Max drops onto the sofa and casts an eye around the room.
“The place looks terrific,” she says. “So different from the way it was.”
It is as Ophelia said. Annie and Oliver are no longer intruders; Memory House is now their home. Pieces of their life are visible in the farthest corner of every room. The sweetness of Ophelia’s memory is still here, but now it is simply a memory.
“Wait until you see the loft,” Annie says.
Max follows Annie up the stairs. When she peers into the room she sees the stacks of boxes to be unpacked, curtains waiting to be hung and the ticking of a queen-size mattress that is yet to be covered, but already she can envision the room as it will be.
“Amazing,” she exclaims.
Annie gives a dreamy-eyed grin. “This is going to be the best weekend of my life,” she says. “Tomorrow I’m going to finish this room and make a lamb stew, Oliver’s favorite. Then we’ll sleep here under the stars.”
“Sounds like a perfect night,” Max replies.
“More like a perfect life,” Annie corrects her. “Saturday is the dinner party. You’re coming aren’t you?”
Max nods. “You bet I am.”
“Good. That makes eight. Giselle and Bill, the Jacksons, Andrew, you—”
“Wait a minute,” Max says. “Andrew who?”
“Andrew Steen. Andy was Oliver’s partner in the law firm. He’s really sweet and good-looking. Actually he—”
“This isn’t a blind date, is it?” Max asks suspiciously.
“Of course not,” Annie says. “But I wouldn’t be too disappointed if the two of you happened to hit it off.”
Max scrunches her nose into a look of disdain. “It sounds like a fix-up! You know I’ve sworn off love. It’s fine for you, but it doesn’t work for me.”
“I know,” Annie replies. The sly grin on her face is a sharp contrast to her words.
~ ~ ~
On Friday when the last courtroom session ends, Oliver returns to his office. His face is lined and weary. It has been a long week with too many difficult decisions. Next week promises to be no better. An ever-growing stack of files sits on the corner of his desk calling for attention. Not tonight, he thinks. He scans the folders, selects several of the most critical cases and tucks them into his briefcase.
Over the weekend he’ll find time to review them, but tonight he’s promised Annie he’ll come home early.
When Oliver opens the door, the smell of a bubbling lamb stew greets him. The fragrance comes partly from the stew itself and partly from the hallway potpourri. Annie has promised lamb stew, and he is already thinking of it.
“I’m home,” he calls out.
Annie comes from the kitchen carrying two glasses of red wine. Oliver drops the bulging briefcase alongside the chest of drawers in the hall and takes a glass from her hand.
“Well, now,” he says with a chuckle, “this is just what I need.”
Annie stretches up and kisses his mouth. “Welcome to what is going to be the best weekend of our lives.”
There is the clink of glass against glass as they toast the thought.
As they share a second glass of wine, Oliver’s concerns of the courtroom fade away. He sets aside the images of haggard parents with sorrowful faces, children bristling with anger and advocates with worried brows.
“Ophelia was right,” he tells Annie. “There is a certain magic to this house.” He chuckles again. “You thought the magic was in her…”
Annie stands at the stove stirring the pot. He takes the spoon from her hand, sets it aside and pulls her body into his. He lowers his face to hers, close enough for her to feel the heat of his breath on her cheek.
“But I think the magic is in you,” he whispers, then covers her mouth with his in a kiss that envelopes Annie completely.
She can think of nothing sweeter than having such a kiss last through all of eternity.
When he pulls back she says, “If we don’t eat dinner now, we may not get to it tonight…”
Oliver gives a hearty laugh. “Asking a man to choose between you and the lamb stew is totally unfair!”
“Not choose.” Her lashes flutter as she curls her mouth into a seductive smile. “Just prioritize.”
The sky is dark and the air has grown chilly when they sit down to dinner on the back porch. Candles light the table and the stew is bubbling hot, but the silverware is icy cold to the touch.
“I’m afraid we won’t be able to have too many more dinners out here,” Annie says. As the words leave her mouth an ominous shiver slides up her spine, and she winces.
Oliver notices. “Silly girl. This is never going to end. When we’re ninety and there’s a crust of snow covering the ground, we’ll pull on parkas and toddle out here with our steamy mugs of hot chocolate.”
He laughs and she laughs with him.
Later that night as they lie in bed looking up at the stars, Annie knows this place now belongs to them.
“I wonder if we’ve made a baby tonight,” she murmurs.
“If not,” Oliver whispers, “we can try again tomorrow night and the night after and the night after that…”
Given such a thought, Annie snuggles deeper into his arms. “If it’s a girl, let’s call her Starr.”
“And if it’s a boy we’ll call him Moon. Moon Doyle, now that’s a good football player’s name.”
Annie pokes her elbow into his ribs and giggles.
As they lie there in the bed it is as if all their tomorrows are stretched out before them. It is a new galaxy to travel, a lifetime to get where they are going. By the time they drift off to sleep, the rose color of dawn is already seeping into the sky.
The Dinner Party
On Saturday morning Annie wakes to the splatter of raindrops against the skylight. She snuggles back under the comforter, then remembers the dinner party they have planned.
“Ugh, got to get moving,” she encourages herself sleepily.
She sits up and tries to rub the sleep from her eyes, but before she can push herself any further Oliver throws his arm across her chest and pulls her back down.
“Not yet,” he whispers and kisses her shoulder.
The aura of sleep is still wrapped around him, and it sucks her in.
“I have to get things ready for the party.” Her words have no protest; they are simply a thought that came to mind.
“Stay with me,” Oliver says. “I’ll help do whatever it is later on.”
Annie rolls onto her side facing him. For a few moments she lets herself soak up the beauty of this man who is the whole of her world; then she lazily closes her eyes and lowers her head into the valley of his neck.
It is close to noon when they finally climb from the bed. Annie pulls on a pair of jeans and a tee shirt. Oliver takes a quick shower; she doesn’t. The truth is she likes the smell of him that lingers on her skin.
Even though there is a chill in the air and rain still drips from the eves, they sit on the back porch to have hazelnut coffee and cinnamon biscuits.
Annie looks across at Oliver, his hair still wet from the shower, his smile soft and easy.
“Tell me again,” she says. “Tell me how when we’re ninety we’ll still be as we are today.”
He laughs. “We won’t be exactly as we are today. My hair will be silver, and you’ll have laugh lines in the corners of your eyes but, ah, what wonderful memories we’ll have.”
Annie smiles and leans into his words.
“We’ll cover ourselves with a woolen lap robe and bask in the glow of all that we’ve gone through together.” He gives a raucous laugh. “Like remembering the time when we invited all those people for dinner and never got ready.”
Annie jumps up. “Oh, my gosh, we’d better get moving.”
When the guests arrive at seven, Annie is showered and dressed. In the oven are eight tiny Cornish hens stuffed with rice. The table is set with the Rosenthal china handed down from Edward’s mother to Ophelia and from
Ophelia to Annie.
Outside of Ophelia’s welcome home dinner party, which turned out to be a disaster, this is the first dinner party Annie has ever prepared. She has fussed over every tiny detail. Made place cards for each guest, set out a tray of wines and liquors, and followed line-by-line instructions in the Betty Crocker cookbook. Although she is perfectly at home mixing herbs and potions in the apothecary, she is a nervous wreck preparing a dinner such as this.
Max is the first to arrive. “Am I too early?”
Annie shakes her head. “Not at all. I could use an extra hand to help serve these hors d’oeuvres.”
Gisele and Bill arrive at the same time as the Jacksons, and by the time Oliver opens the door they’ve introduced themselves to one another. Harry and Francine Jackson own the townhouse next door to Oliver’s.
Andrew is the last to arrive. He comes with a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine. When he is introduced to Max she is carrying a tray of hors d’oeuvres and his hands are both full, so they each give a cordial nod and keep moving.
A short while later Max corners Annie in the kitchen about Andrew.
“The poor guy doesn’t know what to say,” she says. “He thinks this is a fix up. Did you tell him I’m not the least bit interested in anything that’s even remotely romantic?”
“Of course I did,” Annie says. “He’s just a kind of shy person.”
“A lawyer who’s shy?” Max laughs. “Now that’s an oxymoron.”
“I heard that,” Andrew says, appearing suddenly. He hands Annie the flowers. “I thought you might want to put these in a vase.”
“I’m sorry,” Max stutters. “I wasn’t trying to—”
“No problem,” Andrew says with a grin. “But just for the record, I’m not the least bit interested in anything remotely romantic either.”
Once he leaves the room Max looks around to make certain no one is behind her this time, then lets go of loud whoosh of air.
“That was uncomfortable to say the least.”
Annie smiles. “I don’t think Andrew’s angry. It sounded like he kind of thought it was funny.”
Even as she says this, Annie thinks perhaps she should rearrange the place cards indicating where each person should sit.
When they finally sit down to dinner, Andrew is at the far end of the table on the opposite side from Max.
Other than that tiny little moment of awkwardness, the evening goes smoothly. Everyone raves about the dinner, and Oliver brags of Annie’s many talents.
“It’s a lucky man who can find beauty and brains in one package,” he quips. Before the evening ends Annie knows the dinner party has been a success. Everyone exchanges phone numbers, and they leave claiming they must do this again soon.
“Very soon,” Annie and Oliver echo as they wave goodbye to the last of the guests.
Although the hour is late and she is up to her elbows in a pan of soapy water with the last of the dishes, Annie has never been happier. Gone are the lonely nights, the pretense of being someone other than herself, the heartaches. Now there is only the promise of a future more wonderful than anything she could have ever imagined.
Annie
You’re not going to believe this, but a little over a year ago I was a total mess. I thought I was in love with Michael, a man who thought way more of himself than he did of me. A man like that tells you you’re worthless and lucky to stand in his shadow; then before long he has you believing it’s true.
The day Michael walked out on me was the luckiest day of my life. I didn’t think so at the time, but looking back I know for sure it was.
I would have never come to Memory House if not for that.
Once I got to know Ophelia and started to learn about the magic of memories, I couldn’t wait to get here each weekend and see what new adventure was in store for me. I thought surely those were the best days of my life.
Then I met Oliver.
Now I know for certain these are the best days of my life.
I never dreamed love could be so wonderful. If a fairy godmother walked up to me right this minute and said she’d grant any wish I wanted, I couldn’t think of a single thing to wish for. I’ve got everything I’ll ever need to be happy.
Nothing, and I truly do mean nothing, could ever spoil this happiness Oliver and I have. When you have a love like this, you feel like you’re the richest woman in the world.
When he talks about how we are going to grow old together, I feel like I’m living in a fairy tale. Only this time I get to be the princess.
The Weight of Happiness
Once a stone has been added to the scale of life, it can never be removed. This is the law laid down before the dawn of time. Centuries upon centuries have passed, and still the law stands. There has never been an exception, and no one has ever dared to challenge what is known only as the law.
The Keeper of the Scale knew this when he added the rose-colored stone to the happiness side of Annie’s scale. He looked into the future and saw what was to come, but at the time he believed the loneliness and sorrow of her early years were weighty enough to hold the scale in balance. Now he has come to regret his actions.
No one, not even the Keeper of the Scale, could foretell a happiness so great it would topple the scale itself.
The Keeper eyed Annie’s scale with a steely grey eye and rubbed his hand across his chin. He lifted a cluster of small river stones into his hand and dropped the first one onto the side of sorrow. The scale remained as it was.
He dropped a second stone. Then a third, a fourth and a fifth. Still Annie’s happiness remained unshakable. He finally lifted the jagged black rock into his hand, and with a sigh so mournful it caused the earth to tremble he dropped the stone onto the side of sorrow.
The Premonition
On Monday morning when Oliver kisses Annie goodbye, he warns he might be late getting home.
“I need to spend some time going over Cooper’s case files,” he says.
“If it gets too late, be sure to call me,” Annie replies.
Her brows are pinched and the right side of her mouth tucked tight, because for some strange and totally unexplainable reason she has developed a worrisome tick in her head.
Oliver chucks her under the chin. “Don’t worry.”
Annie stands and watches as he climbs into his car and backs out of the driveway. “Right,” she mumbles. “What is there to worry about?”
In her mind Annie thumbs through a list of things that could possibly go wrong this day, and still she finds nothing.
She turns back inside the house and walks from room to room as though there is something she has missed, but still there is nothing. No leftover boxes left to unpack, no piece of furniture stuck in the wrong place, no drawer left hanging open. But still the feeling of uneasiness is stuck in her chest. Some troublesome thing tugs at her heart.
Today there is work to do in the apothecary. She has three drying racks filled with herbs, leaves, roots and vines. They all need to be mulled, crushed into granules and mixed together. She is in the middle of carving a piece of ginger root into chunks when the feeling comes again.
It’s not a memory. It’s a premonition.
Something is not as it should be.
Annie leaves the apothecary and walks through the house a second time; that’s when she sees Oliver’s briefcase standing alongside the chest of drawers in the front hall.
“That’s it!” she exclaims.
She dials his cell phone number. It rings five times; then the message clicks on. “I am unavailable…”
Annie pushes “End” and doesn’t bother leaving a message. Instead she grabs a sweater from the closet, picks up the briefcase and climbs into her car. When she backs out of the driveway, she is smiling. She can already picture the delight on Oliver’s face when she walks in and hands him the forgotten briefcase.
It is after ten by the time she arrives at the courthouse. Oliver’s court is already in session.
�
�If this is an emergency, I can pass Judge Doyle a note and let him know you’re here,” the clerk says.
Disappointment is written across Annie’s face, but she says it is not an emergency. She hands the clerk the briefcase.
“He went off without this,” she says. “Could you see that he gets it?”
“Absolutely.” The clerk nods.
Annie thanks him and walks away. Not seeing Oliver is a disappointment but nothing to be alarmed about. She is on her way back to the elevator when she turns and walks toward room 203. Just beneath the room number, his nameplate has been slid into place: Judge Oliver Doyle. On the bench across the hall there is a young mother with two children. They all sit in silence, the girl with her head in the woman’s lap, the boy sucking his thumb as he clings to his mother.
For a moment Annie considers slipping into the courtroom and watching, but it seems an invasion. Oliver has said custody battle judgments are often heart wrenching and difficult to sort through; she is certain seeing her there would make it more so.
When Annie leaves the courthouse she checks her watch. It is only ten-thirty. Although she has a fair bit of work to do at the apothecary, the day in front of her now seems longer, emptier and more stretched out.
Since she is already in Wyattsville, she telephones Max.
“Have you got time to go for coffee?” she asks. “I’ve got something I’d like to talk about.”
“Sorry,” Max says. “My client wants these drawings by four o’clock. If it’s something important, I can stop by the house later.”
“Nothing important,” Annie says. “We can catch up tomorrow.”
On the way home Annie takes the long route, the one that circles around Wyattsville and past Baylor Towers. Since she is already there she stops in to see Ophelia.
The Loft Page 11
