“An older woman,” Annie says. “She owns the bed and breakfast where I stay, and we’ve become good friends.”
Michael raises an eyebrow and gives a look of disbelief. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I’m not kidding,” Annie says indignantly. “I’m entitled to have friends of my own. Other interests.”
The look of disbelief is still stretched across Michael’s face. “This is where you’ve been going every weekend?”
Perhaps a bit of Ophelia’s resilience has rubbed off on Annie, because she feels the fire of anger sizzle and pop inside of her.
“I don’t owe you an explanation,” she snaps.
“Yeah, you do!” Michael says. “I’m trying to make this work while you’re taking off every weekend and giving me a cockamamie story about visiting some old lady.”
“I’m not giving you any story!” Annie shouts back. “I don’t have to. We’re not married!”
“Oh, so that’s what this is all about? We’re back to the marriage and kids crap, huh?”
“Get out!” Annie screams. “Get out, and don’t come back!”
“Don’t worry, I won’t!” Michael storms out and slams the door so hard the frame shakes.
Once he is gone Annie sits at the table and cries. She cries until the candles are burnt to a nub and the food has long ago grown cold. When the tears stop Annie throws the food into the garbage can and cleans up the kitchen.
Although she climbs into bed, sleep is impossible to come by. In the smallest hours of the morning Annie goes from being angry to thinking about the things that bring her happiness. Michael is not on the list. The apartment is not on the list. And oddly enough neither is her job.
By the time daylight creeps across the horizon Annie has made her decision.
It is twenty minutes after nine when Annie arrives at the office. She is dressed in jeans and a tee shirt that boasts Virginia is for Lovers. She doesn’t bother going to her desk; there is nothing she needs to retrieve. No pictures, no cute souvenirs, not even a pot of ivy. Although she has worked here seven years she has accumulated nothing but an endless stack of files waiting to be processed. Perhaps she has not surrounded herself with personal memorabilia because she has always known this job was a temporary stop in her life.
There is no anger in her face when she taps on the doorframe of Kathryn’s office.
“Excuse me,” she says, and Kathryn looks up.
Kathryn’s eyes narrow in a hard glare. “That attire is inappropriate for the office.”
“I’m not staying,” Annie replies. Without an invitation she walks into the office and sits in the chair in front of Kathryn’s desk. “I’m here to resign. After a considerable amount of thought, I’ve decided this job is not right for me.”
Kathryn’s face is pulled tight with a look of astonishment. “Did you not understand I’m considering you for the position of head underwriter?”
“I understood,” Annie answers. Her voice is calm, pleasant almost. Now that this woman is no longer her boss, the playing field has been leveled.
“The job comes with a substantial pay increase,” Kathryn adds.
“I figured it would,” Annie says. “But if I’m not happy with what I’m doing, no amount of money will change that.”
“Oh, I get it,” Kathryn says cynically. “You’ve got a better offer elsewhere, right?”
“There’s no other offer,” Annie replies. “It’s just that I’ve come to realize this isn’t the type of work I want to do.”
“You’ve been here seven years! It took you seven years to decide you didn’t like what you’re doing?”
Annie laughs. “I guess so.”
Kathryn stands and paces back and forth behind her desk. “You’ve put me in a very difficult position. I was counting on you to take over as head underwriter. Now what am I going to do?”
“I’m in no position to give advice,” Annie says, “but if I were you I’d get Peter Axelrod back. He’s perfect for the job. He knows the business, and he’s got spot on judgment when it comes to case evaluation.”
Kathryn stops pacing and turns to Annie. Before she can say anything Annie adds, “Of course Peter might not be interested; my understanding is that Liberty has made him an offer.”
Kathryn gives an exasperated sigh and starts pacing again.
When Annie leaves Kathryn’s office she says goodbye to the handful of co-workers she is friendly with and then walks to the other end of the floor for one last visit with Peter. They chat for several minutes, and before she leaves she tells him of her conversation with Kathryn.
“I’m betting she’s going to offer you the job,” Annie says. “She’s got her back to the wall, so hold out for more money.”
As Annie stands to leave Peter’s phone rings. It is Kathryn.
When she leaves the building Annie feels lighter than she has in many years. She has no job and no thoughts as to what type of job she will ultimately look for, but she is certain that whatever lies ahead will be better than what she is leaving behind. She has money enough for three, maybe four months, and for now that’s enough.
She returns to the apartment and packs a suitcase. Jeans, tee-shirts, a few sweatshirts for cool evenings, some shorts for warm afternoons, sandals, sneakers and a sundress she bought last year and hasn’t yet worn. This time it is not a small overnight bag but a suitcase that carries enough clothes for a week, maybe two and possibly even three.
Before she leaves she telephones Sophie. They talk for almost an hour, and Annie tells her of all that has happened with Michael and her job.
“I’m taking a few weeks’ vacation,” she says, “but I’ll be back before the end of the month. I have to do something about this apartment.”
“Like what?” Sophie asks.
“If they won’t let me out of the lease, I’ll try to sub-let it.”
“Wow,” Sophie says. “I envy that kind of freedom. With the twins I could never—”
“Be glad you’ve got a loving husband and two great kids,” Annie replies. She would gladly trade the freedom of belonging nowhere for such a gift.
It is not yet noon when Annie walks out of the apartment, locks the door and steps into the elevator. Even if the traffic is heavy, she will be in Burnsville in time for supper.
~ ~ ~
Michael has also spent a sleepless night. After he stormed out of the apartment, he regretted doing so. He now wishes he’d held his anger in check. It stood to reason that Annie would have other friends. He should have accepted it instead of going off on a tangent.
It would have been easy enough to say he’d go with her to visit this supposed friend and that would have put an end to the issue. Even if worse came to worst and he did have to go once or twice, it was no big deal. Sooner or later she’d realize that weekends at the beach were far more fun and admit he’d been right all along.
Annie is already packing her suitcase when Michael calls The Love Garden and orders a bouquet of two dozen yellow roses to be delivered to her office. He is smiling when he hangs up the receiver, confident that his plan will work. He pictures the delight on her face and starts thinking through what he will say. Not an outright apology but a softening of the battle lines. We can work it out, he’ll suggest, and then offer to take her to dinner so they can talk things over.
Knowing Annie her voice will be cool to start with, but once he says he can’t live without her and they were meant to be together she’ll melt like butter in his hands.
Juan Gomez has worked at The Love Garden for almost a year. Despite the long hours and low pay he is glad for the job. It is enough to put food on the table and buy new shoes for his daughter who more than anything else wants to look like every other girl in her school.
When Juan arrives at Metropolitan Underwriting, he looks around and, seeing no other woman, walks into Kathryn’s office.
“Excuse, please,” he says, “where to find Miss Annie Cross?”
Kathryn looks up
angrily. “Is this some kind of a sick joke?”
“No joke,” he says. “Flowers for Miss Annie Cross.”
“She’s gone,” Kathryn says. “Now get those damned flowers out of here!”
Instead of leaving he shows the delivery ticket to Kathryn. “See, is right. Where to find Miss Annie Cross?”
“How the hell would I know?” Kathryn yells. “She doesn’t work here anymore! And if you’re not out of my office in five seconds I’m calling security.”
“Ticket say Annie Cross, Metropol—”
“Securiteeee!” Kathryn screams.
This is the first time Juan has failed to make a delivery, and he is frightened that it will cost him his job. For a good half hour he paces back and forth in front of the elevators. He is certain he has made a mistake somewhere along the line. Perhaps he got the instructions wrong. Maybe the flowers were supposed to be delivered to her apartment, not the office. He has twice before delivered yellow roses to Annie’s apartment. Each time she smiled and gave him a two-dollar tip. A two-dollar tip is better than getting fired.
Since there is no other alternative he decides he will deliver the flowers to Annie Cross’s apartment.
He hurries from the building and runs the whole twelve blocks to Remington Arms. When he arrives Joe waves him through. He taps on Annie’s door several times, and when there is no answer he leaves the flowers alongside her apartment door and returns to the shop.
Help at Hand
It is six-thirty when Annie arrives in Burnsville. She wants to surprise Ophelia, so instead of calling she steps up to the front door and raps the brass knocker. Knowing Ophelia can be slow at times she waits patiently, but after several minutes have passed she lifts the knocker again. This time she bangs it hard six, maybe seven times. Again she waits.
After a few minutes with still no answer, Annie starts to worry. She looks to the far side of a budding magnolia and checks the apothecary. No light in the shop. Something is wrong, Annie is all but certain of it. She circles around the house to where the screened porch opens into the dining room that leads to the kitchen. There is a light on in the kitchen.
“Ophelia,” she calls out.
When there is no answer, she calls out again and again; then she catches the scent of it—something is burning.
Annie’s heart starts pounding like a kettledrum. Luckily she has pulled into the drive. She runs back to the car, pops open the trunk and grabs the tire iron. In just a few steps she is back at the front door. Swinging the tire iron, she shatters the glass panel alongside the front door then reaches through and unlocks the door. Seconds later she finds Ophelia on the floor of the kitchen.
On the back burner of the stove there is an enamel kettle, the one Ophelia uses to boil water for tea. The burner flame is on but the kettle is empty and blackened.
In a motion so fluid it seems automated, Annie switches off the burner and kneels beside her friend. Ophelia is breathing but ashen in color. Annie rolls a towel and puts it under Ophelia’s head then grabs the phone and dials 9-1-1.
In a voice filled with urgency she tells the operator to send help. “Please hurry,” she begs. While Annie is still on the line the operator says an ambulance is already on the way.
When Annie hangs up the receiver she returns to the kitchen, wets a dishtowel with cold water and wipes Ophelia’s face and hands. When she lifts Ophelia’s hand into hers the weight of it is heavier than she would have thought. Kneeling beside the woman who has become dear to her heart, Annie prays.
Her tears have already begun to flow when Ophelia’s eyelids flutter open.
Dazed and confused, Ophelia asks, “Is Edward gone?”
“Yes,” Annie answers. “He died a long time ago, do you remember?”
“Well, of course I remember,” Ophelia replies. “But he was here. He held my hand and told me I had to keep breathing.”
Annie thinks perhaps Ophelia felt her touch and mistook it for Edward’s. “Are you certain it was Edward?”
“I’m positive,” Ophelia replies. There is no doubt in her voice.
“Well, thank God he was here.” Annie says nothing more; for Ophelia, having Edward by her side is a far greater comfort than any she could provide.
It is almost twenty minutes before they hear the wail of the ambulance siren. By then Annie has helped Ophelia up and she is sitting in the chair.
The two medics arrive with a portable oxygen tank and a medical bag. The young girl steps aside while a soft-spoken man with hair that is greying at the temples talks to Ophelia.
“Do you remember what happened?” he asks.
“Not really,” Ophelia answers. “I was getting ready to make a pot of tea and I took the canister down…”
He now has a stethoscope in his hand and is listening to her heart. “Were you standing on a stool and maybe fell over?”
“I don’t need a stool,” Ophelia says indignantly. “The tea is on the bottom shelf.”
He smiles and moves the stethoscope to her back. “Take a deep breath,” he says and then asks what medication she is on.
“None.” Ophelia answers.
He straightens himself and there is a look of surprise on his face. “None? I would think at your age…”
The girl hands him a blood pressure cuff, and he wraps it around Ophelia’s skinny little arm.
After almost twenty minutes, he says he can find nothing wrong but suggests Ophelia see her doctor for a check-up.
“If you want we can take you into the hospital tonight, let them run some more extensive tests,” he says.
Annie thinks this is a good idea, but Ophelia refuses.
“I’m fine now,” she says. “I probably just had too much dandelion tea.”
“Dandelion tea?” The medic laughs.
Once they are gone Annie tells Ophelia that living alone is not a good idea.
“God forbid something happens when there’s no one to call for help,” she says. She asks if Ophelia has family nearby.
“Family?” Ophelia laughs. “I should think not. I’ve outlived them all. Next March I’ll be ninety years old.”
“Well, then, it’s time you had help. Taking care of this house, the garden, the apothecary and guests is way too much for a woman your age.”
“Oh, fiddlesticks. I’m as capable as the next person. I had a bit of a dizzy spell; it’s not worth fretting over.”
“It was more than a dizzy spell,” Annie argues. “You were unconscious for a good ten minutes, maybe more!”
Ophelia reaches across and pats Annie’s cheek. “You worry too much. Worry doesn’t change a thing. When it’s my time to go, I’ll go. This wasn’t my time. I’ve still got work to do.”
“Work? I don’t think the apothecary—”
Again Ophelia laughs. “I’m not talking about the apothecary.” She takes Annie’s hand in hers. “You see, you didn’t just stumble upon Memory House; you were meant to be here.”
A puzzled look settles on Annie’s face. “Meant to be here. Why?”
“I didn’t know myself until this past week. I had a dream; in it there was a sun so bright I had to close my eyes. I heard a voice and it said, You’ve done well, Ophelia Browne, but your work isn’t quite done.”
“Was it Edward?” Annie asks.
“Not Edward,” Ophelia says. “The voice was way bigger than Edward’s. I could see myself standing in front of that huge bright sun so small I looked like a speck of cinder. What more do I need to do? I asked.”
Annie scoots closer and leans in.
It is as if Ophelia is reliving the dream. “The voice said your destiny was in my hands.”
“My destiny? How?”
Ophelia gives a slight shrug. “I wish I knew. The only thing I’m pretty certain of is that one of my treasures is connected to your future.”
Annie has countless questions, but she just asks, “Which one?”
Shaking her head sorrowfully, Ophelia replies, “I don’t know. That’s
why I have to make sure you know about them all. What if I was to tell you the secret of every treasure but skipped one? That single memory could be the very one meant to change your life.”
Six months ago Annie would have laughed at such a thought. But now she can almost see her life changing; changing so fast she can barely keep up with it.
“The bicycle,” she blurts out. “It must be the bicycle.”
“It might be.” Ophelia smiles. “But I can’t say for sure. There are a number of others I’ve not yet shared.” For a moment Ophelia is still. She has so much to tell Annie, but it’s not like a bag of sugar you spill on the table all at once. It has to be served up one spoonful at a time.
“It has to be the bicycle,” Annie repeats confidently. “The minute I touched it I heard the boy laugh. That didn’t happen with any of the others.”
Ophelia sighs. “Time will tell.” She lets her thoughts linger on the word “time”. “If only we had more time together—”
“I can stay longer,” Annie cuts in. “I’ve quit my job and—”
“Quit your job?”
Annie gives a grin and nods.
“What about your friend, Michael?”
Annie wrinkles her nose and shakes her head. “We’re through. After listening to you talk about Edward, I’ve come to realize my love for Michael was never like that.” She hesitates a moment then adds, “Michael wanted me, but he didn’t honestly love me. We were just two people headed in the same direction, and walking together was better than walking alone. Love should be more than that.”
“True indeed.” Ophelia nods. “Love is more than that, and when the right man comes along you don’t have to think twice.”
She says this with certainty because she has lived through such an experience. She thinks back on her love for Edward. It was one that swells the heart and sprinkles stardust on everything it touches. It was one that outlasts life itself. She wants the same for Annie.
On this evening Annie cooks supper, and Ophelia sits in the chair listening to all that has happened in the past week. She chuckles when Annie tells of Kathryn and shakes her head when she hears of Michael’s parting words.
Memory House: Memory House Collection (Memory House Series Book 1) Page 10
