building would rise higher and higher into the smoggy brown sky, so high that Annie often wondered if these builders thought they could access heaven with their leveraged millions.
She was seized by a fierce, unexpected longing to return home. Not to the crowded, affluent beauty of Malibu, but to the moist green landscape of her youth, that wild part of western Washington State where mushrooms grew to the size of dinner plates and water rushed in silver threads along every roadside, where fat, glossy raccoons came out in the light of a full moon and drank from mud puddles in the middle of the road. To Mystic—where the only skyscrapers were Douglas firs that had been growing since the American Revolution. It had been almost ten years since she’d been back. Perhaps she could finally talk Blake into a trip now that they were no longer tethered to Southern California by Natalie’s school schedule.
“What do you think about planning a trip to Mystic?” she asked her husband.
He didn’t look at her, didn’t respond to her question, and it made her feel stupid and small. She pulled at the large diamond stud in her ear and stared outside. “I was thinking about joining the Club. God knows I’ll have more time on my hands now. You’re always saying I don’t get out of the house enough. Aerobics would be fun, don’t you think?”
“I haven’t said that in years.”
“Oh. Well . . . there’s always tennis. I used to love tennis. Remember when we used to play doubles?”
He turned off the freeway and eased onto the twisting, traffic-clogged Pacific Coast Highway. At the gated entrance to their road, he waved to the guard and passed into the Colony, the beachfront jewel of Malibu. Rain beaded the windshield and blurred the world for a split second, before the wipers swept the water away.
At their house, he slowed, inching down the brick-paved driveway. He stopped in front of the garage.
Annie glanced at him. It was odd that he hadn’t pulled into the garage. Odd that he hadn’t even hit the door’s remote control. Odder still that he’d left the car running. He hated to leave the Cadillac out in the rain. . . .
He’s not himself.
The realization sanded the hard edges from her anxiety, reminded her that she wasn’t as alone as she felt. Her high-powered, ultra-competent husband was as fragile as she was right now.
They would do it together, she and Blake. They would get each other through this day, and all the empty-nest days and nights to come. They had been a family before Natalie, and they would be one again, just the two of them. It might even be fun, like the old days when they had been best friends and partners and lovers . . . the days when they went out dancing and didn’t come home until the sun was peeking up from the horizon.
She twisted around to face him, and brushed a lock of hair from his eyes. “I love you. We’ll get each other through this.”
He didn’t answer.
She hadn’t really expected him to, but still the awkward silence stung. She tucked the disappointment away and opened the car door. Tiny shards of rain slipped through the opening, mottling her sleeve. “It’s going to be a lonely spring. Maybe we should talk to Lupita about planning a barbecue. We haven’t had an old-fashioned beach party in years. It’d be good for us. God knows it’s going to be weird walking around the house without—”
“Annie.” He said her name so sharply that she bit her tongue in the middle of her sentence.
He turned to her, and she saw that there were tears in his eyes.
She leaned over and touched his cheek in a fleeting, tender caress. “I’m going to miss her, too.”
He looked away and sighed heavily. “You don’t understand. I want a divorce.”
Chapter 2
“I meant to wait to tell you . . . at least until next week. But the thought of coming home tonight . . .” Blake shook his head and let the sentence trail off.
Very slowly, Annie closed the car door. Rain hit the windshield and ran in streaks down the windows, obscuring the world outside the car.
She couldn’t have heard right. Frowning, she reached for him. “What are you talking about . . .”
He lurched against the window, as if her touch—the touch he’d known for so long—were now repugnant.
It all became real suddenly, with that gesture he wouldn’t allow. Her husband was asking