A Long Walk Home

ANNIE: The dandelion. Strong and determined, this widow has recently been promoted to vice president of her bank, so her life should be on the upswing, right? If only she could break the news to her former mother-in-law that she’d found a new man in her life….

VIOLET: The rose. Delicate and conservative, this retired teacher shares a wonderful relationship with her daughter-in-law, so why can’t things just stay the same? But if her strong convictions frown upon Annie’s new direction, what do they say about the new addition to the family…?

SUMMER: The bad tomato. Dumped on the doorstep of her do-good aunt, just how did a blond, cherubic eight-year-old transform into a Goth teen with a crush on black eyeliner? Annie’s niece is three miles of bad road, but then again, she’s never had the support of a loving and committed family until now….

Will these three women be able to bridge the generational gap and find the way home together?

Diane Amos

lives with her husband, Dave, in a small town north of Portland, Maine. They have four grown children, a finicky Siamese named Sabrina and an energetic miniature dachshund named Molly. Diane is an established Maine artist. Her paintings are in private collections across the United States. She is a Golden Heart finalist and winner of the Maggie Award for Excellence. For more information about Diane and her books, check out her Web site at www.dianeamos.com.

A Long Walk Home

Diane Amos

Acknowledgments

Michelle Libby

Talented author and president of

the Maine chapter of RWA

Special thanks to:

Portland Police Officer Chuck Libby

for sharing information about

police procedure.

Any mistakes that I’ve made or liberties

that I’ve taken are completely my own.

Joyce Lamb

A talented author

critique partner

and

good friend

CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 1

“W hat, no chocolate cake!” the three of us said in unison to the waiter who’d announced the unthinkable before handing us dessert menus and retreating to the kitchen.

Mallory turned to Carrie and me. “Life’s a bitch.”

Carrie nodded. “Which is why I’m glad to have you two as my good friends.”

I had to agree. My friends kept me grounded, and life…well, had been filled with the unexpected. I’d learned long ago that nothing was as it seemed. And I never took anything for granted.

I drank a sip of my martini, lifted my glass to theirs and said with much dignity, “Life’s a bi-otch.”

Carrie giggled. “Since when are you so polite?”

I took another small swallow. I rarely drank, and when I did, I got dizzy on the fumes. “As the new vice president of the loan department at Portland National Bank, I must conduct myself with decorum.”

Mallory raised her glass and announced, “In honor of Ms. Annie Jacobs, our hoity-toity pal and Madame Vice President, ‘life is a bitch’ will forever be banned from our vocabulary and from now on be referred to as LIB.”

Carrie’s forehead wrinkled. “Huh, shouldn’t that be LIAB?”

“I took a little artistic license and dropped the A. Besides, LIB sounds better.”

For a moment Carrie pondered what Mallory had said. “You’re right.”

“I’ll drink to that,” I said as I polished off my martini, which had started out tasting like paint thinner—not that I knew that for a fact—and had improved with each swallow.

Our waiter, John, returned. He was tall, with a wiry build and dark hair. Thick eyelashes framed his sapphire-blue eyes.

Mallory smiled at the hunky guy who looked young enough to be her son—if she’d had a son. Neither of us had children, which suited us fine.

Children complicated matters.

They were messy.

And selfish.

Although I was happy with my life, something inside me stirred.

Disappointment?

Ridiculous.

I was thirty-seven—tick-tock—time had run out.

I’d gotten over the need to cradle a child in my arms. Plus, my chances of becoming a mother had died eighteen months ago along with Paul, my husband, the love of my life.

The man whom I’d thought could do no wrong.

But he’d betrayed me.

Mallory pointed a manicured finger at our waiter. “Since you don’t have double fudge chocolate cake, then I’ll have raspberry swirled chocolate cheesecake.”

He directed a killer grin at my friend.

I wasn’t surprised. At thirty-nine, Mallory Bourque was the total package, a blond male magnet with hazel eyes, big breasts, long legs and a great personality. If Mallory were a flower she’d be a gardenia, not because she was fragile, but because men wanted to tend to her needs. Mallory owned the Ooh La La, a specialty lingerie shop in the Old Port area of Portland, Maine.

“What about your friends?” he asked, unable to tear his gaze from Mallory.

By his dazed expression, I knew he was a goner. He wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last. By the time we got our tab, Mallory would have his phone number and the promise of a hot date. She preferred younger men, no strings attached. Just fun and games.

“I’ll have the chocolate cheesecake.” I could tell my words hadn’t penetrated.

Neither had Carrie’s, “Me, too.”

Talk about being invisible.

Mallory bowed her lower lip into a perfect pout. “They’ll have the same and bring us another round of drinks.”

He blinked a couple times, I suspected, to clear his head.

“Sure, be right back.” Then he forced himself to look away from the goddess who’d captured his heart—and if not his heart then surely his lust.

Carrie straightened her napkin over her knees and turned toward Mallory. “I’d have a meltdown if a man looked at me like that.”

“He is a cutie,” Mallory replied. “I wouldn’t mind having him for dessert.”

Carrie Hudson was thirty-five, five-three, always on a diet and a single mother of seven-year-old twin boys. Her blue eyes sparkled, and she blushed easily. She reminded me of a pink carnation. Resilient and pretty.

After my husband died, I’d eventually discovered I was like a dandelion. Not the prettiest flower, but strong, determined and, when push came to shove, I didn’t take no for an answer. There were worse things in life than being compared to a weed that persisted against all odds.

Every Friday evening after work, the three of us met at DiMillo’s, a car ferry converted into a floating restaurant known for its good food and ambiance on the Portland waterfront. Soon it would be too cold to be outside so we’d decided to sit on the top deck, enjoy the unseasonably warm September weather and watch the boats going by.

We always ordered a decadent dessert and drinks, which for me was usually a diet Pepsi, but tonight was special. I’d gotten the promotion I’d worked so hard for, and no one orders a Pepsi on such an occasion. So I’d decided to live dangerously and drink a martini. I wasn’t crazy about the taste, but I loved olives so I couldn’t lose.

Below us in the marina, cruisers and sailboats in their slips swayed as gentle waves washed ashore. The smell of salt, seaweed and fish permeated the air. In the distance seagulls cawed and a bell buoy clanged.

A light breeze ruffled my hair as I leaned back and thought with satisfaction about my promotion. I’d worked hard and deserved this. But a person didn’t always get what he/she deserved. I’d lucked out. My life was on a steep uphill path, and I’d equipped myself for the climb. Even my relationship with Tony was about to take a major turn. We loved each other. I was happy. Only now, I’d have to tell my mother-in-law, Violet, about him.

“Hey, why the long face?” Mallory asked.

“I was thinking about how everything is clicking into place, except…” I sucked in my lower lip, a bad habit I’d tried unsuccessfully to stop. “I’m meeting Violet tomorrow to break the news that Tony is moving in.”

“You’re an adult, and you don’t owe your mother-in-law an explanation,” Mallory pointed out.

“Yes I do. She’s been like a mother to me since my mom moved away. She’s the only family I’ve got. And I don’t want to hurt her, but I can’t put off telling her about Tony any longer. She’ll never approve of my seeing another man. And to her, we’ll be living in sin.”

Mallory rolled her eyes. “No one thinks like that anymore.”

“You haven’t met Violet. She’s a staunch Catholic and very old-fashioned.”

Carrie looked thoughtful. “Too bad you didn’t tell her about Tony months ago.”

“I tried, but each time I’d start to tell her, she’d interrupt and say something about Paul. She worships her son’s memory, and to hear her talk you’d think he died yesterday. She isn’t ready to hear I’m with another man.”

Mallory straightened. “Tell her what a jerk her precious son was.”

“I couldn’t do that to her.”

Carrie ran a finger over the condensation on the side of her glass. “This might be the wakeup call she needs to accept Paul’s death and go on with her life.”

“Maybe,” I said, doubting that would happen.

Violet would never give her blessing to Tony and me living together. Not that I needed her approval, but even before Paul’s death we’d formed a strong bond and a friendship that until now, I’d thought indestructible.

“My, don’t you look pretty this morning,” Vi said as she opened the kitchen and caught me in a tight hug; her mouth brushed my cheek.

I felt warm, safe and at home.

Surely she’d understand. If only I’d told her sooner. She had a right to know that her son’s widow had fallen in love with another man.

Panic swelled inside and threatened to cut off my breathing.

Vi reminded me of a rose, delicate and beautiful.

“You smell good,” I said amazed at how steady my voice sounded when she pulled away, took my hand and led me into the kitchen.

“My Avon lady gave me a few samples that I’m trying out. This one’s called Lilacs in Bloom. I’m thinking of ordering some. Nice, don’t you think?”

“Yes.” I put the box I’d been carrying on the table and untied the string. “I picked up a raspberry strudel at the bakery on my way over here.”

She filled the kettle with water and set it on the burner. While putting cups, spoons and napkins on the table, she smiled at me. “You’re always so thoughtful, and it means so much to me. I couldn’t wait for you to arrive. I have a special gift for you in honor of your new job,” she said, her gray eyes glowing with excitement.

Many women complained about their mothers-in-law, but I’d been blessed. Vi had been my rock, my strength, my family for years. Shortly before Paul’s death, my mother had remarried and moved to Texas with her husband. It wasn’t that she didn’t care about me, but she was immersed in her new life. We spoke on the phone several times a month and visited a couple times a year.

No one knew for sure where my sister Dana and her thirteen-year-old daughter Summer lived, but according to the postcard from California I’d received months ago, they were fine. Could I wire her some cash and please hurry because she was moving again? As soon as she’d found a job, she’d repay me, which I knew would never happen. Against my mother’s advice, I’d sent the money and an extra couple hundred dollars hoping against very slim odds that my sister would use some of it on my niece.

Vi looked so happy, so unaware of what I was going to say.

Guilt gnawed at my insides. She waved for me to follow her into her bedroom. She was nearing sixty, and when she smiled, which was rare, she looked much younger. Usually her mouth turned down, her brow furrowed and her eyes filled with grief.

I hated to cause her more pain. She’d already suffered too much.

As she crossed the room and opened a cedar chest, I noticed the pictures of Paul on her dresser. There was a cute one of him as a toddler playing in the sand, another on his graduation from college and several of us on our wedding day. Our smiles wide and our hearts full. When we’d believed love conquered all.

Vi reached way in the back of the chest and pulled out a small package. She turned, took my hand, and nestled a velvet box into my palm. “I’m sure you already know this, but I want to say again how much I love you. You’ve been like a daughter to me.” Her eyes misted. Blinking away tears, she reached into her apron pocket and blew her nose on a tissue. After sucking in a long breath, she continued, “I’d promised myself I wouldn’t get all mushy and sentimental, but you know how I am. If you and Paul had had babies, I’d planned to give you this in the hospital to enjoy for a while, then pass on to the next generation.”

As I cupped the box in my hand, a faint scent of cedar rose to my nostrils.

“Go ahead, open it,” Vi, said, looking happy. “I can’t wait to see your face.”

Positioning a finger on either side of the box, I lifted the lid and looked down at a beautiful emerald ring that I’d seen only once before on Vi’s finger on the day Paul and I said our vows. It had belonged to her mother. Vi had explained she’d kept it locked away in a safe-deposit box for fear of losing it.

“I can’t accept this,” I said, overwhelmed with emotion. Love and guilt consumed me. How could I tell her about Tony? How could I not?

“It’s a gift from me to you. The decision has already been made. You’ve worked hard to earn your promotion. I’m proud of you. My only regret is that I didn’t give you this ring a lot sooner.”

I was a traitor, about to send her world spinning out of control. I didn’t know what to say. My legs felt like rubber, shaky and about to give way. Before I could muster a coherent thought, the kettle on the stove whistled, and Vi ran out to pour our tea.

As if in a dream I walked into the kitchen, still clutching the box, stealing another glance at the precious green stone twinkling in the light coming through the window. I watched Vi slide generous pieces of strudel onto two dishes, felt my throat constrict with dread, felt perspiration on my palms as I sat and caught my breath.

“So aren’t you going to try it on,” she said indicating the ring. “I had it sized to fit your finger, but the jeweler at Day’s said if it needs to be adjusted to bring it back, and he’ll do it right away.”

I set the box down and met her expectant gaze.

Where to begin.

I wanted to explain how many times I’d come over here planning to tell her about Tony. I wanted to tell her how much she meant to me, but that would only postpone the inevitable. Fearing I might back down again and leave without telling her the truth, I knew I had to dive right into the subject. Or she might hear the news from someone else.

And that would be worse.

“I need to tell you something that might upset you.”

Worry etched deep lines around her mouth and eyes. “Are you sick?”

“No, it’s nothing like that.”

“Thank the good Lord. I don’t know what I’d do without you. What in heaven’s name is wrong?”

I paused and tried to choose the right words. “Nothing is wrong. As a matter of fact it’s good news. Sort of.”

Confusion clouded her eyes. “Now I’m really puzzled.”

“I’ve met someone. His name is Anthony Marino.”

She collapsed into the chair and heaved a sigh. I waited for the aftershocks to subside.

“I’d like you to meet him,” I said, my voice trembling. “You’ll like him. I think Paul would have liked him, too.”

“How long have you been seeing this Tony?”

I considered lying, but that would only compound the guilt of not having told her sooner. “Seven months.”

Her features twisted in disbelief. “Surely, it’s not serious, or you’d have told me about this man sooner.”

I curled my hands around the warm mug of tea, tried to steady my grip, tried to soften the impact.

I went for broke, no more skirting the issue. “He loves me, and I love him.”

“What about Paul?”

Paul’s dead.

Too blunt, too hurtful. I sucked in my lower lip and blew out a soft breath. “I can’t bring Paul back.”

“You mourned your husband for less than a year,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “How can you do this?”

She made it sound as though I’d cheated on her son.

I wanted to ask her how long I should mourn a man who’d betrayed me. I considered shattering her distorted image of her son, but I couldn’t do that to her.

“I was a good wife to Paul while he was alive. And I don’t want to live the rest of my life alone.”

Avoiding eye contact, she stared across the room. Tense silence stretched between us until I could hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

“I just need a chance to accept this,” she said, her voice hollow. “I know Paul is gone. I know we can’t bring him back. You’re young. You have a right to be happy. Maybe you’ll even have children. I could be their grandmother,” she said, a tinge of hope creeping into her tone.

Tony already had three children from his first marriage. He’d made it clear he didn’t want any more babies. I understood. Plus, I’d reached the point in my life where I no longer yearned to hold an infant in my arms and to watch my child grow: first steps, first words, being loved unconditionally.

At least I didn’t think I did.

“I’m a bit old to have babies,” I said, not wanting to lead her astray.

“You’re still young. Nowadays I can’t turn on the news without hearing of some actress having a baby in her forties. Lots of women are having children later in life. You could, too.” She sighed again and looked at me. “I apologize for overreacting a few minutes ago. I just never thought of you with another man. I can’t fathom seeing you with anyone but my Paul, but that’s silly of me.” She paused for a moment as if absorbing what she couldn’t change. “Maybe we can discuss your Tony in a few days after I’ve had a chance to think this through.” Her voice softened. “You and Paul were perfect together.”

I’d thought so, too.

We were far from perfect, only I didn’t discover that until after his funeral.

Vi reached across the table and took my hands in hers. “I don’t blame you for trying to find that close bond again. Give me a little while to think about this. I’m sure in time I can accept that you’ve found another man to love you. I certainly can’t blame you for wanting to get married again.”

I’d dreaded this most, but I’d come this far, it wasn’t time to back down. “Tony is moving in tomorrow, but we don’t intend to get married.”

Vi’s face flushed, and she pulled her hands away. She made the sign of the cross and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, I saw disbelief and shame.

“This is a disgrace to Paul’s memory.”

CHAPTER 2

T wo weeks later on my way home from work I stopped at the florist and arranged for a bouquet of red roses to be delivered to Violet. Since she was the most stubborn woman I’d ever met, I knew she wouldn’t make the first move. I’d missed her. I signed the card, Love, Annie. Now it was up to her to respond.

I pulled my white Volvo into my driveway next to Tony’s silver Porsche. I owned a modest three-bedroom cape in Gray, Maine, a small town on the outskirts of Portland. After Paul died, I’d used some of the money from his life insurance to re-decorate and try to wash away some of the painful memories. I’d moved out of the master bedroom and chose the smaller room which faced my backyard and my flower garden. I’d added a sunroom off the deck and invested in a hot tub, something I’d wanted for years but Paul had considered frivolous.

I’d felt a deep sense of power the day the hot tub had arrived. Although I suspected my purchase might have been partially an act of defiance, it was also a milestone: the day I started to take charge of my life.

Tony owned a house in Saco that he planned to rent on a month to month tenancy. Neither of us was willing to surrender our independence.

As I opened the kitchen door, the spicy smell of oregano and thyme teased my nostrils. Tony stood at the stove, his broad shoulders hunched as he stirred the pasta sauce. He turned and smiled at me. Due to the steam, a stray lock of his deep brown hair curled over his forehead. He hated that his hair waved, but I loved running my fingers through the thick, silky strands.

“How’s my Italian?” I asked, walking toward him for the kiss I craved. “I’m famished.”

“I’m horny.”

“What else is new,” I said with a laugh.

“You’re to blame, always giving me that ‘she-devil’ look.”

I laughed. “What you see is the look of a starving woman.”

“Starving, huh, in more ways than one, I bet.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“When it comes to you, I am,” he said, wrapping his arms around me. His lips claimed mine in a kiss filled with need and passion.

Tony pulled away a little and leaned his forehead against mine. “That’s some welcome. Say the word, and I’ll abandon this meal.”

“Not so fast, Bucko.” I playfully wrenched free. “What’s a woman gotta do around here to get fed?”

“She needs to stop seducing the cook,” he said with that crooked grin I loved.

I undid the top two buttons on my blouse and exposed a little of my white slip. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

“You’re a wicked tease,” he said, lifting his right eyebrow. “You’d better plan on tipping the help…if you know what I mean.”

“Incorrigible…”

“That’s because you’re a wanton sexy hussy.”

I glanced down at my gray pinstriped business suit. “I’d hate to think how you’d react if I were wearing a camisole and garters.”

“That’s an interesting premise. Go ahead, I dare you….” His smile deepened. His eyes darkened a few shades.

“I hate to disappoint you, but I was planning on changing into jeans and a flannel shirt.”

“You’ll look sexy no matter what you wear.” He picked up the wooden spoon and winked.

“Hold that thought,” I said as I turned and walked through the living room and into my bedroom.

In the short time we’d been living together, I’d come to enjoy the camaraderie. And the dynamite sex. More than lovers, we were friends. Tony made me happy.

We completed each other….

But I’d thought the same thing about Paul.

How could I trust my judgment?

The following Friday morning after a meeting, my administrative assistant Roberta greeted me. “Here’s a list of the people who called while you were out. The Thompsons are hoping to close early next week.”

“Please call them back and set up an appointment for Tuesday.” I took the tablet she handed me and glanced down. One name stuck out. Violet Jacobs. My heartbeat quickened.

“Thanks,” I said, hurrying into my office and shutting the door.

I braced myself as I punched in the number. Vi was a gracious woman. She wasn’t the type of person who’d call to argue or reiterate that I was a disgrace to her son’s memory. Though I was certain her opinion of my situation hadn’t changed, I was hoping we could get beyond that.