The Inn by William Patterson Page A

distraught, I guess. Cindy disappeared not long after that, too. So Dad was never the same.” His face showed the sadness he carried. “That’s when I was sent off to boarding school in Connecticut. Dad died a few years later himself.”
    Annabel took his hands in hers. “Jack, was coming back here a bad idea?”
    His eyes met hers. “No. This is our chance to start over. To finally make something of our lives. To become successful.”
    â€œWell,” Annabel said, “to do that, we’ll need to honor your mother’s wishes and redo this place like she wanted to do.”
    â€œYeah,” he said, nodding. “That would be a nice tribute to Mom.” He smiled weakly. “Though, as I recall, Gran wasn’t keen on her changing things, either.”
    â€œThe only way to turn this old dump into a moneymaker is to renovate it,” Annabel told him. “That’s the only way we can become successful here.”
    Jack nodded again. “You’re right, babe. I’ll speak to Gran and tell her she’s got to let us do what we need to do.”
    â€œThank you, Jack,” Annabel said, reaching up and kissing him lightly on the lips.
    The little kiss led to another, and then several more. In moments, they were kissing deeply, the first time in a long time. Annabel had feared this moment, had dreaded the idea of being intimate with Jack again, but now that the moment had arrived, she didn’t push it away. She wanted things to be right between her and Jack. They’d embarked on this journey together. They needed to be united, committed. They were starting over.
    She kissed Jack hard, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.
    He cupped her breasts with his hands.
    In moments, they had tumbled backwards onto the bed. Jack had slipped off his shirt and was now pressing Annabel’s over her head. She felt his hot, wet breath on her neck and shoulder. His hands were now pulling down her jeans. She heard the jangle of Jack’s belt buckle unfastening. Annabel tensed and waited.
    But then . . . nothing.
    Jack flopped over onto his back beside her. His eyes were staring straight up at the ceiling.
    â€œI’m sorry,” he whispered.
    â€œIt’s okay, Jack,” she said.
    Annabel didn’t know how she felt. Disappointed? Relieved? She reached over and stroked her husband’s face, but he gently pulled away from her touch.
    â€œI guess I’m just too . . . I don’t know . . . too worked up,” he said, still looking at the ceiling. “It’s all I think about. This has got to work, you know, baby cakes?”
    â€œWhat has got to work?” she asked quietly.
    He finally pulled his eyes away from the ceiling tiles and looked at her. “ This ,” he said. “This house. This business idea. This taking over and making it ours.”
    â€œWe’ll do what we can, Jack. We aren’t miracle workers.”
    He sat up, his face suddenly tense. “No, it’s got to work! I won’t take any failure! I tried so hard with that goddamn book, Annabel. I thought I had the whole success thing figured out. And I failed, sweetheart. I failed!”
    â€œJack, publishing is a tough business. You didn’t fail. The company just didn’t market your book the way they should have.”
    His eyes grew dark. “Bullshit. The book was crap. I’m a lousy writer.” He suddenly grabbed Annabel by the shoulders, making her jump. “This is my last chance, angel pie. I’ve got to make this fucking guesthouse the most successful inn in all of New England! I’ve got to make us rich! This is my goddamn last fucking chance!”
    â€œJack, putting that kind of pressure on yourself isn’t going to help.”
    He let go of her shoulders, his eyes narrowing at her. “What’s the matter, sweet cakes? Don’t you want to be successful? Seems to me, after all you’ve been through,