The Color of a Memory

by Julianne MacLean

  My greeting was met with a few seconds of silence, which made me think it was a telemarketer. I was about to press the end call button, but the unknown caller hung up before I had a chance to.

  It happened again the following morning at eight o’clock, waking me from a very deep sleep. I flopped across the bed and answered groggily, “Hello?”

  Again I was met with silence on the other end, then click. The line went dead.

  “Thanks a lot,” I replied as I ended the call and tried, unsuccessfully, to go back to sleep.

  How foolish I was to think it was a wrong number, but my night shift hours that week had left me in a daze.

  But eventually, I would wake from it.

  * * *

  I didn’t work another shift until Tuesday night, which gave me time to attend a spinning class that morning and meet my friend Cathy for lunch downtown.

  Cathy and I had known each other since high school and I was her maid of honor the previous summer when she married Bob, the guy she met in college.

  Bob was an electrician but he was working with some filmmaker pals on a reality TV show about rewiring old houses. Bob was smart and funny and we all knew he’d make a terrific host. They just had to pitch their idea to a network willing to take a chance on the idea.

  As for Cathy, she was the most generous, easygoing person I knew, and she worked part-time for an insurance company.

  “Audrey, why don’t we go down to the fire station after lunch and ask how that hot firefighter’s doing?” she suggested when our soups and salads arrived. “I’m sure someone will know. Didn’t you say he brought a friend to the ER? We could ask that guy.”

  “I’m not going down there,” I replied, “because I have no desire to find out how he’s doing. And why do you keep bringing it up?”

  “Because you told me what he looked like shirtless and what a jerk he was for cheating on his girlfriend. You never talk about patients like that. Isn’t there some rule about confidentiality?”

  “I also never went out with him,” I replied, “so in actuality, he didn’t cheat on his girlfriend. And confidentiality hasn’t been breached because I didn’t tell you his name.”

  She wagged her salad fork at me. “But he would have cheated on her if you had said yes to the date.”

  I shook my head. “I still don’t even know if she was his girlfriend. He was pretty vague about it.”

  “There, you see?” Cathy said. “You’re still curious about him.”

  I looked down at my minestrone soup. “No, I’m not.”

  “You’re the biggest liar I know.”

  “Maybe so,” I replied with a chuckle, “but I’m still not going down to the fire station.”

  * * *

  I had been manning the nurse’s station for a few hours that night when Jason, the clerk beside me, tapped me on the shoulder. “Audrey?”

  I looked up from the computer screen to find myself staring blankly at Alex Fitzgerald. He stood on crutches on the other side of the desk.

  “Hey,” I said, blinking my eyes to try and gain some focus. “What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

  As if he were pulling a rabbit out of a hat, he whipped out a big bunch of colorful spring flowers and held them out. “These are for you.”

  Leaning back in my chair, folding my arms across my chest, I laughed. “What for?”

  “To say thank you.”

  I regarded him skeptically. “I was just doing my job.”

  “But you did it brilliantly.” He glanced at Jason who was standing beside me, listening to our conversation with interest. “I’m here to ask her out for dinner, but I’m afraid she’s going to say no.”

  Jason nudged me with his elbow. Hard. “Come on, Audrey. Throw the guy a bone. He came all the way down here on crutches. The least you could do is have something to eat with him.”

  “I’m working,” I reminded them both.

  “You have a supper break coming up,” Jason was happy to add. “She usually eats in the cafeteria,” he told Alex.

  Alex held out the flowers again. “Perfect. I love cafeteria food, and these need to be put in water.”

  Jason reached across the desk to take them. “I’ll handle that.”

  “You’re not helping,” I called out to Jason over my shoulder as he went off in search of a suitable container.

  Alex smiled at me.

  “How’s your foot?” I asked him.

  “Better,” he replied. “I’m getting around okay. How’s everything with you?”

  “Fine and dandy.”

  We regarded each other for a long, intense moment, then I laughed softly in defeat.

  “So is that a yes?” Alex asked, tilting his head to the side.

  Jason returned with the flowers, set them down on the desk in front of me and nudged me again with his elbow.

  I let out a breathless sigh. “I guess so. As long as you promise to keep your shirt on this time.”

  Alex held up a few fingers. “Scout’s honor. At least for today.”

  I tossed my pencil onto the desk and went to grab my purse, feeling quite certain that agreeing to have dinner with Alex Fitzgerald was going to be one of the worst mistakes of my life.

  Chapter Four

  “Just so you know,” I said as we stepped onto the elevator. “I don’t date guys who have girlfriends.” I pushed the button for the cafeteria floor.

  “Perfect,” he said. “Neither do I.”

  A few other people got on behind us and the doors closed. Neither of us spoke until the doors opened again and we got off.

  “And she’s not my girlfriend,” Alex said, falling into pace beside me on his crutches.

  “But she used to be,” I said—just to make sure I had all the facts straight.

  Alex nodded. “Yes.”

  I considered that for a moment. “Does she know she’s not your girlfriend anymore? Because she didn’t seem too pleased to see you flirting with me the other day.”

  “If anyone was flirting, it was you,” he teasingly replied.

  I couldn’t help but laugh softly as we entered the cafeteria and I grabbed two trays, one for each of us.

  “See, you’re still doing it,” he said.

  I laughed again. “And who came down here with the flowers?”

  He smiled at me. “Fine. You win.”

  We ordered our meals and I carried both our trays, one at a time, to a table.

  “Maybe I should have waited until I got the cast off to ask you out,” he said as he sat down across from me. “I don’t think I’m making the right impression.”

  “And what impression would that be?”

  “That I’m a stand-up guy. Reliable. Dependable.”

  “It takes more than two good feet to be dependable,” I told him. “So where’s Melanie tonight?”

  “I don’t know. I told you, she’s not my girlfriend anymore.”

  Looking down at my pasta, I rummaged around for the onions and picked them out with my fork. “I hope you didn’t break her heart just for me—because I’m a busy person. I’m not looking for anything.”

  “It’s been over between Melanie and me for a while.”

  My eyes lifted. “Does she know that?”

  “Of course. We’re just friends now.”

  I finished picking out the onions. “So how long were you together? If you don’t mind my asking…?”

  He shrugged a shoulder. “It wasn’t that serious. We met in a bar and dated for about six months. What can I say? She’s a gorgeous girl—”

  I picked up the roll on my plate and spread butter on it. “I noticed.”

  “But enough about my love life,” Alex said, reaching for his water. “Tell me about you. What made you decide to go into nursing?”

  I finished chewing, then decided to let go of the subject of past girlfriends. I told him bits and pieces about my life and career choices.

  Then I asked what made him decide to go into firefighting, and be
fore I knew it, we were swapping war stories about our jobs, and my supper break was over.

  He reached for his crutches and I carried both trays to the trolley.

  Maybe it was a mistake, but this time, when we walked out together and he asked for my number…I gave it to him.

  * * *

  Later that night when I arrived home after my shift, I made the foolish assumption that raccoons had gotten into my garbage.

  With everything strewn all over my lawn at the curb, there was no way I could wait until the morning to clean it up. It was already past midnight and the garbage truck would come by at 7:00 a.m. So I went inside to fetch a pair of rubber gloves and tackled the grubby task of bagging everything up again.

  Afterward, I took a quick shower before I fell, oblivious, into bed.

  Chapter Five

  I woke late the next morning, made a pot of coffee, then stepped outside in my bathrobe and slippers to fetch up the newspaper. As I unrolled it in the bright sunshine, I noticed that the garbage man had collected my trash and left the plastic bins empty on their sides at the curb. There were only a few indiscriminate traces of the raccoon invasion—some small wrappers and tissues in the grass—things I’d missed in the dark which I resolved to pick up later, after I got dressed.

  Returning to the kitchen, I cooked myself some scrambled eggs, sat down at the table and read the paper while I ate.

  Later, while I was loading my dirty dishes into the dishwasher, the telephone rang.

  It said “Private Caller.”

  I stared at it for a moment.

  Tapping my fingers on the countertop, I grew increasingly irritated as I debated whether or not to answer.

  In the end, I picked it up after the fourth ring. “Hello?”

  There was no response, but I could hear something in the background. It sounded like a blender running.

  “Hello!” I shouted into the phone. Then click, they hung up.

  Letting out an angry huff, I scrolled through the previous calls and noted with some unease that there had been five missed calls the night before while I was at work, all from “Private Caller.”

  Frowning, I speed-dialed Cathy. “Hey, you haven’t been phoning me from some other number have you?”

  “No,” she replied. “Why?”

  I bent to grab the box of dishwasher detergent under the sink and poured powder into the dispenser. “Because someone keeps calling me and hanging up. They called five times last night while I was at work.” I shut the dishwasher door and pressed the start button.

  “Probably those stupid telemarketers,” Cathy said. “Did you check the Caller ID?”

  “Yeah, it says Private Caller.”

  “Well, that sucks. You know there’s a website where you can get your number removed from lists. I forget what it’s called but I’ll get Bob to email you the link.”

  “Thanks. Can you make it to spinning class today?”

  “Not today,” she replied. “I’m swamped here. Maybe tomorrow though.”

  “Okay.” We made quick plans for the following morning and hung up.

  I went into the bedroom to get dressed, then outside to drag the empty trash containers back from the curb and pick up the last remnants of rubbish in the grass.

  When I returned to the kitchen, the phone was ringing again, but this time, there was someone on the other end of the line. My heart began to race.

  Chapter Six

  It was Alex who called, and I was embarrassed to admit how giddy I became just from the sound of his voice in my ear. Though I knew he was a shameless flirt—and I certainly didn’t trust him to be the sort of man I always imagined myself ending up with—I couldn’t resist him. I was flattered by his attention and becoming increasingly infatuated by the minute. He was just so darn attractive. The physical attraction knocked me completely off balance.

  At first he apologized for his physical incapacity and explained that under normal circumstances he would be a far more exciting cohort. He assured me he would be taking me to the beach, or bungee jumping, or dancing in a club. As it stood, he couldn’t even drive his car, so picking me up for dinner was out of the question as well.

  “How did you get to the hospital last night?” I asked. “Did you take a bus?”

  “David gave me a lift,” he replied, “and he picked me up afterward.”

  “That was good of him,” I said.

  “He’s the best.”

  Alex then invited me over to his place for lunch, and I could do nothing but say, “Hell, yes.”

  * * *

  When I pulled up in front of Alex’s house at noon, I was surprised by the look of the place. It was a white stucco century home with a rock garden and mature trees in the yard, situated in an established upscale neighborhood.

  I didn’t know what kind of salary firefighters earned, but I was quite certain that a young, single guy like Alex couldn’t possibly afford a property like this. Unless he came from money. Or had recently become divorced from an heiress.

  Gathering my purse and keys, I stepped out of my car—a beat up old ’76 Mustang I bought a few years back—and crossed the driveway to ring the bell. It took a few moments for Alex to answer, and when he opened the door, the first thing he did was apologize.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting. I can’t move very fast.” He stepped back to invite me in.

  “Where are your crutches?” I asked.

  “I get tired of picking them up and setting them down,” he explained, returning to the kitchen. “You’ll have to start calling me Hop-along.”

  I laughed and glanced around at the classic décor inside. The woodwork in the home boasted elegant turn-of-the-century character, but the furniture was sleek and modern. “What a beautiful home.”

  “Thanks,” he said, “but it’s not my house. It’s my parents’. I’ve been staying here for the past few days because my apartment is up two flights of stairs. No elevator.”

  “I see.” That explained things.

  “My mother’s been spoiling me,” he added as he gestured for me to follow him into the kitchen, which had obviously been remodeled recently with white cupboards, granite countertops and stainless steel appliances.

  “Are your parents here?” I asked.

  “No, Mom and my stepdad are at work. I’m going out of my mind sitting around here all by myself. I’m glad you could come over.”

  I shrugged. “Guess those are the perks of working the night shift.” I set my purse down on one of the chocolate-brown leather stools at the island bar. “And thanks for inviting me. It smells good…whatever you’re cooking.”

  “It’s just spaghetti,” he said. “I’m not much of a gourmet.”

  “Can I do anything to help?”

  He pointed to the bowl of salad on the counter. “You could take that outside to the back deck and grab a bottle of wine from the rack on the island. The corkscrew’s in the drawer below.”

  I moved to the floor-to-ceiling French windows and peered out at a teakwood table on a small, private flagstone patio. It was nestled cozily among lush and leafy elderberry hedges. Wild flowers bloomed everywhere, and colorful bird feeders and hanging glass ornaments made the space look like a magical fairyland.

  Grabbing the salad bowl in one hand, I pulled a bottle of wine out of the rack on the counter and carried everything out. When I returned for glasses, utensils and the cork screw, Alex was lifting the large pot of boiling noodles to the sink to pour into the strainer, managing quite impressively to hobble on one foot.

  “You sure you don’t need any help?” I asked.

  “I got this,” he replied.

  He served up two plates of linguine with a thick and meaty sauce that made my mouth water. Then he smothered them in fresh parmesan.

  “At least let me carry the plates out,” I said with a smile.

  A few minutes later we were seated in the sunshine, sipping red wine and enjoying the meal.

  “What time did you get home last night?
” he asked.

  “It was crazy in the ER,” I explained. “I had to stay late to finish out a case, so it was nearly midnight. Then I came home to find my garbage strewn all over my lawn. Stupid raccoons must have gotten into it. I wasn’t happy about that.”

  He twirled his linguine around his fork. “What kind of bins do you have?”

  “The cheap kind,” I replied. “The lids never stay on.”

  “Remind me, before you go, to show you the ones my parents use. They’re around the side of the garage. Nothing can get into those suckers. They’re like army tanks.”

  “I’d love to see them.” I sat back in my chair and laughed. “This is quite the conversation for a second date.”

  He grinned at me. “Am I impressing you yet? Living with my parents…. Hopping on one foot…. Bragging about trash cans.”

  “You’re different, I’ll give you that.”

  We chatted about his parents’ house for a while, but he told me this wasn’t where he grew up. Before his father died they had lived in a different neighborhood.

  “When did he pass away?” I asked.

  “He died of cancer when I was nine,” Alex explained. “My mom raised my sister and me on her own after that. It took her a long time to get over losing him. She finally remarried six years ago and moved in here with Garry.”

  “What does Garry do?” I asked.

  “He owns Chesterton Construction.”

  I gulped down a mouthful of spaghetti. “Wow.”

  No wonder they could afford to live in this neighborhood. Chesterton Construction built office towers and condos, and developed sprawling subdivisions on the outskirts of the city.

  “So what do you think of Garry?” I asked. “Is he a good match for your mom?”

  “He’s great,” Alex said. “I’m glad she finally found someone, especially now that Sarah and I are grown up and moved out.”

  “Sarah’s your sister?”

  He nodded and picked up his wine. “Yeah, younger sister. She’s going to university in Boston. She’s a handful, that one.”

  “How so?”