, Annie’s doctor fiancé, who hadn’t stopped talking since he and Annie picked Eve up at
The Silver Strand
. On and on he went, the wounded fiancé who had been kept in the dark, whose future wife shared more secrets with her brother than with him. Michael waxed rhetorical and philosophical.
How can a relationship survive without complete honesty? How can a man trust a woman who has kept secrets from him? How, how, how?

Annie remained giddy and oblivious, her attention focused on the source of Quinn and Michael’s discontent; Quinn and Annie’s mother. Evie  Burnes was the quietest member of all, sipping champagne, sampling olive pate’ and crackers, nibbling filet mignon. So elegant, so aloof. So like her son, with the same compelling eyes, the same lips, the same perpetual frown.

“Thank you so much for coming tonight,” Annie said, lifting her champagne glass. “I’d like to propose a toast.” Her voice quivered, her eyes glistened. “To the buyer of my painting, may this be the first of many offers.” She paused and placed a hand on her mother’s shoulder. “And to my mother, a miracle who has come back into our lives.” Glasses clinked one to another, circling the table, except for Quinn, who threw back his champagne in one long gulp. He met Eve’s gaze with dark challenge forcing her to look away.

“Here, here.” Michael pushed himself to his feet and tapped the side of his champagne glass with a spoon. “Ooops.” The spoon clattered onto the table. “I’d like to propose a toast.” He held up his glass, looked at Annie and said, “To the future Mrs. Michael Sorbonne, to a lifetime of honesty and”—he paused, scratched his head— “and honesty.”

Quinn lifted his glass, realized it was empty and set it back down with a grunt.

“Aren’t you going to eat anything?” Eve asked, eyeing Quinn’s plate.

“What? I haven’t had a mother in eighteen years and now I have two?”

“I just think you should eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.” He pulled his lips into a slow smile as he reached for the champagne. “But I sure as hell am thirsty.”

“Quinn, stop.” Annie leaned over and whispered, “I don’t like the way you’re acting. You haven’t said two words all night.”

“Maybe he’s upset,” Michael said. “Maybe he doesn’t like the idea of sharing you with me
and
your mother.”

Annie glared at him. “Shut up, Michael.”

“She should have told me,” he said to Quinn. “I’m going to be her husband. I could have helped or at least understood why she was so damn paranoid every time I was two minutes late. I’m a doctor, and neither one of you thought I should know your mother went to the grocery store one day and just disappeared?”

Eve fixed her eyes on the tiny bubbles fizzing to the top on her champagne glass. She should not be hearing this. It was too personal, too exposed. Quinn would not want her to know this.

“Stop it, Michael. You’re acting childish.”

“Am I, Annie? No wonder the two of you are like Siamese twins. Are there any more secrets you’ve been hiding? Bring them out now, come on, out on the table. True confessions. Anybody else? How about you, Danielle? Got any dirty little secrets?”

“That’s enough.”

“Of course, it’s enough, Quinn boy. You know, it’s bad enough Annie idolizes you, big brother and all, the one who can do no wrong, the one all men must be compared to, except your choice in women, her words not mine. She likes this new one though,” he said as he pointed to Eve. “And I have to admit, Danielle’s a sweetie, but
hell
, I don’t stand a chance trying to measure up.”   

“Outside, Michael. Now.”

“What? Ohhhh. Sorry. She doesn’t know you’ve got the hots for her? Shhhh.” He lifted a finger to his lips. “Forget I said that, okay, Danielle? Let’s have a drink. A celebrationary, no, a celebratory drink, that’s it, I think. Evie, or should I say, Mom, how ‘bout you?”

“No thank you, Michael. I’m fine.”

Eve slid a sideways glance at Quinn’s mother. Evie Burnes was a beautiful woman, well-spoken and graceful. Quinn looked more like her than Annie and from the small bits Eve had gleaned this evening, he’d rather not have anything to do with his mother, resemblance or otherwise.

There was more to their mother’s story than what Annie relayed to her on the ride to the restaurant. There was always more to these kinds of stories. If she’d been in that position could she have returned home after being beaten and abused? Could she have felt whole again, able to give to a husband and children? Or would she have chosen to stay away for their sake, telling herself they were better off, forcing herself to start over, until the daily reminders of what she’d lost were dulled by the hope that they’d gone on, survived and thrived?