Tilting at Windmills (25 page)

“She’s remarkable. The very embodiment of hope and resilience.”

That made Annie smile. “That’s my Janey. She’s been good, these couple of days?”

“A gem.”

“It’s her birthday next month—October thirteenth. We’ve always had this wonderful tradition, Brian, the annual raking of the leaves. Janey loves jumping into the huge piles of leaves we create . . . just remembering last year. Oh, Brian, don’t let her forget all she’s come to know.”

“Never,” he said, and waited, knowing there was more.

“Thank you for bringing her to see me. I know it was against the rules but . . . I needed to see her, and she needed to see me. That’s the only rule I know, and you knew it, too. A mother and daughter cannot be separated, not by anything, not even . . . by death.”

“Hey . . .” Brian said. “No such talk allowed here. You’re going to be fine, because we have a life to get on with, the three of us.”

Annie looked away, trying to hide her emotions. At last she turned back, and the look on her face was the expression of a woman who needed to talk. There were issues to be addressed, Annie said, and she wanted to talk without interruption. Brian protested, telling her that this could wait but rest couldn’t. But she interrupted him.

“This is my time,” Annie said, her voice cracking slightly. “And I need you to honor it.”

And he quieted, and he listened.

“Brian, when I sent you away all those weeks ago, after . . . after Maddie’s visit, I asked you to figure out what you really wanted. I made it sound so one-sided, as though only you had a decision to make. But I needed time, too, because what was happening between us, as wonderful as it was, was also terrifying to me. I needed the time to really examine my feelings. And then when Janey and I came back to Linden Corners and you still hadn’t returned, well, I thought you’d changed your mind, or found your answers, only they weren’t the ones I was hoping for. I thought we weren’t meant to be. Now that you’re back, I’ve been thinking, wondering what it was that brought you back. What it was that originally brought you to Linden Corners—of all the places on the planet, why here, why now?”

“Because of you—”

“No interruptions,” she said. “Then it occurred to me—it was Janey. The realization hit me here, in this bed, thinking and pondering the future and wondering what if. Who’s going to take care of Janey? Of course, I had always provided for that; it’s something a parent does, anticipating the worst—it’s only practical. When . . . Dan died, certain provisions needed to be taken care of and . . . arrangements were made for Cynthia and Bradley to care for Janey. Just in case. But then you came along, and honestly, I’d never seen Janey take to someone like she’s taken to you—the Windmill Man. It’s a connection that goes beyond any blood relation. It’s cosmic; it’s predestined. Cynthia and Bradley, they’ll be starting their own family soon; they’re trying. You, Brian, Janey needs you, and I think you need her.”

“Annie, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying, Brian, that if . . . if something happens to me . . . whenever . . . that I want you to be there for Janey, like you have been during this time. Will you? Bradley will take care of the legal issues.”

So that’s what they’d been discussing.

“Annie, you’re going to be fine—”

She cut him off. She was a woman without a lot of time. “That’s not an answer.”

Brian knew he had to reassure her, despite his fears about where this was heading. He felt like she was giving up, and he wasn’t willing to hear that. But all she really wanted was comfort, and she had the foresight to realize that maybe an alternate plan needed to be written.

Brian stole a glance outside, where night had fallen and the moon had emerged, and suddenly tears were falling from his eyes, falling like droplets of rain on her bed. He wouldn’t wipe them away, he wouldn’t break his hold with Annie, not now and perhaps not ever. But he did speak, at last, his voice clogged with emotion.

“You want me to raise Janey?”

Annie stifled tears, trying to remain strong. “None of us can alter our destiny. Events happen; we react, we continue on. You told me, Brian, that your friends accused you of running away. You assured me that wasn’t true, that maybe you were running to something. To someone. And you were right: You were running to Janey. You couldn’t stop nature, couldn’t save me from what was to happen. But now we have to face the consequences of all that’s occurred. Brian, Janey was meant to be in your life.”

“Janey’s such a gift, the fuel behind the sun,” Brian said, himself trying to be as brave as Annie, holding back the emotions that rippled through his body, touching nerve endings and threatening to expose him, to reveal the heart that was breaking and melting and healing and longing all at once. His hands grasped hers, felt her warmth, fed her his strength. “Yes, Annie, Janey will be safe with me. I’ll take care of her. We need each other—I know that, I feel that. But Annie, you’ll be fine, too, and we’ll be together, all of us.”

“Thank you, Brian Duncan Just Passing Through.”

“Not this time,” he said.

Brian leaned in, mindful of the bruises as he gently kissed her forehead. They sat, locked together, one reassured about the future, the other terrified of the present. No one disturbed them, and before long, Annie fell asleep, leaving Brian alone with his thoughts.

How had life taken him so far? Just last year, he was on the fast track of a high-profile, well-paying job, the so-called woman of his dreams at his side. Then he became ill, he was betrayed, and his world shattered all around him. Months later, New York was all but forgotten. His life revolved around a little girl whose own world was now being robbed of its innocence, and she needed him. Someone needed Brian Duncan. Was this what he’d left the city for? Was this where he was meant to be?

Yes, he decided, because I’m already here, and a little girl—and her mother—need me. Annie is right. You can’t control destiny. But you can embrace it.

Sleep came to him, then, his hands still entwined with Annie’s, and he dreamed of them all, Annie, Janey, himself, together at the base of the windmill, so majestic. Then the picture blurred and images faded and suddenly Brian was alone, no Annie, no Janey, and inside his heart he felt coldness and emptiness. This picture was wrong.

He awoke with a start.

It was morning.

Brian stirred, stiff from sleeping in the chair beside Annie’s bed. A feeling of disorientation enveloped him. His dream—nightmare—was gone, but he was left with lingering feelings of emptiness.

Immediately he sensed something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

He stared ahead, saw an unfamiliar sight. He rubbed his eyes to ensure that he was fully awake. He was. And he realized then that he was alone in the hospital room. Annie’s bed was gone, and so was Annie.

PART FOUR

J
ULY
- A
UGUST

E
LEVEN

L
ove—finding it, feeling it—and its wondrous power represent the height of human experience. But love is also so terribly fragile and risky. Because with love comes the possibility of loss.

These thoughts coursed through my mind as I sat in Annie’s kitchen, across from Maddie. Her presence was more than simply awkward, and her condescending comment about the windmill angered me. What, I wanted to know, was she doing here? Maddie knew she’d slipped up, and I left it up to Annie how to respond. Annie remained dignified and announced that she had to take Janey up to the neighbors for some strawberry picking, and before I knew it, the front screen door slammed shut and Maddie and I were alone in Annie’s kitchen.

“Was it something I said?” Maddie asked, a weak attempt at levity.

“Actually, yes,” I remarked.

“She likes windmills, I gather.”

“What was your first clue?”

Indeed, Annie’s interest in windmills was everywhere. From the wall calendar beside the refrigerator to the series of ceramic tiles hung on the wall, to the salt and pepper shakers on the table, her kitchen was a veritable windmill museum. Maddie examined the latter two items, setting down the salt shaker so carelessly that it tipped over. She didn’t bother to throw salt over her shoulder. Perhaps she should have; who knows what trouble she could have averted.

“Let’s get out of here,” I suggested, and I took hold of her arm and led her out the back door. “You need to see something.”

Once outside, I noticed first that the grass needed cutting again, and I’d been promising to do it for the past week but had put it off while I fixed up George’s tavern and completed the new sign. As we walked through the tall grass, our feet stayed dry and the rustle of the blades managed to soothe my nerves. Being around Maddie like this made me feel uneasy. I wasn’t sure what to say, and I guess she didn’t know, either. Still, she must have had a reason for coming, and it didn’t look like she was going to volunteer that reason.

“How’d you find me?”

“I suppose you’d like me to say I hired a private investigator and spent lots of money and hours because I couldn’t stand the way you left things so up in the air.”

“It’s not the method that concerns me. I’d just like to know.”

“It was easy. John told me.”

I wasn’t surprised, but I was mad. She must have read that on my face, because she quickly amended her statement. “Don’t blame him. I’d run into him a couple times and asked about you. He was evasive at first. Then . . .well, let’s just say a situation occurred that made it necessary for him to tell me where you were.”

“That’s quite a mouthful, Maddie.”

She nodded and was about to say something else when suddenly she stopped. We’d reached the crest of the hill, which opened onto a clear view of the windmill. Maddie was speechless for a moment; the power of the magnificent structure was that overpowering. First sight meant first love: It had been that way for Annie, for me, too, and now maybe for Maddie.

But she broke the silence and said, “Okay . . . it’s nice and all, but . . .”

“Sshh, don’t talk,” I cautioned. “Come on; come closer.”

I started down the hill but stopped when Maddie called out my name. I turned to her, a curious look on my face.

“Brian, I’m not here to look at a damned windmill. I’m here to see you.”

Okay, here we were, no going back. Or forward, for that matter. We, Maddie Chasen and Brian Duncan, were face-to-face, with no excuses. I knew we had to talk. Maddie wore an expression of utmost seriousness, and I was reminded then of her forceful, unrelenting stubbornness.

“This going to take a while?” I asked.

“Depends on you, really,” she answered.

I checked my watch. Three-forty-seven. Technically, the bar opened at four, and since this was the first-ever Second Saturday and I was the bar’s lone tender, I figured Maddie could pull up a stool and tell me what she wanted while I poured tall ones for the locals. I explained that I had to get to work and that she was welcome to join me, and she agreed to come. So we set off, back to our cars, but not before I stole a look back at the spinning sails of the windmill. An emotion swept over me, and I tried to pin it down. Sorrow? Fear? No, more like an emptiness, as though I needed to cherish this moment with the windmill, because maybe it would be my last.

“Brian?”

I shook off the unsettling feeling and Maddie and I cut across the lawn, past the farmhouse, and to our cars. Then we headed off, Maddie following behind, to the newly renamed George’s Tavern. In fact, the old sign was gone and the new one hung proudly; a note left behind by Gerta informed me she’d insisted Chuck be the one to put up the sign, if nothing else as a gesture of apology for his insensitivity.

I unlocked the door and flicked the lights on, and a soft, illuminating glow immediately warmed the bar. I pointed Maddie to a bar stool and went behind the counter, where a freshly laundered apron awaited me. After tying it around my waist, I sidled up to the bar and asked Maddie, “What’ll it be?”

“Cute. Absolut, rocks,” she said. “As if you didn’t know.”

There wasn’t much demand at George’s for top-shelf liquor, but in preparation for Second Saturday, I’d dusted everything off, so even my lowliest brands looked appealing. Still, she would not be denied her choice.

“One vodka coming up,” I said, then poured Maddie her drink and slid it across the bar.

“So, Maddie, quickly, before I open the doors . . .”

“Uh, Brian . . . don’t we have more time than that? This is important—no, it’s crucial.”

“Doors open in less than sixty seconds,” I said.

She sighed, knocked back some vodka, and said, “Oh, just open the damn doors, Mr. Barkeep.”

I headed over to the front door, turned back the lock, and just as I was about to throw open the door for business, I heard Maddie say, “My God, look at you. I can’t believe Justin sent me here to convince you to come back.”

My mouth hung open as I stared back at her, but I didn’t have the chance to say anything, because five guys bounded their way into the tavern and went straight for the bar, in search of the bartender. With a sudden sense of the absurd, I realized that person was me, but all I could do was stand dumbly by the entrance, apparently catching flies.