The Gift by Danielle Steel Page B

said quietly. “Annie. She was five. She died just after Christmas.” He got out of the truck then, without saying anything more, and went to get his fishing pole as Maribeth watched him, wondering if that was the pain one saw so easily in his eyes, if that was why he never went home to his parents.
    She got out of the truck, and followed him to the lake. They found a quiet spot at the end of a sandy beach and he slipped off his jeans. He had bathing trunks on, and he unbuttoned his shirt as she watched him. For the flash of an instant, she thought of Paul, but there was no similarity between them. None. Paul was sophisticated and smooth, and very much the man-about-campus. He was also married by then, and he was part of another life. Everything about Tommy was wholesome and pure. He seemed very innocent, and incredibly nice, and she was startled by how much she liked him.
    She sat down on the sand next to him, while he baited his hook.
    “What was she like?” Her voice was very soft, and he didn't look up from what he was doing.
    “Annie?” He looked up at the sun, and then closed his eyes for a second before glancing at Maribeth. He didn't want to talk about it, and yet with her he felt as if he could. He knew they were going to be friends but he wanted more than that from her. She had great legs, and great eyes, a smile that melted him, and a sensational figure. But he wanted to be her friend too. He wanted to do things for her, to be there for her when she needed a friend, and he sensed that she did now, although he wasn't sure why. But there was something very vulnerable about her.
    “She was the sweetest kid that ever lived, big blue eyes, and white-blond hair. She looked like the little angel on top of the Christmas tree …and sometimes she was a little devil. She used to tease me, and follow me everywhere. We made a big snowman right before she died….” His eyes filled with tears and he shook his head. It was the first time he had ever talked about her to anyone, and it was hard for him. Maribeth could see that. “I really miss her,” he admitted in a voice that was barely more than a croak, as Maribeth touched his arm with gentle fingers.
    “It's okay to cry …I'll bet you miss her a lot. Was she sick for a long time?”
    “Two days. We thought she just had influenza, or a cold or something. It was meningitis. They couldn't do anything. She just went. I kept thinking it should have been me afterwards. I mean, why her? Why a little tiny kid like that? She was only five years old, she never did anything to hurt anyone, she never did anything but make us happy. I was ten when she was born, and she was so funny and soft and warm and cuddly, like a little puppy.” He smiled, thinking about her, and moved closer to Maribeth on the warm sand, laying his pole down beside him. In a funny way, it felt good talking about her now, as though it brought her back to him for the briefest of moments. He never talked to anyone about her anymore. No one ever brought her up, and he knew he couldn't say anything to his parents.
    “Your parents must have taken it pretty hard,” Maribeth said, wise beyond her years, and almost as though she knew them.
    “Yeah. Everything kind of stopped when she died. My parents stopped talking to each other, or even to me. No one says anything, or goes anywhere. No one smiles. They never talk about her. They never talk about anything. Mom hardly ever cooks anymore, Dad never comes home from work till ten o'clock. It's like none of us can stand being in the house without her. Mom's going back to work full-time in the fall. It's like everyone's given up because she's gone. She didn't just die, we did too. I hate being home now. It's so dark and depressing. I hate walking past her room, everything seems so empty.” Maribeth just listened to him, she had slipped her hand into his, and they were looking out over the lake together.
    “Do you ever feel her there with you, like when you think