A Letter for Annie. Laura Abbot

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      ANNIE BURROWED into the folds of the downy comforter, overwhelmed by a storm of long-buried emotions. She had thought never to see 33 Kittiwake again, her happy home for six years. The summer before her seventh-grade year her mother had married George Palmer, president of the local bank. Before that, she and her mother had lived in a cramped bungalow near downtown where Liz Greer owned a gift shop. They had struggled on occasion, but even when times were good, her mother had never seemed satisfied. When she started dating George, all she could talk about was his country club membership, the fancy dining establishments where they ate and his elegant home in one of the best neighborhoods.

      When George had proposed, Annie remembered feeling happy about having a new dad and the prospect of a beautiful room with a canopy bed, a horse of her own and all the clothes any girl could desire. Instinctively she had warmed to George’s smile, his fatherly hugs and the way he called her “sweetie.” On their wedding day, Annie stood proudly by her ecstatic mother. She had never seen Liz Greer so happy. Holding a bouquet redolent with the scent of lilies and listening to her mother promise to love, honor and obey, Annie finally believed in fairy-tale endings.

      Whatever George wanted, her mother gladly supplied. Both Liz and George expected Annie to behave in a way that reflected favorably their standing in the community. However, no matter how hard she tried to live up to their expectations, there was always the lingering suspicion that she never quite satisfied them. Even so, she’d reveled in the affection George showered upon her.

      Gradually, though, she began to see that her mother’s attention was almost totally fixed on George. He, on the other hand, doted on Annie and seemed more a parent than her own mother. Over time Annie began to question her mother’s love, and a hole opened in her heart, ever widening, until Pete came along.

      She muffled her sob. It was too painful to remember him and his gentleness, his devotion. And to remember what she’d had to do to him. To herself.

      Auntie G. had sent her Pete’s obituary. For two weeks she never left Nina’s house, paralyzed by grief and memory. Pete represented the only time in her life when she had known the meaning of love and the sacrifices it required. Auntie G. and Nina could talk all they wanted about “moving on,” but the truth was that when she abandoned Pete, she lost any chance of knowing enduring love.

      Now Pete had been dead six years. Two years ago George had died of a heart attack. She had thought she’d escaped Eden Bay forever. Rolling over on her back, she stared at the ceiling, the water stain resembling a cracked heart.

      Suddenly the room seemed suffocating. If she stayed here, images from the past would loom and her stomach might again revolt. Leaping up, she pulled on her old Nikes, grabbed a sweater and bolted down the stairs. Geneva assured her she would be fine if Annie left for a while.

      She jogged down the drive toward the ocean. Breakers were rolling in, crashing against rocks, spilling on the sandy beach. The sun sparkled on the whitecaps, turning the foam to spun sugar. It was a beautiful day, she kept telling herself. She had to live in the moment. Anything else was too painful.

      She stood for several minutes at the edge of the sea, letting its roar and rhythm soothe her. As she caught her breath and her heart rate slowed, she made up her mind. She was here. In Eden Bay. It was unreasonable to suppose she could hide indefinitely. She was an adult. It was time to begin acting like one.

      Feeling better, she started off at a brisk walk, following the curve of the shore. Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t see the figure walking toward her, until the person said, in a shocked tone, “Annie? Annie Greer?”

      The woman’s face was obscured by a broad-brimmed straw hat and sunglasses. But Annie knew the voice, and her heart plummeted. “Margaret?”

      Slowly Pete’s older sister removed her sunglasses and then stood blocking Annie’s way. “My father told me you were back in town. I’m sorry about your aunt, but I hope to God you’re not staying long. You are not welcome in Eden Bay, not now, not ever.” She stepped around Annie, put on her sunglasses and strode off down the beach.

      Annie remained glued to the spot, the words “not now, not ever” echoing above the thundering surf.