Love in New York ; Cherish My Heart

by Shirley Hailstock

  “And speaking of your photos,” Minette chimed in. “The photo of you sold last night.”

  “Really?” She glanced from Minette to Jerome. Susan had learned not to get too close to a photo unless she didn’t want to part with it. She liked the photo of herself, but she didn’t have any regrets over having agreed to let it be put up for sale. Her photos of André that she’d taken on the street in front of the House of Thorn were too personal. Even if she had a show, she would never display or sell those photos.

  “It went for a lot more than I thought it would,” Jerome said.

  “It’s an original Jerome Marchand,” Susan told him, as if he didn’t already know. “I’m sure the buyer will let everyone know that.”

  “And how did your evening go?” Jerome asked. “After you dumped my show.”

  “I’m sorry about that, but I felt like I needed a little air.”

  “And did you get it?”

  She smiled sheepishly. “Oxygen was plentiful.”

  “Can we take that to mean that the thorn that was bothering you has been removed?” Jerome asked.

  “Well, he no longer believes I’m a gold digger, I think,” she added.

  “He doesn’t know who you are?”

  Susan glanced at Minette. She didn’t know either, and the confused look on her face said as much.

  “You haven’t told him?” Jerome asked.

  “Wait,” Minette said. “What are you two talking about?”

  “Please, let’s drop this,” Susan said. “He knows I’m Susan Dewhurst.”

  “No,” Minette spoke. “You can’t drop a comment like that and just let it go.”

  “Let’s just say we’ve talked and we’ve decided to move on.”

  “So you’re not going to tell me,” Minette stated.

  “Soon,” Susan said.

  Susan could tell Minette wasn’t satisfied, but she wouldn’t pursue it. Everyone had secrets. She was sure Minette had some too. For the time being, Susan’s would remain safely hidden away. She would tell André. Jerome had intimated that she should have told him by now. She knew that was true.

  The next time she saw him, she’d make sure he knew.

  * * *

  André hummed the same song he’d heard Susan singing a few days ago, as he walked through the store. He hummed often these days. Since he and Susan had decided to date, he found himself thinking of her all the time. The thoughts made him happy. He wanted to tell the world about her, but he settled for Jessica, who asked about her all the time, and his brothers, David and Blake. Christian and Carter had met her, but he hadn’t said anything more to them since the ball. They may think she was just his date for the night. She was more than that.

  A whole lot more.

  “Hi, André,” Jessica said as he reached her department. “Have you talked Susan into coming back yet?”

  He smiled, shaking his head.

  “I’m meeting her for lunch tomorrow. Maybe I can convince her how much she’s needed here.”

  “Good luck with that,” he said.

  Since Jerome had arrived from Italy, she’d been practically living with André, and he liked it that way. She’d meet him for dinner after work, and they’d spend the night making love. Then they’d talk long into the night, holding each other until they fell asleep. André loved it. He wanted her with him all the time. He wanted to listen to her dreams and tell her his.

  “Customer—gotta go,” Jessica said.

  André looked around, remembering when Susan had been there. He thought back to the night they had moved the beds and added the photos.

  “Excuse me—who are you looking for?” André heard Jessica ask. He glanced back. She was talking to a customer and he recognized Jessica’s customer-relations manner—interested, confident and smiling. He stood up straighter because he also remembered seeing the customer before.

  “Marcia Atherton,” the woman said. “She’s from my hometown. I talked to her here about a month ago, when I was visiting. She works here. My job has sent me back here for a business conference, and I thought Marcia and I might have dinner or go to a show together.”

  Marcia, André thought. Had he heard her say Marcia before? André stepped closer. Jessica glanced at him.

  “We don’t have anyone here named Marcia,” Jessica told her. “No one by that name has ever worked in this department, not as long as I’ve been here, but...” She paused. Using her hand, she invited André into the conversation. “This is our store president. Has anyone named Marcia ever worked in this department?”

  “Not in this one,” he said.

  “That’s odd,” the woman said, questioning herself. “I know her whole family. We’re from Montana.”

  “Mountainview, Montana?” André asked. He was almost afraid to say the words.

  “Yes,” she smiled broadly as if that bit of news was the key that opened the treasure chest.

  “We had an employee from there, but I can’t give you any information about her,” Jessica said. She’d stepped in and helped André, who was trying to process the news. They only had one former employee from Mountainview, Montana.

  “If you’re a friend of the family, maybe you should reach out to them and get her phone number.”

  He heard Jessica speaking, but the sound seemed to come from a long distance away.

  “Good idea,” the woman said. “I’ll give them a call.”

  She thanked them and pulled out her cell phone as she left the department. Marcia, André thought. Could that be Susan? Susan was from Mountainview, Montana.

  Who was she? André suddenly had no idea who the woman he’d confessed his love to was. Had she been lying to him from the beginning? Marcia—the name repeated in his head. That was the name the woman had said before.

  “André.” Jessica’s voice snapped him back to his surroundings. Both of them looked at the escalator, where the woman had gone. “Do you think she means Susan? Isn’t that the place where Susan lived?”

  He turned to her. “Susan is the only person I’ve ever met from Mountainview.”

  “How could she get a job here under an assumed name?”

  André wondered that too. “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”

  * * *

  “Marcia Atherton.”

  André’s voice boomed in the high-ceiling room of his apartment. Susan had arrived, as she usually did about this time. As she had lifted her camera-bag strap over her head and set it on the sofa table, André had called her by her real name. Her back had stiffened and she’d stopped in the act. A beat later—too long to say she didn’t understand him—she turned to face him.

  The blood had drained from her face, and her heart hammered in her chest. She was sure he could see the movement of it against her dress.

  “Who is Marcia Atherton?” he asked.

  “I can explain,” she said, putting a hand up, as if to ward him off, even though he hadn’t moved from the darkened area of the entrance. “How did you learn that name?”

  “Does it matter? It’s yours, isn’t it?”

  Susan didn’t answer. She searched her brain for something to say, but the hard, cold anger in André’s voice stifled her speech.

  “It was mine,” she said.

  “Why change it and not tell me?”

  “I planned to tell you, but—”

  “But you conveniently forgot,” André argued. “Why did you need to become someone else? Is it because you needed a new identity to cover something up?”

  “I did, but not the way you’re implying. I haven’t done anything wrong or anything illegal,” she said, defensively.

  “You’re a liar and who knows what else?”

  Susan was shocked, dazed and angry.

  “I can see you don’t want to hear anything I have to say. You’ve a
lready decided I’m a villain, and anything I tell you would be suspect or an out-and-out lie.” She stopped and took a breath. “I had and still have a very good reason for what I did. I don’t apologize for it.”

  “What is this reason?”

  Susan didn’t like the sarcasm, and she liked being accused of something even less.

  “I told you once I wasn’t a gold digger. That is the truth. But you don’t want to believe it. How can we have anything based on trust if you—”

  “Me!” He fumed. “I’m not the one who hasn’t been honest, hasn’t told the truth. You, however, have been lying to me since the day we met, and while you’ve had ample opportunities to come clean, you’ve chosen to continue this deception.”

  “You’re right, I have. And long after I’ve gone, after I’m not even a memory in your accusing mind, I’ll still have a good reason.”

  Susan grabbed her camera bag and headed for the door. André stood in her way. She stopped in front of him, waiting for him to move. He turned, giving her enough room to pass. She took one step and faltered. Then she went out the door and took care not to slam it, as she had wanted to do. She had wanted to hear the angry sound reverberate down the long hall. But it was the last thing she’d seen that had stopped her from doing so. André had bought her photo. She had seen the framed photo lying on the table where André always dropped his mail upon coming into the apartment.

  She took several breaths as she waited for the elevator. On the street, she walked. The camera bag felt like a weight hanging from her neck, but she ignored it and continued walking until her heartbeat returned to normal and her breath wasn’t coming in short pants. Susan looked at her life as a day late. She’d planned to tell André all about herself, confess that Susan Dewhurst wasn’t the name she was born with, but it was her legal name. She was going to tell him about the money, about the need to keep under the radar because of shady characters who wanted to scam her out of her winnings.

  He had to understand that those people existed and prayed on the ignorant and unsuspecting. Susan was a businesswoman, and she had known when the calls had started that any financial manager who called her wasn’t someone she wanted to hire. A man of André’s standing, someone who commanded his net worth, couldn’t escape those kinds of people. But he had the advantage of family behind him. He’d grown up in a financially affluent environment. He’d probably had a financial advisor from birth.

  She hadn’t.

  Susan slowly entered her apartment. She blew out a breath, and her shoulders dropped when she realized Jerome was out and the place was empty. He’d instantly know something was wrong, and she’d find herself pouring out the wrong story to him.

  And after reviewing everything, she would know that André’s anger was justified and he was right overall. She should have told him when they had begun to get serious about each other. Susan had been protecting herself from the world for so long, it was natural for her to keep her former identity a secret.

  Susan Dewhurst was her legal identity. And no one should have to defend their legal identity.

  * * *

  Jerome had been out of the apartment most of the day and night. When he came in, Susan was already in bed. She wasn’t asleep, but she didn’t open her door to acknowledge him or have a long talk. She didn’t want to let him know about the argument she’d had with André. She didn’t want to show her wounds. André’s distrust of her, even though she had deceived him, cut deeply.

  In the morning, she knew Jerome needed to talk to his daughter. Susan gave them room. Leaving them in her apartment, she decided to go shopping. She hadn’t been in the House of Thorn since she’d left, but she gravitated to their clothes. She knew she couldn’t go there. André might be on the floor, and she wasn’t sure that Jessica wouldn’t call him if she saw Susan in the store.

  She went to other stores. Yet after several hours of browsing and trying on one item after another, she returned with only a headache. Opening the door, she was prepared to call out and let them know she had returned, but the sound of laughter stopped her.

  Things must have gone well if they were laughing. Susan entered and peered around the living room wall to the kitchen. Neither was sitting at the table between the two windows, which was strewn with empty espresso cups and the remnants of cheese, fruit, and bread.

  Minette and Jerome were both in front of the stove, where several large pots were placed over an open flame.

  “It needs more oregano,” Minette said.

  “It needs more salt,” Jerome contradicted.

  They laughed again.

  Susan braced herself, hoping there were no telltale signs of her night of tossing and turning. “How’s it going?” Susan asked, mustering as much joy as she could.

  “Susan,” Minette exclaimed. “Come here and taste this.” She held up a spoon with a red sauce. “We’re making spaghetti sauce and this needs more oregano.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Jerome contradicted again.

  “What’s going on?” Susan asked.

  “She’s just like her mother.” Jerome pointed to his daughter.

  “They could never agree on the spaghetti sauce,” Minette said.

  Susan had to open her mouth, as Minette was prodding her with a spoon. She tasted the sauce. It was delicious.

  “So, what does it need?” she asked.

  “More salt,” Jerome answered. “We had to start with one of your store-bought sauces and doctor it up. Now it just needs a little more salt.”

  Susan didn’t say anything. She thought it was perfect the way it was, but both of her guests were looking to her to make a decision.

  “I think it could use both,” she said. “Not much of either—just a pinch.”

  “See, I told you.” Jerome was the first to declare victory. He dumped a single shake of salt into the mixture. Minette followed with a few crushed oregano leaves. Jerome stirred and, a few minutes later, stated it was perfect.

  He lowered the heat, covered the pot and put the spaghetti on. Minette pulled a sleeve of bread out and began cutting it for garlic bread.

  “Can I help with anything?” Susan asked.

  “We have it all under control.” Jerome smiled. “You can sit down and we’ll serve you.”

  “I can choose a bottle of wine,” she said.

  It wasn’t long after that the table was loaded with spaghetti, meat sauce, salad, wine and bread. Jerome began the toasting, and soon they were all part of a celebration that had no attached holiday.

  “I’m glad to see you two smiling,” Susan said when they’d finished the meal. She sat back and enjoyed a second glass of wine. “You worked things out, right?” Her gaze swung from face to face.

  “We did.” Minette smiled at her dad. “I don’t know if dad told you, but when he and Mom divorced, I stayed with Mom.”

  “I don’t need to know this,” Susan said. “It’s enough that you’re friends and you’re talking to each other.”

  They appeared to accept her comment. “How is your mom?” Jerome asked Minette.

  “She’s doing fine. I spoke with her yesterday. I told her you were here.”

  Jerome stiffened. Susan noticed it.

  “What did she say to that?”

  “Not much, although I think she still loves you.”

  “That’s unlikely,” Jerome said.

  “She’s never remarried.”

  “That could just mean I ruined her trust in men.”

  “Not always,” Susan said. “We’ve all had our hearts broken a time or two, but we get over it.”

  Jerome was shaking his head as she spoke.

  “You haven’t remarried either, Dad. Why is that?”

  Jerome bought himself some time by taking a slow drink of the sangria. “Your mom is the love of my life.” He stated a fact. “It isn’t that I haven’t be
en in relationships, but none of them even came close to evoking the type of feeling I have for your mom. She’s the love of my life. I guess I’m just cursed.”

  “Maybe not,” Susan said. Both sets of eyes turned to her. “You can talk to her. Time has gone by. You’re no longer the same person you were when you were married. She probably isn’t either. Why don’t you give her a call?”

  “I’m sure I’m the last person she wants to hear from.”

  “I don’t know,” Minette said. “She bought one of your photos.”

  “What?”

  “The phone purchase. That was Mom.”

  Jerome appeared to be speechless.

  * * *

  Susan had left her mark on André. He’d left the store and walked to the park across from the famous post office with the quote that millions of people recognized. He could call this a safe place. He’d never been here with Susan. At the store or his apartment, he couldn’t look in any direction or speak to any employee who didn’t tell him how her suggestions or her friendship had touched them. For someone with such a short employment record at the House of Thorn, she’d had a huge impact. He would applaud her for that, if it didn’t hurt so much.

  He’d spent part of the morning searching the internet for information on Susan—something he’d vowed not to do. But when the name Marcia Atherton from Mountainview, Montana, came up, André had to find out about her.

  If she’d had a website for her business, it had been taken down. He found reviews related to framing, but clicking on them repeatedly returned the 404 error message. Even the newspaper account of the fire listed the name of the building’s owner, but the name of the business owner had been withheld. Had she been burned? André rejected that. He’d been over every inch of Susan’s body, and she had no scars.

  At least no physical ones.

  “They told me at the store I could find you here.”

  André didn’t hear the voice at first. He was lost in his own world. He looked up as a shadow fell over him. Jerome stood there, with a small suitcase in his hand.