The Inn by William Patterson Page B

you’d want a second chance to prove yourself, too.”
    â€œProve myself to who?”
    â€œAnnabel,” her husband said, “I don’t want this house to blow up in our faces, leaving me to rot somewhere in the city and you back on the blow.”
    â€œI’m never going back on the blow, Jack,” she told him. “No matter what happens.”
    He stood, shrugging. “You gotta hope not. That’s why we need this to work, angel face. For both of us. Get a big glossy profile in Travel & Leisure magazine.”
    Annabel didn’t stand. She just sat there in her panties and her unhooked, crooked bra, looking at him. “I fully intend to do everything I can to make this place successful, Jack. That’s why I wanted you to set some ground rules with your grandmother. But it’s not life or death, Jack. I refuse to see it that way. If I learned anything in rehab it’s that we always have choices. We always have options. If not this, there will be other things—”
    â€œNo!” Jack cut her off. “It’s this, babe! This!” He suddenly looked defeated. “I don’t have the strength to try again if this fails.”
    He buttoned up his shirt and buckled his belt and headed for the door.
    â€œI’m going to go talk to Gran. Tell her we’re going to start renovating the place.” He smiled at Annabel. “First thing tomorrow morning.”
    She gave him a weak smile of consent. He left the room.
    Annabel wasn’t unhappy. This was what she wanted. She had some great ideas about how she could fix the house up. She’d start with the parlor, then the bedrooms.
    But Jack’s all-or-nothing attitude troubled her. She guessed that, in her own struggle in overcoming her addictions, she’d failed to see just how profoundly Jack had been affected by his own career troubles. Annabel had known how disappointed he was, but she now understood the disappointment had gone very deep. It had been publicly very humiliating for him to get such universally terrible reviews. It had called into question his whole life’s game plan. Suddenly, she felt terribly sorry for Jack.
    She fixed her bra, slipped her shirt back on, and pulled up her jeans.
    The only thing to do was to get moving.
    Annabel pulled out her computer and hit the power button, before suddenly remembering there was no Internet in this godforsaken place. How was she supposed to find the best local contractors to hire to start the work on the house?
    The old-fashioned way, she told herself.
    She dug out of her pocket the card she had picked up at the market yesterday. M ILLIE W ESTERBROOK , it read. Proprietor . And underneath was the phone number.
    Annabel whipped out her phone. Not many bars, but enough. She entered the number of the market.
    â€œWoodfield Market,” a woman’s voice chirped.
    â€œHi, this is Annabel Wish. I was in yesterday?”
    A moment of silence on the other end.
    â€œI just moved into the Blue Boy Inn.”
    â€œOh, sure,” Millie said, her voice filling with recognition. “What can I do for you, honey?”
    â€œI’m wondering if you might be able to recommend a good contractor.”
    â€œWell, the best around is Charlie Appleby. He and his sons do good work.”
    â€œTerrific,” Annabel said. “Do you think they’d be able to start work right away?”
    Millie laughed. “Had enough of all that dust and gloom already, huh?”
    â€œI figure if we can start now, maybe we’ll be up and running by summer.”
    â€œCharlie’s pretty busy, but he could probably get one of his boys to start giving you a hand. Hold on. Let me get his number for you.”
    â€œThanks, Millie.”
    Annabel smiled. It felt good to be taking the first step.

19
    â€œO h, I’m sorry,” Jack said. “I didn’t know anyone Owas in there.”
    Priscilla blushed a deep crimson, holding the