The twins are toddlers, both boys, and both with the pale blonde hair of their daddy. Annie finds it hard to sympathize with Sophie’s complaint, because she would trade places in a heartbeat. Sophie has what Annie wants: a loving husband and two adorable babies to hold in her arms.
For the first time in months Annie is truly happy and she is anxious to share the stories of how she looked back and saw a young Ophelia in the arms of her Edward, how she felt the tinge of life in the rusted bicycle. She wants to talk about the magic to be found in growing things, but Sophie gives her no chance.
“The boys have been on a tear,” she says, “and does Craig care?” Without waiting for Annie to answer, she adds, “Not a twit! You’re lucky to have a job where you can take time off and escape.”
When Annie tires of listening to her friend’s complaints, she says she’s got to go. “It’s late and I’ve got other calls to make,” she claims.
The truth is she has no other calls to return. She has mentally crossed Michael off the list, and Peter Axelrod will not be in the office until tomorrow morning. Little by little the happiness Annie brought home fades. All four messages from Peter were about a backlog of case files, and the last one suggested she would have to work late every night this week to catch up.
Annie is an actuarial. Although she sometimes feels she has no life of her own, she spends her days figuring out the odds of other people living long enough to enjoy theirs. She evaluates each life based on factors such as smoking, use of alcohol and family history, but happiness is nowhere in the calculation.
Annie thinks it should be. Surely people with a lot to live for are more likely to stick around for a longer time. Ophelia Browne is a perfect example.
Before Annie can wash the day from her face and slip into her pajamas, there is a familiar knock on the door. He does it as he’s always done it. Three short taps, a short pause and then two more. The radio is playing so he knows she is at home. She hesitates for almost a minute and the tap, tap, tap comes again.
“Just a minute,” she calls out, then crosses the room and opens the door.
Without bothering to say hello, Michael tells her he’s been calling all week and asks where she’s been.
“On vacation,” she answers without further explanation.
Perhaps the answer is somewhat unexpected, because he stops and looks into her face. “That must be it. You look really good! Where’d you go, the Caribbean?”
Annie laughs. “No, Burnsville.”
What Michael notices is actually there, but Annie hasn’t yet seen it. Her cheeks are pink from gardening in the sun, the muscles in her face relaxed and softened; she is wearing a glow of happiness.
“Where’s Burnsville?” he asks.
“South of Richmond,” Annie answers. “I was visiting a friend.” She says nothing more. The truth is that she doesn’t want to share the stories of Ophelia with Michael. He is a cynic and won’t believe them anyway.
Michael explains he’s there because he left his snorkel fins on the top shelf of the closet, but after he has retrieved them he makes no move to leave. There is a glint in his eye, and on three separate occasions he tells Annie how good she looks.
Annie smiles and thanks him for the compliments, but she does nothing to encourage him to stay. She is afraid of herself. Michael has a smile that draws her in, and the memory of his arms around her is still fresh in her mind.
Before he leaves Michael flashes that smile and says it’s great to see her.
“I’ve missed you,” he adds, and it almost sounds sincere.
“It’s nice to see you too,” Annie replies.
She doesn’t give him a smile, but he sees the look in her eyes and it is enough. Michael is certain the door is still open.
“Maybe we could have dinner one night,” he suggests. “Catch up on old times.”
Annie is unprepared for this and she simply echoes, “Maybe.”
Almost immediately she knows this is a mistake.
~ ~ ~
Her desk is piled high with case files when Annie arrives at work Monday morning. On top of the pile is a note from Peter. It reads, “See me when you get in.” There is no signature, just a large P at the bottom of the note.
It is not yet eight o’clock, and Peter Axelrod seldom comes in before nine-thirty. Annie sets his note aside and opens the first folder. Hopefully by the time he arrives she will be able to report that some of the policy evaluations have been completed.
She has gone through the first three folders when a newcomer walks in and settles into the desk next to Annie’s. She is wearing a black suit that makes Annie’s grey slacks look drab by comparison.
“Good morning,” Annie says.
The woman drops her purse into the desk drawer then comes over and extends a hand.
“Hi,” she says with a smile. “I’m Kathryn Newman, Metropolitan Underwriting.”
Annie extends her hand and returns the smile. Were it not rude to do so she would have asked what the woman was doing here. Instead she offers only a “Nice to meet you”.
With that Kathryn Newman turns back to what is seemingly her desk and sits down. In front of her there is a stack of files taller even than the pile on Annie’s desk. Kathryn opens the first folder and begins reading.
Annie can hold back no longer. “Are you new here?”
Kathryn gives a shallow little laugh. “I guess you could say that.”
Since there is no further explanation forthcoming, Annie returns to her work.
At five minutes after nine Peter dashes through the door looking a bit winded. As he passes Annie’s desk, he gives a nod that signals she should follow him into his office. She does. Once inside, he closes the door behind her.
“You picked one hell of a week to take off,” he grumbles. “I tried calling your cell and couldn’t get through. Where were you?”
“A small town south of Richmond. The service there is spotty at best.” She doesn’t mention her cell phone was turned off. “Who’s this Kathryn Newman?”
Peter nervously rubs his chin, catching it between his thumb and forefinger.
“Not good news,” he says. “It looks like Metropolitan may be acquiring us. Henley’s saying it’s a merger, but Metropolitan’s the one calling all the shots.” He stops, reaches into the desk drawer, pulls out a roll of Tums and pops two in his mouth.
This is not a good sign. Annie has worked with Peter for seven years, and she knows his acid indigestion flares up whenever there is trouble.
“So, what’s going to happen?” she asks. “Are we all about to be fired or something?”
“I’m sure there’s gonna be duplication of duties, but I don’t think they’ll get rid of the lot of us.” His tone is more nervous than reassuring.
When Annie returns to her desk she is more aware than ever of Kathryn. It seems as if the woman has grown several inches since she walked up and introduced herself. After seeing the worried look on Peter’s face, Annie now wonders if Kathryn is there to spy on her, to watch her work and report any tiny little misstep.
Setting the completed files in her approved basket, Annie moves on to the next folder. Her mind is no longer focused on how long Samuel D. Breckenridge will live; she is now wondering if she’ll lose her job.
Everything Changes
In one single week the environment in the office has reversed itself completely. What was a laid-back, easygoing workplace is now electrified. No one lingers in the lunchroom. Peter gobbles Tums like they are peanuts and Henry Scaliger, a man who always enjoyed a martini with his lunch, now nibbles a tuna fish sandwich at his desk. The only one who looks happy is Kathryn Newman.
Sitting at the desk next to Kathryn’s grates on Annie’s nerves. Although the woman seldom looks up from the stack of files she is poring through, Annie feels she is being watched. It is a logistical impossibility, but she can almost swear Kathryn’s left eye roves around while her right eye is focused on the files.
Annie
is a number cruncher. The job pays well but is emotionally draining. People who live in Alaska or Kansas or Oklahoma, mothers and fathers she’s never seen, are reduced to sets of numbers. Add the numbers and guesstimate how long they’ll live. Take off a few years if they smoke, add on a few if they belong to a gym. Never mind that they have a family to provide for, a Boy Scout Troop to lead or a church choir to sing in. Annie’s job is to ignore all those things and whittle each applicant down to the number of years they are expected to live. It matters not if they are sinner or saint.
This is not the type of thing she wants to do. Were it not for the sizable rent on the apartment, she would welcome the opportunity to be laid off. She’d volunteer to be the one to go so Peter might keep his job. In the middle of assigning a number to a father of six from Baltimore, Annie’s thoughts drift back to Ophelia’s garden. Suddenly she has a great longing for a cup of dandelion tea.
She pulls a card from her handbag and studies it. In the center of the card is a likeness of the sign in front of Ophelia’s house. She picks up the telephone, dials the number and asks if she can come back again next weekend.
“I can be there late Friday,” she says, “but I’ve got to come home Sunday night.” She considers telling Ophelia about what is going on in the office but decides against it. The situation is like a bad memory, not something to be shared.
When Ophelia says she’ll be glad to see Annie there is a musical sound to her voice. Annie wants to go right now, but of course she can’t. There is Kathryn’s roving eye, Peter’s nervous stomach, the rent on the apartment and…
On Thursday afternoon shortly after two o’clock an announcement comes across the paging system. It says there will be a company-wide meeting in the boardroom at 4:30. Attendance is mandatory for all personnel.
“This is it,” Ken Jefferson says with a moan. He is thinking of his wife, three kids and a mortgage that has to be paid every month. He pushes the stack of lab reports he’s been reading to the side and looks up the telephone number for the unemployment office.
Similar scenarios happen throughout the office. Bob Kramer actually calls a headhunter and asks if the position in Secaucus is still available. Barbara Mosier slips out, dashes down to the lobby and buys a copy of the Inquirer. She stuffs it into her purse then heads for the ladies room. There in a stall, where she is hidden from view, she turns to the Help Wanted section.
Few if any employees work. Within Kathryn’s line of sight, Annie makes a valiant attempt to look busy but the truth is she’s been staring at that same file for nearly an hour. Finally she writes a quick assessment that assigns this father of five a number that estimates he will live to be an old man. It will lower his life insurance premiums. Annie thinks not of the accuracy of the number but of the five children this man will one day leave behind.
At four-thirty when everyone gathers in the boardroom, they stand shoulder to shoulder. There is barely room to breathe, but the crackle of tension and smell of fear have both managed to squeeze themselves in.
James Henley, the CEO of Quality Life, makes the announcement. It is now official: Kathryn Newman is the new managing director of what will be the Quality Life division of Metropolitan Underwriting. Henley’s statement is brief, but he makes it clear that he expects everyone’s full cooperation in moving the transition forward in a smooth and efficient manner.
Peter stands alongside Henley and nods agreement, but Annie notices the twitch in his right eye.
After Henley’s matter-of-fact announcement, he steps aside and Kathryn moves into the spot. She is confident and speaks in crisp clear tones. She first thanks Henley for placing his trust in her; then she turns to the group and begins to talk about the future.
“As we move forward,” she says, “we will consolidate departments only where consolidation is warranted.” She continues for several minutes, assuring everyone that his or her job is secure. No one believes her. Tom Neely from accounting nervously taps his fingers against the side of his leg, and his secretary is blinking back tears.
When Kathryn finally concludes her speech, there is a short burst of applause and a whispered sigh of relief. For now there are no layoffs.
Annie is not crazy about her job, but neither can she afford to be without it. She assesses her options. Give up the apartment and look for a smaller place on the south end of town. Maybe move to Cherry Hill. She’s got some money saved, but with a rent twice what she can afford it will go fast. She considers the possibility of finding a roommate, someone who would share the expenses as Michael did, but that thought lingers for only a few moments. It is a one-bedroom apartment—a large one-bedroom—but a one-bedroom nonetheless. No roommate would be interested in sharing a king-size bed. That arrangement is only for couples, and Annie is no longer one half of a couple. She is single and alone. It is a discouraging thought.
When the workday ends, the office clears out quickly. It is as if the inevitable has already happened and the workers are anxious to move on. Although Annie has worked late almost every night since her return, she also leaves at the stroke of five. She plans to draw a steaming hot bath and soak in it until the water has grown cold and her fingertips are wrinkled as washboards.
On her way home Annie stops at The Feathered Duck and buys a takeout meal of General Tso’s shrimp with vegetables. It comes with soup and an eggroll. It is a luxury she can afford now but perhaps not in the future.
She is in the house less than five minutes when there is a familiar rap on the door. Annie is not in the mood for Michael. She no longer wants to hear that he’s forgotten his swim mask or tennis racquet or left a single sock behind. He is a reminder of what she has lost, and as she stands on the edge of losing yet more she needs no such reminders.
She ignores the knock until it comes for a third time. Obviously he is not leaving. She crosses to the door and opens it. Michael is smiling, and his hands are held behind his back.
“I’ve got something for you,” he says. “Guess what it is.”
“I have no idea,” she answers wearily.
“Oh, come on,” he urges, “just take a guess. Any guess.”
“A bucket of beans.” Her answer is meaningless, but Annie has a lot on her mind and is not in the mood for games.
“No, flowers!” He pulls his right hand from behind his back, and in it he is holding a bouquet of yellow roses.
Yellow roses are truly Annie’s favorite flower, but she doesn’t give the reply he expects. She takes the flowers from Michael and then looks into his face. “Thank you.”
There is a moment of awkward silence before she asks if he would like to come in.
“I’ve got to put these in water,” she says and leaves him standing in the living room as she heads to the kitchen.
She is still trimming the stems when he comes up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist. He leans across her shoulder and whispers in her ear. “I thought maybe we could have dinner together.”
When she doesn’t answer he adds, “I was going to suggest Luigi’s, but the place is closed down. It’s now a—”
“Nail salon,” Annie cuts in. It touches her heart that he remembers.
“You know?” Michael asks. A note of surprise is in his voice. “I thought that was our special place. Don’t tell me you went there with somebody—”
“It’s not like that,” Annie says. “I just happened to pass by a few weeks ago and noticed the nail salon. Too bad.” She sighs wistfully. She does not tell him she went there to see Luigi, to try to recapture a few moments of the happiness they’d known.
“Is there another place you’d like to go?” Already he is assuming that her answer is yes, that she will, as she has always done, fall willingly into his arms.
“I don’t know if having dinner together is such a good idea,” Annie says. “We’ve both moved on and perhaps we should leave it that way.”
The words she speaks are the far from the truth. Annie has not moved on, but she is trying. To allow Mi
chael back into her life would mean losing what little ground she’s gained.
He tightens his grip on her waist and leans so that his face is snuggled into the curve of her neck.
“I haven’t moved on,” he says softly. “I miss you, Annie.”
When he twists her around she stands facing him. He pulls her to his chest, lowers his face to hers and kisses her. Softly. Gently. In a way that is both caring and promising.
“At least have dinner with me,” he says.
“Just dinner?” Annie asks cautiously.
He nods then adds, “Unless you want it to be more.”
With very little persuasion, Annie agrees to go. She takes the bag from The Feathered Duck, sets it in the refrigerator, then excuses herself saying she’s got to freshen up. She disappears into the bedroom and closes the door behind her. She questions whether Michael will try to follow, but he does not.
It takes only a few minutes to change from the grey slacks to a black dress, a dress that is both simple and stunning. Annie chooses the dress because she remembers it being one of Michael’s favorites. She makes a feeble attempt to convince herself that’s not the reason for picking this particular dress, but when she stops at the mirror to apply lip gloss the image looking back wears a disapproving frown. For a brief moment Annie can swear she sees the crinkle of Ophelia’s eyes in the reflection.
“Impossible,” she mutters and returns to the living room.
Annie
Perhaps it’s not the smartest thing in the world to let myself get involved with Michael again, but the sad truth is I miss him something terrible. My life feels so empty without him. Walking through the park with a man who’s got his arm snuggled around your waist is a lot different than walking through the park alone.
Michael and I were good together. The problem has never been our attraction to one another; it’s been that we want different things. I’d like to get married and have kids. Three, maybe four. Not Michael. He says having kids drives a wedge between a man and woman. His theory is when kids enter the picture they get all of the woman’s attention, and the husband becomes nothing but a meal ticket.
Memory House: Memory House Collection (Memory House Series Book 1) Page 5
