"Yes."
"All right. I'd sit out on the rocks in front of the clearing where my cottage had been. I'd go out just before sunset, and I'd watch the sun go down, then the moon and the stars rise, and finally, the coming of dawn. There's nothing like watching a Maine sunrise. When the sun was finally full in the sky, I'd go back to town—was staying with friends—and shower and sleep a couple of hours, and then tackle whatever I had to tackle next. There was something about seeing the sun go down and then come up again that gave me the perspective I needed to carry on."
"Beats heaving rocks into the ocean," Garvin said.
"I don't know, I think it does the same thing. You hurl a rock into the ocean, you have to realize you've had no impact, you're at its mercy, and you might just as well accept it and get on with your business."
"No, Annie, it's not the same thing. Heaving a rock isn't a way of making me reconcile myself to the vagaries of nature, it's a way of getting rid of all that anger and frustration that's boiling around inside, expending that energy in some reasonably innocuous way. Today I lifted weights until I thought I'd explode. That's the same thing." He gave her a dry look. "Sunsets."
She smiled, unchagrined. "And sunrises."
Garvin looked over at her as she sipped her cappuccino and ate her biscotti, and he imagined her out on a rock on the coast of Maine, wrapped up in a blanket, unworried about night creatures on the prowl as she watched the night come and go, just so she could get a handle on her anger. Instead of coming away depressed with how insignificant she was, how at the mercy of the perils of nature, she'd come away renewed.
It was in that moment he knew that he had fallen in love with Annie Payne.
* * *
Chapter Fourteen
They found Sarah at her easel in the corner of windows overlooking San Francisco, with her palette and brushes, her walker beside her. She was working on a still life. Annie noticed the small, teetering table arranged with sprigs of bittersweet, acorn, and butternut squash, parsnips, purple-topped turnips, and yellow onions. Much to Garvin's irritation, Sarah had refused to answer her door. It turned out she'd left it unlocked, and he and Annie just walked in. Sarah didn't acknowledge their presence. Seeing she was deep into her work, Annie touched Garvin's hand to keep him from barking at her.
After two minutes, Garvin glared at her, his patience on its last shred. Annie sighed. She had no idea how long Sarah would ignore them—or even if she was aware they were there. "Sarah," she said quietly, "we need to talk to you."
She dabbed her brush into a vivid splash of purple, not even glancing up from her work.
Annie persisted. "The police have your address. Have they been by?"
"This morning." Her voice was deep and guttural, as if she hadn't said a word in days. "Go. Sit. I'll be done soon."
Impatience flashed in Garvin's eyes, but he kept quiet. "We'll take a walk," Annie said.
Once outside, Garvin swung around at her. "Don't give me a line about temperamental artists. She's stonewalling us because she knows damned well she put you in danger. She does what she wants to do and worries about the consequences when it's too late. That was guilt in there, not temperament."
"Whatever it was, we're not going to get her cooperation by bullying her and not respecting her boundaries."
"Boundaries? The hell—"
"Regardless of her reasons, Sarah needs to work right now."
He cursed under his breath, unappeased, but at least kept walking, following Annie down the stone steps. It was dark, chilly, still musty. She hunched her tapestry bag onto her shoulder, and when they reached the street below, waited for Garvin to join her. She didn't mind the walk. As much as she wanted to talk to Sarah and see Otto, she appreciated the chance to get some air. Even impatient and annoyed, Garvin was a steady presence beside her as they headed up the street. By San Francisco standards, Sarah's was a pleasant, quirky neighborhood of families, professionals, and neighborhood shops.
"One of the things I like about San Francisco," Annie said, "is that so many of its people really love living here. They can get a little cocky about it at times, but basically I think it's a good quality to care about the place you live."
Garvin, she could see, was unwilling to be distracted by chitchat about San Francisco. "I suppose."
"What about you? Do you like San Francisco?"
"It's where I've always lived," he said.
"Your family—it must be nice to have them close."
He shrugged. "I don't see as much of them as I should."
"Why not?"