Significant Others

by Baron, Marilyn

“If you hang it up, what would you do?” I asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  There was a slight chill in the air, so I dropped Jackson’s hand, pulled off my sweater, and smoothed it over my mother’s shoulders.

  Jackson took the opportunity to run off.

  “Jackson Palladino, you’re a sneaky little devil. Now, get back here. It’s dark outside. I don’t want you to get lost or hurt.”

  Jackson giggled and walked back toward us, reaching out his hand.

  “Does that mean you are going to sell?” I asked carefully, holding my breath, while I clutched Jackson’s hand.

  “I need to think about it some more.”

  “I understand, but don’t underestimate yourself. An important man like Hammond Reddekker doesn’t make frivolous offers. He thinks he can make money off us, and I think he’s right. He knows Dad is no longer part of the equation and he still wants to buy our company.”

  “I want to do this for you and your brother and Hannah and most of all for your father, but it’s so overwhelming, Honey, sometimes I don’t think I can go on. I just want to curl up and die.” My mother started crying, and I held her for a minute and composed myself before I realized we were passing the Jesus tree. The face on the tree was bathed in moonlight. Maybe the tree was trying to tell my mother something. But what?

  “Don’t ever say that again,” I scolded lightly. My mother was scaring me and upsetting Jackson, and I didn’t know how to handle it. “I couldn’t take it if you left me too. I don’t care if you sign this contract or not. I want you to do what’s right for you, but I don’t think you’re in the frame of mind yet to make this decision.”

  “Don’t cry, Grandma,” Jackson implored. “I won’t run off again. I promise.”

  Dee Dee caressed Jackson’s cheek. Then she looked up at her vision in the branches.

  “Tell me what to do. Just tell me what to do.” I didn’t know if she was talking to me or to my dad or...sending out a plea to someone else.

  Then I noticed a red circular nailed to the center of the tree.

  “What’s this?” I asked, pulling it off.

  “Oh, that’s another flyer from the Seniors Against Sin group. They’re a new faction here at Millennium Gardens.”

  “Aunt Helene told me about them.”

  “You see these flyers all over—in the clubhouse, nailed to trees. Taped on doors. Slid under doors. I’ve gotten a few of them already.”

  “What does this mean?” I asked, perusing the flyer. “Stop Sinning Now.”

  “Well, I guess they’re some kind of religious fanatic fringe group. They’re bothered by all the ‘immoral behavior’ they say is rampant around here. All the men and women living together without the benefit of marriage. They’re traditionalists, and they believe in the sanctity of marriage.”

  “Well, so do you,” I said. “You just lost your husband. Why would they pick on you, of all people?”

  “Well, I guess they heard about Max and me and the cruise. Maybe one of them saw me at the dance with Daniel.”

  “You don’t think they’re dangerous, do you?” I asked.

  “No, not really,” my mother said, biting her bottom lip. “At least, I hope not. I just took the flyer off my door and threw it away. Then, in a few hours, it was back again. It’s harmless. But bothersome.”

  “They’re targeting you, Mom. Tormenting you. We’ve got to put a stop to it. I’m going to tell Donny.”

  “Don’t tell your brother,” Dee Dee pleaded, grabbing my arm. “He’ll just blow it all out of proportion. He’ll have me on the next plane out of here.”

  Well, that’s the idea, isn’t it, I thought.

  “Anyway, I won’t be here much longer,” my mother reasoned. “The last thing I want to do is make waves. Aunt Helene still has to live here after I’m gone.”

  Chapter Ten: Love Letters

  I feel it. That little lick of excitement in the pit of my stomach. That thrilling sensation. That frisson in my heart. I’m actually getting dressed and ready to be picked up for a date, with a man I’m attracted to as more than a friend. Even if it is only breakfast. I don’t think anything could possibly ruin the way I feel. All I can focus on right now is Daniel and how happy I am.

  When Daniel arrived, he was the model of decorum, looking handsome and muscular in a crisp white golf shirt, khaki pants, and brown deck shoes. But all sense of propriety deserted him when we entered his condo. Shutting the door behind us, he swept me up into his arms and began to nuzzle my neck.

  “Daniel, it’s only nine o’clock in the morning,” I observed, giggling. For some reason I hadn’t been able to stop laughing since he’d driven over to get me. My anxiety about the business had disappeared, at least for a while. “Okay, who cares what time it is?”

  “Come over here,” he motioned, resuming his seduction.

  “I am here.”

  “Closer,” he said, propelling me toward his bedroom.

  “Aren’t you going to give me a tour first?” I asked lightly.

  “The tour starts in the bedroom,” he answered, kissing me.

  “Daniel, please. We’re hardly kids.”

  “Who cares how old we are? I feel like a schoolboy again, and I don’t want this feeling to end. I think I’m falling in love with you, Dee Dee. I had all kinds of wicked thoughts about you last night.”

  “You dreamed about me?”

  “I guess you could call them dreams.”

  “I thought you were going to make me an omelet.”

  He knitted his eyebrows.

  “How can you think about food at a time like this?”

  “You mean breakfast time?” I teased.

  He gave me a long, warm, soul-stirring kiss and reluctantly steered me back to the kitchen.

  “Okay, sustenance first, smooching later,” he agreed. “You sit on this stool here. I don’t want to let you out of my sight. I’m afraid you’re a vision and you’ll just disappear.”

  I laughed again and looked around the condo.

  “You’ve done a wonderful job decorating.”

  “That’s my wife’s work, not mine,” Daniel admitted. “I’m color blind, can’t even match my socks or pick out a tie. She spent weeks getting this place exactly the way she wanted it. And she barely got time to enjoy it. She went so fast.”

  I didn’t want him to dwell on unhappy thoughts, so I tried to get his mind off his pain. “Speaking of ties, you left this at my place the night before.” I reached into my handbag and handed Daniel his bowtie.

  “Thanks,” he smiled, obviously remembering how he’d lost the tie in the first place. He took the tie from my hand and set it on the island in the kitchen.

  When I looked around, I saw no sign of Christmas anywhere in his condo.

  “Do you have any plans for the holidays?” I asked.

  “I’m afraid not. Without Natalie, this time of year is pretty bleak. I didn’t have the heart to put up a tree. Natalie and I used to decorate it together, so—”

  “What about your son?” I asked.

  “Oh, he’s expecting me to make an appearance on Christmas Day, exchange presents, the usual holiday stuff. I told him I wouldn’t be coming this year. I didn’t want to dampen his spirits. Then he said, ‘Mom would have wanted us to be together.’ Those are the magic words, so I guess I’ll drop by with some presents for the grandchildren.”

  “Have you done your shopping yet?” I inquired.

  “Well, no,” he admitted.

  We were quite a pair. Neither had I.

  “Why don’t we brave the malls together, then,” I suggested. He cringed.

  “Come on, don’t be such a grinch. We’ll go right after breakfast.”

  “Ho, ho, ho,” Daniel shouted, suddenly seized with the Christmas spirit as he waltzed around the kitchen, grabbing things from the refrigerator and off the shelves, banging pots and pans together and making a big mess.

  “I hope you have a maid,” I commented dryly. />
  “Nope, I clean up after myself. I’m completely trainable.”

  “That’s good to know.” It was so easy being together with Daniel like this.

  He brewed some coffee, cut up some shallots and mushrooms, and began frying them in butter. I watched him crack a few eggs, add milk, salt, and pepper, and beat them into a froth with a fork before pouring the mixture into the pan. Then he set the flame on low.

  “Can I help? I feel so guilty doing nothing.”

  “You, my lovely woman, are my inspiration. Your job is to sit there and look beautiful, like a kitchen goddess. You make quite a picture.”

  “Well, I’ll say one thing. You’re good for my ego.”

  “I’m good for a lot of things. Stick around and you’ll find that I’m very handy around the house.”

  “I’m sure,” I smiled at the innuendo.

  Before long, the omelet was bubbling, and Daniel folded in some shredded fancy sharp cheddar and covered the pan.

  “It smells delicious,” I said.

  “So do you,” he said, sniffing me. “Wait until you taste it. I can’t wait until I taste you again.”

  “Daniel,” I said, blushing.

  Daniel set out the plates, cloth napkins, crystal, and flatware, and placed a bowl of cut-up fruit on the table. Then he divided the omelet and put half on each plate. He gave each of us two strips of bacon that he had microwaved a few minutes earlier. Then he poured orange juice from a pitcher into two goblets.

  “We should have champagne. I feel like celebrating.”

  “Orange juice is fine,” I said.

  “I thought we could eat in the dining room. It overlooks the lake. There’s a lot of sun this time of day.”

  “That would be lovely,” I said, ready for some sunlight, just now realizing I had lived in the dark too long.

  “I mostly eat in the kitchen, by myself, so this is a real treat, being with someone—being with you, I mean.”

  “Thank you. It’s a treat for me, too.”

  We ate, and drank our coffee and orange juice, and talked and laughed, and then just sat there in companionable silence. He reached for my hand.

  “I can’t seem to stop touching you,” he said. “I was afraid that night at the dance, after the dance, was just a dream, that when I woke up you’d be gone. Like Cinderella at the stroke of midnight. And when you wouldn’t come home with me last night, well, you have no idea how relieved I was when you answered your door this morning. And you don’t know how good it feels just to do something as simple as share a cup of coffee and conversation with another human being over breakfast. This is my idea of heaven. I feel like I’m finally clawing my way out of the grave.”

  “I know the feeling,” I whispered, choking a little on the lump that still knotted at the base of my throat whenever I thought about the past long, lonely, empty, miserable year following Stan’s death and the fact that Stanley was buried so far in the ground that I could never get to him again. I wiped away a tear.

  We walked into the living room. I stopped at each picture to ask questions about his wife, his son, his grandchildren. His wife had been lovely. Daniel hadn’t said what she died of. And I didn’t feel I should intrude on his grief by asking. Maybe a heart attack, like Stan, or cancer like so many others of my friends. His son was built like a linebacker, but Daniel had said he was a quarterback, a Heisman Trophy contender, in his day. He looked a lot like Donny. I guessed that was because they were both in their sports uniforms. And they had the same father.

  “I’d rather talk about you,” he said.

  “Not much to talk about,” I hedged. “My life’s not very interesting.”

  “I’m interested in everything about you. Tell me about your job.”

  “Well, you know I’m a realtor.”

  “Sales,” Daniel said.

  “Well, sales is only part of the job. We provide a service. My husband, Stanley, used to say, ‘Sales is just a piece of the pie.’ What we’re really doing is selling dreams.”

  “Do you like what you’re doing?”

  “Well, I haven’t actually been doing anything to speak of since Stan died, as my daughter was quick to point out to me. Honey and her brother have been bearing the brunt of the work. It takes years to build up a business, a reputation. I passed on my experience to Honey, and she’ll pass it on to her daughter, Hannah. But Honey and I treat the job differently. I love the job because of the flexibility it offers. I can be on my cell phone negotiating a contract and strolling my grandson. Technology has freed us, and I depend a lot on my fabulous team back at the office. Honey has all those resources available to her, but she doesn’t take advantage of them. She won’t ever let the job go. It’s partly my fault, because I’ve been leaning on her so much lately, and I think it’s starting to affect her marriage, although she’ll never admit that to me. My son-in-law, Marc, was a rock after Stan died. But I think she’s forgotten that. My daughter won’t let go of the reins. She’s single-minded like her dad and has to be in control all the time. His philosophy was ‘If you’re going to do something, do it right.’ At the end of the day, Stan taught her to treat every client as if he or she is your only client.”

  “Stan sounds like a smart man.”

  “He was,” I said. “He had a good head for business. He gave me a chance when I first moved to Atlanta with a new baby. He gave me a new life, actually.”

  “There must be disadvantages to the profession.”

  “Well, you have to be able to handle uncertainty and understand that nothing happens overnight. And now—”

  “Last night, you said you had some important decisions to make,” he prompted.

  “Yes,” I said. “About the family business. Apparently it’s in vogue for corporations to acquire independent realty companies in different parts of the country. Well, as I told you, I’ve received a very generous offer from a wealthy investor, and I’ve made up my mind to accept it. I don’t think I can handle the pace of running a real estate office any more. My son and daughter have really taken to it, though. When I accept this offer, I’d like to include a clause to keep them on. But it wouldn’t be their company anymore. It wouldn’t have my husband’s name. That will be especially hard for Honey to take. Mr. Reddekker wants me to stay, but since Stan’s death, I’m not sure I’m up to it.”

  “You seem fine.”

  “On the surface. You have no idea how far I’ve come. If you had seen me a year ago, well, I didn’t even have the strength to get out of bed.”

  “Sort of like the night of the dance,” he teased, leaning over to kiss my nose.

  “Daniel, I’m serious. I’m sure you remember how you felt right after your wife died.”

  “I haven’t forgotten,” he recalled. “It was pretty brutal. And damn bleak. I felt like someone had cut off a limb. A part of me died with her. I was completely disconnected and alone. I just sat around the condo staring at the four walls until I found myself talking to the furniture. Talking just to hear my own voice, to make sure I was still alive. I was just existing for the past few months—until you came along.”

  I shook my head.

  “I can’t be the antidote to your pain,” I said. “I’ve learned you can’t depend on others to get through the difficult times. Friends and family are a godsend, yes, but we each have to find our way back alone.”

  “I know what you’re saying is true,” Daniel countered. “But meeting you, being with you, the way we were that night at your place, finding that special connection, I can’t help but feel hope that I’ve been given a reprieve from a life sentence of loneliness. I guess what I’m trying to say is you’ve already made a big difference in my world.”

  “Daniel, we just met,” I said, turning away, uncomfortable with the lie. Then I faced him. “We don’t know a thing about each other.”

  Daniel looked startled.

  “What is it?”

  “Well, that’s the same sentiment, almost the same words I used, when I wrote
to my sweetheart during the war. We’d only known each other for a few months, and that’s how I started my first letter to her.”

  “Right, the woman you told me about last night. And you said you still have the letters you wrote to her?”

  “Yes.”

  “R-right here in the condo?” I faltered, trying hard to hide my excitement. “After all these years?”

  “Yes.”

  I steadied myself as I leaned back against the wing chair.

  “I took them out of the safe deposit box and brought them here after my wife died. The day she died, she asked me to forgive her. I couldn’t imagine what she’d ever need forgiveness for. It turns out, all those years ago when she was helping me find my girl, she had located Dorothy after all, but she never told me because she was pregnant. She was frantic. She needed me. She knew it was wrong. She said she’d lived with the guilt a lifetime. I knew she was dying, so what could I say? How could I be mad at her? Right before she died, she took out a crumpled piece of paper with a name and an address on it and pressed it into my hand.

  “ ‘Go find her.’ That was the last thing she said to me. Of course I couldn’t bring myself to look at that piece of paper. What kind of a husband would I be if I went looking for an old girlfriend so soon after my wife died? So I take out the letters every now and then and look at them and wonder what might have been. I wrestle with what to do. Sometimes I wonder if I should look her up again. I’m sure she’s married. I don’t even know if she’s still alive. If she’s not, I don’t want to know. If she’s with another man, I don’t want to know that either. But that’s selfish. Of course I hope she’s happy. But I find myself fantasizing about finding her again. Sorry. I shouldn’t be talking to you about this.”

  “Why don’t I start on the dishes,” I offered, afraid my face would betray the anguish I felt. He had looked for me. Still wanted to find me. If only he hadn’t given up all those years ago. If only I had had faith in our love and gone to him before I married Stan, dared to defy my mother. All the “if onlys” in the world weren’t going to change the outcome of lives that had veered off in two distinct directions.

  “No, leave the dishes. Spending time with you is more important.”