The Inn Read Online Free Page B

lending Annabel support and encouragement. Even as his own dreams of success had withered away, he hadn’t given up on Annabel’s.
    Jack had thought he was on the fast track to the big time. In those heady first months after their hasty marriage, they’d imagined themselves the Next Big Power Couple. How excited he had been when a big publishing house bought the novel he’d been laboring over since college. It was a deep, involved story of a young man and his search for meaning in a world that was increasingly impersonal and commercial. Annabel thought that was ironic, given that Jack was always saying what he wanted most from his book was a contract for a Hollywood blockbuster so they’d get rich, rich, rich. When that hadn’t happened—after much advance publicity, the reviewers had called the book “tedious” and “pretentious”—Jack had been devastated.
    And it was just at that moment that Annabel’s career had started its dizzying ascent. Her eventual crash was even more spectacular than Jack’s.
    Now here they both were, in the middle of the woods, miles and miles from civilization, in a place called the Blue Boy Inn.
    Where Tommy Tricky lives , Annabel thought.
    She smiled over at Jack.
    â€œI didn’t mean to doubt you,” she said. “I know you support me. I couldn’t have gotten through everything without you.”
    Jack beamed, leaned over toward her, and kissed her on the forehead.
    â€œI’ll see you downstairs, hon,” he said. “You really ought to try Gran’s rabbit stew. I know you don’t want to eat bunnies, but, really, it’s out of this world.”
    â€œI’ll pass on it for now,” she told him.
    He winked at her and bounded out of the room.
    Annabel looked around. How small the room was. So square and the ceilings were so low. The whole place smelled like old, wet wood. And rabbit stew. Annabel shivered.
    She would never last here.
    But she had to. There was nowhere else.
    No other choice.
    She would make the best of it. She would redesign this place. It was theirs, after all. The old woman was signing over the property to them. After that, they could do what they liked. Annabel needed a project. She could do this. She could bring in carpenters and painters and electricians. She still had some contacts over at the HG television network. Maybe she ought to pitch them a reality show set in the woods of western Massachusetts, as a former New York socialite tries to remake an old house....
    And her life.
    No, Annabel didn’t want cameras around for that.
    She looked out the window again, at the gnarled branches so close to the house. It’s like they’re trying to suffocate us , Annabel thought.
    When was the last time she and Jack had made love?
    The thought struck Annabel suddenly and unexpectedly. She paused. She couldn’t remember. Yes, wait, now she could. It had been three weeks ago. Right after he’d gotten the call from his grandmother. Jack had been so excited by the idea. He’d started kissing Annabel all over the face. “This is it, sweet cakes!” he had shouted. “The answer to our doldrums! Our new path! Our way out of the city! We’re going to be huge successes there. Just you wait and see!”
    The fact that Annabel hadn’t wanted to leave the city was immaterial. She had been bulldozed by Jack’s enthusiasm. And by his amorous advances. His big hands had suddenly been all over her. She hadn’t wanted to make love that day, but Jack had insisted. Annabel had given in, and then, while he was inside her, she had started to cry, wanting to enjoy it, wanting to love sex the way she used to—wanting to love Jack the way she used to. How much Annabel wanted to love everything in her life the way she once had in days gone by—before the drugs and the breakdown and the humiliation.
    â€œBaby doll,” Jack had said, looking down at