Heroes Are My Weakness: A Novel

Scamp cocked her head and said softly, “Don’t worry. I’m not mad at you.”

Livia finally looked at her.

“That’s you in the picture, isn’t it? But I’m not sure who the others are . . .” She hesitated. “Maybe your mother?”

Livia gave a tiny, almost indecipherable nod.

Annie felt as though she were wandering through a dark room with her arms outstretched trying not to bump into anything. “It looks like she’s wearing something pretty. Is it a flower or maybe a valentine? Did you give it to her?”

Livia shook her head violently. Tears sprang to her eyes, as if the puppet had betrayed her. With a hiccuping sob, she ran toward the house.

Annie winced as the kitchen door banged shut. A couple of college psychology classes hadn’t equipped her to meddle in something like this. She wasn’t a child psychologist. She wasn’t a mother . . .

But she might be.

Her chest started to hurt. She put Scamp away and went back into the kitchen, but she couldn’t face another hour inside Harp House.

The bright winter sunlight mocked the darkness of her mood as she left again. Shoulders hunched, she walked around to the front of the house and stood at the top of the cliff. The front porch stretched behind her. Below, the granite steps carved into the rock face led to the beach. She began her descent.

The steps were slippery and shallow, and she held on to the rope rail. How had her life gotten to be such a mess? For now, the cottage was the only home she had, but once she got back on her feet . . . If she got back on her feet . . . Once she found a steady job, she wouldn’t be able to leave for two months to come here. Sooner or later, the cottage would fall back into Harp hands.

But not yet, Dilly said. Right now, you’re here, and you have a job to do. No more whining. Nose to the grindstone. Stay positive.

Shut up, Dilly, Leo sneered. For all your supposed sensibility, you don’t have a clue how messy life can be.

Annie blinked. Had that really been Leo? The voices were getting mixed up in her head. Peter was her support. Leo only attacked.

She shoved her hands into her pockets. The wind plastered her coat against her and whipped the ends of her hair from beneath her knit hat. She faced the water, imagining herself in command of the waves, the currents, the rise and fall of the tides. Imagining power when she’d never felt more powerless.

Finally, she made herself turn around.

A rockslide had covered the mouth, but Annie knew exactly where it was. In her mind the cave would always be a secret hideaway issuing its siren’s call to everyone who passed. Come inside. Bring your picnics and your playthings, your daydreams and your fantasies. Reflect . . . Explore . . . Make love . . . Die.

A gust of wind tugged at her hat. She grabbed it before it could sail into the sea and shoved it in her pocket. She wasn’t going back up to the house today, not with this emotional tornado spinning inside her. She scrambled over the rocks and made her way to the cottage.

Neither the Range Rover nor Theo was there. She made a cup of tea to warm up and sat at the table in the window, petting Hannibal and thinking about the possibility of being pregnant. If she were in the city, she could run to the closest drugstore and pick up an EPT. Now she’d have to order one and wait for the ferry to arrive.

Except as she remembered the crates of open grocery bags being passed from one islander to the next, she knew she couldn’t do that. She’d spotted Tampax, liquor, adult incontinence diapers. Did she really want everyone on the island to know she’d ordered an EPT? She yearned for the anonymity of the big city.

After she finished her tea, she gathered up her inventory notebook and headed to the studio. She’d needed to go through the boxes more methodically. She turned the corner and froze just inside the studio door.

Crumpet hung by a noose from the ceiling.

Crumpet. Her silly, vain, spoiled little puppet princess . . . Her head hung at a macabre angle, yellow yarn sausage curls flopping to the side. Her small cloth legs dangled helplessly, and one of her tiny, raspberry-pink patent leather shoes lay on the floor.

With a sob, Annie rushed across the room and grabbed a chair to get her down from the rope that had been nailed to the ceiling.

“Annie!” The front door banged open.

She spun around and charged out of the studio. “You creep! You ugly, insensitive jerk!”

He stormed into the living room like a lion after a wildebeest. “Have you lost your mind?”

Unwanted tears sprang to her eyes. “Did you think that was funny? You haven’t changed at all.”

“Why didn’t you wait? Do you want to get shot at again?”

She bared her teeth. “Is that a threat?”

“Threat? Are you so naive that you think it can’t happen again?”

“If it happens again, I swear to God I will kill you!”

That stopped them both. She’d never imagined herself capable of such ferocity, but she’d been attacked at the most elemental level. However self-centered Crumpet might be, she was part of Annie, and Annie was her guardian.

“If what happens again?” he asked in a quieter voice.

“At first, all those positions you put my puppets in were funny.” She thrust her hand in the direction of the studio. “But this is cruel.”

“Cruel?” He strode past her. She turned to see him peer into her bedroom and then advance toward the studio. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered.

She went after him, then stopped in the studio doorway to watch as he reached up and pulled the piece of rope down. He slipped the noose off Crumpet’s head, carried her to Annie, and handed the puppet over. “I’m getting a locksmith out here as soon as I can,” he said grimly.

Her gaze followed him as he moved to the corner of the room. She clutched Crumpet tighter as she saw what she’d missed. Instead of being on the shelf under the windows, her other puppets were stuffed inside the wastebasket, heads and limbs dangling over the sides.

“Don’t.” She rushed to them. Sinking down on her heels with Crumpet on her lap, she took them out one by one. She straightened their clothes and their hair. When she was done, she looked up at Theo, searching his face, his eyes, seeing nothing she hadn’t seen before.

His mouth tightened. “You should have waited at the house for the car. I wasn’t gone long. Don’t walk down here by yourself again.” He stalked from the studio.

This was what he’d been so angry about when he’d charged in.

She arranged Dilly, Leo, and Peter on the shelf.

Thank you, Peter whispered. I’m not as brave as I thought.

She wasn’t quite ready to abandon Crumpet, and she carried her into the living room where Theo was taking off his coat. “I don’t have money for a locksmith,” she said quietly.

“I do,” he retorted, “and I’m having a new lock installed. Nobody is going to poke around in my stuff when I’m not here.”

Was he really that self-absorbed, or was this his way of letting her save face?

She slipped Crumpet on her arm. The familiar feeling of the puppet’s frilly dress calmed her. She raised her arm, not thinking anything through. “Thank you for saving me,” Crumpet said in her breathy, coquette’s voice.

Theo cocked his head, but Annie addressed the puppet instead of him. “Is that all you have to say, Crumpet?”

Crumpet took Theo in from head to toe. “You are smokin’.”

“Crumpet!” Annie scolded. “Where are your manners?”

Crumpet blinked her long lashes at Theo and cooed, “You are smokin’ . . . sir.”

“That’s enough, Crumpet!” Annie exclaimed.

The puppet tossed her curls, clearly in a huff. “What do you want me to say?”

Annie spoke patiently. “I want you to say you’re sorry.”

Crumpet grew petulant. “What do I have to be sorry for?”

“You know very well.”

Crumpet leaned toward Annie’s ear, speaking in a faux whisper. “I’d rather ask him who does his hair. You know what a disaster my last visit was.”

“Only because you insulted the shampoo girl,” Annie reminded her.

Crumpet’s nose went up in the air. “She thought she was prettier than I.”

“Prettier than ‘me.’?”

“She was prettier than you,” Crumpet said triumphantly.

Annie sighed. “Stop stalling and say what you need to.”

“Oh, all right.” Crumpet gave a begrudging humph. And then, even more begrudgingly, “I’m sorry I thought you were the one who hung me from the ceiling.”