The sound of Ophelia’s laughter is contagious. It tickles Annie’s funny bone, and she starts laughing. Before long they are laughing at nothing but the sound of their own laughter. It reminds Ophelia of earlier days, days when such laughter came easily. When she finally catches her breath she says, “You ride the bike and I’ll come out to the road and watch.”
Annie nods agreement and dashes inside.
In less than a half hour she is scrubbed clean and wearing a fresh pair of jeans. This is the same outfit she will wear to travel home. It is already five o’clock; she has time for a half-hour bicycle ride and a quick supper, then it will be time to leave.
Annie is not ready to think of the drive home. For now she just wants to spend the few remaining hours with Ophelia. She pokes her head into the kitchen and says it’s time.
Together they walk down the graveled drive toward the street. Annie slows her footsteps to match the pace of Ophelia’s. When they reach the end of the drive, Ophelia watches as Annie swings her leg over the crossbar and gets ready to climb onto the seat.
“Wish me luck!” Annie yells as she pushes down on the pedal and starts to move.
She eases herself onto the seat with her body leaning forward. Although she has a tight grip on the handlebar, the front wheel shimmies and veers to the left. Trying to straighten the bike, she presses her weight to the right. A moment later she is on the ground with her legs tangled in the bike.
Three times Annie tries to ride the bike, and three times she ends up on the ground. The bicycle is like a wild pony that refuses to be ridden.
After the third attempt, she discovers a bend in the front wheel. When the wheel circles around to that spot it thumps against the fender and pulls to the left. For the bike to hold steady, the wheel has to be repaired or replaced. Annie is dead set against replacing any part of the bicycle. In her mind everything has to be exactly as it was when the boy rode it.
With the palm of her hand scratched and a hole in the knee of her jeans, she admits defeat.
“Well, I guess I’m not going to find any of his memories today,” she says. “I’ll come back next weekend and work on that wheel.”
In her voice there is a mix of melancholy and happiness. The regret of not reaching the boy seems to be offset by the thought of returning to spend yet another weekend with Ophelia.
From Ophelia there is only a smile. She has already stored a lifetime of memories, but her days in this house have grown long and heavy. She delights in the company of the girl.
Roses, More Roses
Annie leaves later than she had planned. Again the time slipped away once she and Ophelia began talking. If there is little traffic and she makes good time she might be back in Philadelphia by two-thirty, but that is the best she can hope for. If Peter was still her boss she could have waited, left early in the morning and been in the office before noon.
In the dark of night with almost no traffic, the drive is monotonous and seemingly longer than it was coming to Burnsville. The radio is no distraction, because instead of singing along as she usually does she is thinking about Ophelia and the boy.
There is much she has yet to discover about the boy, but Ophelia is old and frail. She is not someone who should be alone. On her next visit Annie will ask if there is family, someone close by, someone to check on her to make sure she is not running short of groceries or in need of a ride to the doctor. As much as Annie loves coming to visit, Kathryn will make it impossible to leave early or come in late. Annie thinks of poor Tom Neely, now without a job. She knows she should be grateful she still has her job, but oddly enough she isn’t.
When she was younger it seemed a challenge, betting on how long a person would live. But now it weighs heavy on her, perhaps because she has come to care about Ophelia. Putting such a measurement on someone you love is an impossible task. Although the applicants whose paperwork crosses her desk are supposedly only names for evaluation, she has come to realize that each of them are the loved one of someone else.
Annie is crossing over the Delaware Memorial Bridge when she decides to start looking for another job and perhaps a smaller, more affordable apartment.
It is almost three in the morning when she pulls into the parking garage beneath her building. When she gets to her apartment door there is a bouquet of yellow roses propped against the door. Tucked inside the cellophane wrapper is Michael’s business card.
I thought you’d be home this evening, he has written. I waited until 1AM. Call me. We need to talk. Love, M.
Annie carries the flowers inside and puts them in a vase. She is too tired to talk, and it is much too late to call. She lays the card on the table and tells herself she’ll call in the morning. She crawls into bed, not thinking to set the alarm.
Normally Annie is an early riser. She wakes sometime between six-thirty and seven and seldom uses the alarm clock, but this day is different. It is almost four by the time she falls into an exhausted sleep, so not even the light of day sliding through the slats of the blinds wakes her.
At ten o’clock the telephone rings and startles her from sleep.
Annie reaches out and lifts the receiver. Before she has time to say hello, Michael speaks. His voice has the sound of annoyance.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
It takes a few seconds before Annie is conscious enough to glance at the clock. “Oh no, it’s ten o’clock!”
“Yeah, it is,” Michael says. “I called the office. Why aren’t you at work?”
“I overslept!” Annie says more to herself as opposed to answering Michael’s question. “I can’t talk now, I’ll call you later.”
Although a shower would feel good, there is no time. She splashes water on her face, dabs on a bit of lipstick, pulls on a pair of gabardine slacks and is out the door in less than fifteen minutes. She normally walks the twelve blocks to the office, but today she hails a cab. On Adams Street a car with a flat tire creates a bottleneck, and it is ten-thirty-two when she finally makes it to the office.
Kathryn is in her office, but again her back is to the door. Annie hurries past, quickly stashes her purse in the drawer of her desk and grabs a file from the new stack sitting on the corner of her desk.
It is an application from Melissa Canter, a sixty-one-year-old woman with sole custody of her grandson. On the application he is named as her beneficiary. The reports indicate Melissa Canter has lupus, but it is controlled with medication. If Annie looks only at the numbers, this is an applicant who should be rejected. Lupus is at best unpredictable.
Twice she reads the report. She sees more than the words on paper. She sees a grandmother who worries that she will not live long enough to raise the twelve-year-old boy. Annie stamps the file “Approved” and moves it to the other side of her desk.
She is working on the second file when the telephone rings. Certain it is Michael, she lifts the receiver and says, “I don’t have time to talk right now.”
“Make time,” Kathryn says. Her words are sharp and her tone no-nonsense.
“Oh,” Annie exclaims, “I thought you were somebody—” Before she can finish the sentence, Kathryn is gone.
Gathering her courage, Annie heads for Kathryn’s office. This time she doesn’t rap on the doorframe but stands waiting patiently until Kathryn motions her in.
“Is there an excuse for this morning’s tardiness?” Kathryn asks.
This time there is no arrogance in Annie’s answer. “It wasn’t intentional. My alarm clock didn’t go off.”
Kathryn gives a sigh of impatience. “That’s not much of an excuse. I’m trying to help you survive this merger, but you’re not making it easy.”
“I’m sorry,” Annie says. “It won’t happen again.”
“See that it doesn’t.”
Believing the conversation over Annie turns toward the door.
“I’m not finished,” Kathryn says sharply.
Annie turns back and waits.
“I’ve reviewed some of
your cases, and you’ve got a good feel for applicant evaluation,” she says. “This isn’t an easy business for a woman, but prove to me that you’re on my team and you could go far.” The telephone rings and before Kathryn answers it she adds, “With Peter gone, I’m going to need a chief underwriter.”
As she lifts the receiver she dismisses Annie with a wave.
When Annie returns to her desk, she is filled with conflicting emotions. At one time she would have done most anything for such an opportunity, but things have changed. There’s no joy in the thought of being on Kathryn’s team, and she’s uncertain as to whether she even wants to be in this business. Or, for that matter, in Philadelphia.
Most of her day is spent catching up on the workload, and it is close to five when she finally gets time enough to return Michael’s call. The first thing she says is “I’m sorry”. She tells him of her conversation with Kathryn.
“Wow,” he says, “That’s great!” He suggests they go to dinner to celebrate.
Annie doubts there is reason for celebration but the thought of dinner with Michael is appealing, so she agrees.
He arrives at the apartment fifteen minutes early, and again he has something hidden behind his back. “I brought you something. Guess what it is.”
He is recreating the old game they played, and this time Annie goes along with it.
“A box of candy,” she says.
He shakes his head. “Guess again.”
“A puppy.”
“Wrong again,” he says and produces a second bouquet of yellow roses from behind his back. As he hands them to Annie, he pulls her into his arms and whispers that he misses being with her. Although she is wearing a dress he’s seen a thousand times before, he tells her she looks lovely and when they leave the apartment building he wraps his arm around her waist and snuggles her close.
“I’ve missed you,” he repeats, and his words carry the sound of sincerity.
He has the evening planned. First there is dinner in a quaint French restaurant, smaller by half than Luigi’s but three times pricier. He orders a bottle of pinot noir and tells the waiter they will share a chateaubriand. Only after the waiter has left with the order does he ask if that is okay with Annie.
He is remembering the things that were special in the earlier days, so she of course approves. Back then the red wine was an inexpensive Chianti and the steak was a porterhouse, but the intimacy of this moment is as it once was. He stretches his arm across the table and takes her hand in his.
As they wait for dinner he talks of the good times. The summer they rented a beach house; the weekend visits to the aquarium; dinners at Luigi’s; late night walks in the park. He says nothing about the problem that drove a wedge between them.
Even as he eats, his eyes are still on her face. “Remember that weekend in Manhattan? Dinner in the Rainbow Room.”
Annie’s mouth is full but she nods and gives him a smile that says, yes, I remember.
“I don’t think I’ve ever danced as much as we did that evening.” He sips his wine then adds, “We should do it again.”
It is a sweet thought that Annie does not know how to answer.
“Things have changed,” she says wistfully.
There is a heavy pause before Michael answers. “They don’t have to. It can be the same as it was before.” He again takes her hand in his and his voice is softer. “Over these past months I’ve come to realize how much I need you, Annie. My life is empty without you. I miss the fun we had together, I miss making love to you, I miss—”
Annie interrupts. “My life was pretty empty when you left.”
Her words have a sharp edge to them. Even though she has moved on, the pain of those months is easily remembered.
“I know.” The smile has left his face, replaced by a mask of penitence. “I was a jerk, and I’m sorrier than you can possibly imagine. It was the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. Take me back, and I swear I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”
Annie does not expect this and stumbles over her words. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this.”
“Just think about it,” he pleads. “Give me a chance. That’s all I’m asking for is a chance. You’ll see I’m a changed man.”
The only thing Annie can offer is the promise to think about it, which is what she does.
Annie
Have you ever been in a place where everything was absolutely perfect, and yet inside your head you hear a voice screaming at you to be careful?
That’s how I feel right now.
Michael says he’s a changed man, and to tell you the truth he acts like he is. Everything about tonight was special. Letter perfect, you might say. But that’s how Michael does things. There’s no halfway mark.
I’d be happy if he brought me one rose, but instead he brings a dozen. Not just a dozen, but a dozen from the most expensive shop in town. The thing is when a man gives you a single rose he’s telling you he loves you, but with Michael I’m not too sure what the message is.
Before this past week, I hadn’t heard from him for four, maybe five months. Now all of sudden he wants to start seeing me again.
I want to be happy about it, I honestly do, but it’s hard to forget those last few months we were together. He couldn’t find one nice thing to say, and when we went out to dinner he’d gobble down his food so he could get home in time to see some sports show on television.
Those months were horrible enough, but then when he walked out all he left was the note on the table saying he wouldn’t be back. We never had a discussion about it, never said goodbye, nothing. After almost seven years, I thought I deserved a lot more than a note. All those months I sat alone in this apartment, thinking he’d call, but he never did. I cried myself to sleep every night for over a month.
You know what the stupid part is? Even though I can remember all these things, there’s a piece of me that still wants him back. Michael can charm the skin off a snake when he wants to; that’s why I’ve got to be careful.
Even though I’m tempted to let myself love him again, I’m not ready right now. I’m not ready to love him, and I’m not ready to walk away either. I’m hoping we can continue to see each other but take it slow. Before I let Michael back into my life, I’ve got to know he’s sincere.
I’ve finally moved on to the point where I’ve found a bit of happiness, and I certainly don’t want to go back to where I was.
Can you blame me?
The Decision
As the week progresses, it appears that Michael is indeed a changed man. He begins to telephone her twice a day, and on Wednesday they go to dinner again. Michael suggests Hung Foo’s, which comes as a surprise to Annie.
“I thought you didn’t like Chinese,” she says.
“I know you like it,” he answers.
Annie recalls only one other time they’d gone to a Chinese restaurant; that was back when they first began dating. It was a place she’d suggested and he’d agreed to, but when dinner was served he’d picked at the food and left most of it on the plate. Remembering this she suggests a steakhouse that is just six blocks from the apartment.
Michael grins and says that’s a much better idea.
On Thursday when he calls the apartment at six-thirty and Annie is not yet home, he calls her at the office.
“I was worried about you,” he says.
It seems strange that a man who left her to fend for herself five months ago is now worried because she is an hour late coming home from work. Annie thinks this but says it is nice of him to care. When she tells him she’s catching up on work, he asks how much longer she’ll be.
“Another hour or so,” she answers.
“Okay, I’ll pick up groceries and have dinner waiting for you,” he says. Michael then asks if the spare key is still on the ledge above the apartment door.
Annie hesitates for a moment. To allow him this liberty is like reaching into a beehive for honey and knowing you’re likely to get stung.
>
“You don’t have to bother,” she says. “I’m not sure what time I’ll get home and there’s no sense—”
“It’s no bother,” he says. “I don’t want my girl going hungry.”
The more Annie offers up excuses, the more insistent Michael becomes. When she tells him the spare key is no longer there, he says “No trouble” and suggests he can have Joe, the doorman, let him in.
“That’s okay isn’t it, babe?” he asks.
“I suppose so,” she answers.
She says this because there is a part of her that wants their relationship to be as it once was, but somehow this seems too much too soon. Annie is afraid of rushing into something she can’t handle. Scars of the last time around are still too fresh. She remembers the countless times she gave in to something simply because Michael wanted it that way.
She stays at the office a half-hour longer than she intended, and by the time Annie packs up and starts for home she’s decided to tell Michael he’s got to slow things down. Love isn’t a faucet to be turned on and off at will is what she’ll say. This speech is set in Annie’s mind, but when she steps inside the apartment Michael comes and wraps his arms around her.
He has dinner waiting and has set two small candles in the center of the kitchen table. As they eat he talks of plans for one thing and another. Maybe they’ll rent a beach house for the summer, or they can take a cruise together. Although Annie is caught up in the energy of his thoughts she notices that they are his thoughts. His plans. He has not once asked what she wants of this relationship.
“I don’t know that I’d want a beach house,” she says. “It means we’d be there every weekend, and there are other things I might want to do.”
He laughs. “What’s better than spending weekends at the beach?”
“I have a friend I like to visit,” she says.
Michael’s eyes narrow and he cocks his mouth to one side. “What kind of friend?”
Memory House: Memory House Collection (Memory House Series Book 1) Page 9
