• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

"Annie."

Taylor nodded and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Yes. Your mom left town—angry at me, angry at herself, angry at the world. I decided to stay. I wrote to Jennifer five times during the next three years begging for her forgiveness, but she never wrote back."

Taylor took three long breaths.

"I never heard from her again. I'm not sure what I would have said if she had responded. I didn't know if she got married, had children . . . There were times when I almost got in the car and drove up to her last known address. Finally I gave up. It would only bring the memory back on both of us."

Ann drew a finger across her mouth. "Why did she become a drug addict?"

"The pain. A way to deal with it."

Pain? It was the only legacy her mom had left. Ann shook her head. But she was still her mom. Ann couldn't stop from asking the question. "Will you tell me about my mom?"

"What do you want to know?"

Was it possible to loathe someone and love them at the same time? "Everything."

"She was quiet. With one or two friends she talked with such intensity, but in public she was shy." A sad smile appeared on his face. "She was a natural athlete but preferred reading and learning to playing sports. As you might imagine she was smart, straight A's all through school."

Like mother like daughter. "What else?"

"Jennifer had a dry sense of humor. And she was very loyal."

"Loyal? To whom? She must have lost it on the drive up to Washington, because I never saw it."

"I'm sorry." Taylor shoved his hands into his coat pockets.

"She worked two jobs. Not to feed me. To feed her heroin habit."

Taylor's shoulders slumped and he let out a long sigh. "I didn't know."

"One day she shot up too much and never came home. That was her loyalty to me."

"I'm sorry, Ann. So sorry."

They tramped on, their shoes scrunching into the gravel in the same cadence.

"Have you forgiven her?"

Ann shook her head. She didn't trust her voice.

"Whether she was able to tell you or not, the Jennifer I knew would have loved you. Deeply. She always talked about wanting kids."

Ann rubbed her forearms with both hands. "Then why didn't she ever show it?"

"When Annie died it changed her. It changed me too."

Ann rubbed her hands across her cheeks. "I'm named after Annie, you know."

"Yes, of course."

"So seeing Annie in me is both wonderful and painful at the same time?" A tinge of warmth crept into Ann's face.

Taylor nodded. "Precisely."

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No." Taylor dug a hole in the gravel with the toe of his leather boot. "Of course not. God is in this. At least I know that in my head, if not my heart."

Taylor started walking again and kicked a pinecone off the path, then turned to Ann. "I need to talk about something different now. It will take a while to stuff my insides back into my chest cavity, and I don't want Tricia to see me this way."

"I understand." Ann smiled.

"Tell me about Cameron. Do you like him?"

"Are you playing Yente?"

"Who?"

"Yente from Fiddler on the Roof. Supposedly it's an old classic. I had a boyfriend in high school who made me watch it three times."

Taylor smiled. "I agree on your definition of it being a classic, but old? I was nineteen when that movie came out. So are you saying I'm old?"

"Yes. Ancient."

Taylor burst into laughter, and the mood around the man changed in an instant. "While I appreciate the humor, that doesn't excuse you from telling me about Mr. Vaux."

"He's complicated."

"All compelling men are. Are you interested in him?"

"I've loved him for seven years." Ann's face grew hot in an instant. What was she thinking? Why did she confess that? Were her emotions that close to the surface? Ugh. She needed to keep a tighter rein on them. Bury them. Treat her interactions with Cameron more businesslike. Cool, calm, collected. Please.

"Ah, I see. Don't worry; I'll keep that information to myself."

"Thanks."

"What do you see as his complications?"

"Two things. First, he doesn't follow Jesus—"

"Which is