“Good morning, Tara,” Annie said as she pulled a tray of delicious-smelling muffins from the oven rack. She dropped an oven mitt on the table and extended a hand. “Please sit down. I have coffee—or tea, if you prefer it. I hope you slept well.”
Tara swallowed, clasping her hands to keep them from trembling. “I—I did sleep well, Mrs. Dawson. I …”
“It’s Annie. Just Annie, and I’m glad you slept well, but truthfully, you still look a bit peaked.” She studied Tara’s face.
Tara looked away, anxious lest Annie Dawson see beneath the pale skin and the dark-ringed eyes directly into her heart. She straightened her shoulders and smiled. “I’m much better … thanks to you.”
“So, will it be coffee or tea?” Annie asked. “Now, Miss Boots, keep out from under my feet,” she quipped to the cat circling her ankles. She placed two muffins on delicately painted blue plates.
“Tea, if it’s not too much trouble,” she replied, taking the offered chair and savoring the aroma of the muffins.
She was surprised to realize she was actually hungry. For days she’d had little or no appetite. Maybe she was getting better. The dizziness would pass; she’d feel more like her old self. Jem had tickled her protruding ribs the last time he’d held her in his arms. He’d frowned and told her she was getting as skinny as a cadaver. She shuddered at the grim comparison.
Annie handed her a cup of the same blue china in which last night’s tea had been served. She sat down across from her. “Welcome to Grey Gables. It’s a lovely day,” she said with a smile.
Tara was grateful not to be riddled with questions as they ate companionably in the brightly lit kitchen. The white tablecloth, edged with red and lime green accents, was set with matching place mats and napkins. Boots had jumped up onto the window ledge and sat sunning herself, occasionally licking delicate white paws.
Tara longed to remain in that tranquil space without speaking, but she had to say something to explain herself. Last night she’d been too tired, too ill; but Annie Dawson would want to know who she was and what her plans were. She would surely be anxious to see the back of the troublesome guest who had been thrust upon her.
She tried her best smile. “Mrs. … uh … Annie,” she corrected herself. “I want to thank you for letting me stay last night. I’m much improved this morning, and after this delicious breakfast, I feel even better. I’ll just get on my way and …” She let the words fall away because she had no idea what to say next. Her pulse began to race.
“Tara,” Annie began matter-of-factly. She moved her plate and cup to one side and leaned forward, slender hands folded on the table. “There’s no hurry. You just enjoy your breakfast. When you feel rested enough, I’ll take you to Petersgrove to see about your car. Likely, it’s been towed into town by now and …”
“There is no car,” Tara stated, looking directly at Annie. She twined her fingers together in her lap and looked away. She bit her lower lip. After a few seconds of silence she repeated, “There’s no car. I hitchhiked. You see, I lost my job. I couldn’t make the payments on my car. Then my mother got sick. When she died, I didn’t know what to do.”
Annie’s face registered surprise, but something more—gentleness, concern. Tara looked down again, amazed at how easily the lies came. Oh, it was true enough she’d lost her job, and she had no car, but she hadn’t gone to Portland to care for her ill mother. She’d come to dispose of her things and seal up the apartment in which she had died—alone.
“I’m so sorry,” Annie breathed. “But hitchhiking! That’s so dangerous. Wasn’t there someone you could call? A sister or an aunt or someone?”
Tara shook her head. “I don’t have any family. There was just my mother and me. I was married, but we were divorced after only a few years, and we never had kids.” It was perhaps the only thing she was grateful for and the only thing that saddened her—often to the point of tears.
God, if there is one, must have known that I couldn’t have cared for a child, she thought. The needle-worked pillow with the cradle surrounded by pink roses in a crystal vase pushed its way into her mind.
“I’m sorry,” Annie said gently. A little furrow between her green eyes deepened. “But sometimes friends can be as close as family. What about your friends, Tara?”
She gave a little laugh and hoped she didn’t sound as bitter as she felt. She had casual acquaintances at work, companions to have a good time with for an evening, but there was no one to really talk to—no one but Jem. And lately that had been less than comforting.