When they have finished eating they move to the side porch with a pot of dandelion tea. As Ophelia settles into her chair, a devilish grin slides onto her face.
“I’ve been thinking you’re probably right,” she says.
“Probably right?” Annie repeats. “About what?”
“About me needing someone to help out.” The grin stretches into a broad smile, and Ophelia asks if Annie would be willing to take the job.
“I’m your friend,” Annie replies. “Remember what you said about not taking money from a friend? Especially a friend who’s practically a relative.”
Ophelia gives a hearty chuckle. “You’ve got me on that, but bear in mind I said that before I knew I’d need someone to help out.”
After a bit of bantering, it is decided that Annie will stay. She will pay nothing for rent, nor will she accept money for helping.
“Once I’ve closed up the apartment, I’ll look for a job around here,” she says.
Annie’s smile matches the one Ophelia is wearing.
Ophelia
The voice in my dream said something else, something I didn’t tell Annie. Nobody wants to hear bad news so I left that part out, but I remember it word for word. You’ve done well, Ophelia Browne, he said, but your time on earth is growing short.
That’s exactly what he said, and I don’t doubt it’s true. As I’ve told you before, Browne family women seldom live past ninety. Edward told me his Aunt Harriet lived to ninety-three, but she’s the only one. Fact is fact, and it makes no difference whether you’re born into the Browne family or marry into it.
The truth is I’m ready to go whenever the Lord calls me. I’ve been waiting almost sixty years to see my Edward again, so it will be one heck of a reunion. As it is I’ve been on this earth so long I’ve nearly worn out my welcome.
They say every person has a purpose in life. At one time I thought my purpose was being Edward’s wife and the mother of his children, but as you well know that wasn’t to be. God knows how many years I’ve been searching for another purpose and now when I’m almost out of time, I finally find it.
It’s Annie. She’s my reason for being here. The dream made me see that clear as day. Once she’s on the road to happiness, then my work will be done.
I know I told her one of my treasures is the key to her future, but I’m not even sure of that. The truth is I don’t have an answer. The voice didn’t say a word about what I had to do; it just said her destiny is in my hands. So I started thinking about it, and the only thing I could figure out is that it’s got to be the memory in one of my treasures. I don’t have anything else of worth. If I did I’d surely give it to her.
When you’re short on years you don’t have the luxury of stretching things out the way you do when you’re young. It would have been nice if Annie and I could’ve spent years getting to know one another, but that’s water under the bridge. She’s here now, and that’s all that counts.
I know I’m not really her mama, but in a strange way I feel like I am. I look into those violet eyes of hers and see myself seventy or eighty years ago. Having Annie with me is the closest I’ve ever come to having a daughter, so I’m determined to enjoy every minute we’ve got.
Tomorrow I’m going to start telling her about the memories I’ve found. All of them, right down to the tiniest one. She feels things the way I do, so I think when something important comes along she’ll know it.
God knows I hope she does.
The Watch
On Saturday Annie spends most of the day trying to straighten the front wheel of the bicycle. After hearing Ophelia’s prediction that a memory will change her life, she is more determined than ever to ride it. Although Ophelia has said it could be any one of many treasures, Annie is certain it is the bicycle.
She removes the wheel and lays it on the flat slab of sidewalk in front of the house. Now she can see exactly where the problem is. To the eye it looks small enough, but when it bumps against the fender the bicycle is impossible to steer. She first tries pushing it back into place, but the metal rim doesn’t budge. Not even when she leans her full weight on it. When that fails, she takes a hammer from the shed and starts tapping the edge. At first it looks like she is making progress, but then she sees the bulge is simply moving from one spot to another.
Earlier in the week Annie searched the Internet for recommendations on how to fix a bicycle wheel. She found plenty of suggestions, but some were too complicated and others required tools she’d never before heard of. A few offered bits of information that might actually help.
Adjusting the spokes is what comes to mind. Trying to remember the instructions, she tightens the tension on one side of the wheel and loosens it on the opposite side. Once that is done she stands the wheel on its side and tries rolling it. It wobbles to the left and she can see the bump is larger. She again lays the wheel flat and reverses the action, tightening what she’d loosened and loosening what she’d tightened. The bump is now smaller than it was, but when she tries rolling the wheel it again wobbles. Less than before, but still falling to the left.
With frustration picking at her brain and rivulets of sweat rolling down her back, Annie uses the last helpful tip she can remember. She lifts the wheel over her head and, with every bit of muscle she can muster, slams it down against the concrete. When she hears the snap of metal Annie covers her eyes, afraid to look. After several seconds she spreads her fingers and peers through the opening. It looks like the bump is gone, but that’s what she thought last time. She flips the wheel over and finds the bump is not visible on that side either. She sets the wheel upright and rolls it. When the wheel goes straight, she leaps into the air and shouts for joy.
As soon as the bicycle is back together she calls for Ophelia to come and watch as she rides.
Annie climbs on the bike, pushes down on the pedal and off she goes.
“It works!” she screams, then disappears around a bend in the road.
Ophelia stands there smiling, and only after she has watched Annie circle the block twice does she uncross the fingers she’s holding behind her back.
~ ~ ~
Back in Philadelphia, Michael checks his cell phone for the seventeenth time and there is still no call from Annie.
“Ungrateful bitch,” he mumbles.
Back and forth he paces. Back and forth, time and again. Sometimes he is teary-eyed, and other times he spits out words of anger and hatred.
When day turns to evening, he tells himself she is not worth his while. He dresses in a black shirt and trousers, then splashes a heavy layer of cologne on his neck. When he tromps out, he leaves his cell phone on the hall table.
“Screw her,” he says. “Let her see what it feels like to be left waiting.”
He is still confident Annie will call.
Down at the wharf he picks up a blonde from Cincinnati, and they go drinking. They drink martinis and she keeps up with him, matching drink for drink.
They are on their third round of drinks when she asks if he’s married.
“Do I look married?” Michael answers.
She gives him a toothy smile and says, “No, but maybe you got a girlfriend you ain’t telling me about.”
“No girlfriend,” Michael says. Then he slides his hand along the edge of her skirt.
~ ~ ~
Now that Annie has ridden the bicycle, she is confident she will soon come to know the boy. She has yet to hear the lad himself, but twice she has heard the sound of people calling his name. Both times the voices were far away and too muffled to make out distinctly. Still, she knows she is on the verge of finding him. When the wind whistles past her ears she pictures him riding in front of her. She can hear the puff of his breath. He is riding the same bicycle as she is, but his is newer, shinier. It is as if they are racing—she pedals fast trying to catch up, trying to grab a glimpse of his face. He pedals faster yet. Annie senses he is afraid of something, but she has no idea of what or who.
For the fir
st time in many years Annie feels light as a feather. Her days are spent bicycling, gardening and listening to Ophelia’s stories.
On Tuesday the weather turns to summer, and they have supper on the porch. After they eat, Ophelia pours two mugs of dandelion tea. She has begun to add two tablespoons of marigold to every pot because she believes it will enhance Annie’s ability to feel the memories in each treasure. As they sip their tea, she pulls a gold pocket watch from the folds of her apron and lays it on the table. She waits to see if Annie will pick it up.
“How pretty,” Annie says and lifts it into her hand.
Suddenly it is like the sting of a bee in her palm, and she gasps.
“Ow!”
She drops the watch back onto the table. Her expression is one of disbelief when she looks up. “Did you steal this?”
“Not me.” Ophelia laughs. “But I believe it was at one time stolen.”
“It stung my hand when I—”
Again Ophelia laughs. “I know. I felt the same sting the first time I picked it up. You have to hold it for a while before you can feel the good memories.”
Annie lifts the watch again. This time there is no sting. The watch feels warm in her hand, but she feels nothing beyond that warmth.
For the remainder of the evening Annie keeps the watch folded in her hand.
“There are actually three watches like this,” Ophelia explains. “Two of them were created as a replica of the first, which was stolen.”
“How do you know that?” Annie asks.
“The watch told me,” Ophelia replies.
“You knew it was a replica?”
“This isn’t a replica,” Ophelia says. “It’s the original. A man named Wilbur carried that watch for fifty years, and his daddy carried it before him.”
“Wilbur,” Annie repeats. The name is a seed she is planting in her memory.
“Wilbur had three loves in his life,” Ophelia says. “His first wife, then Ida and then—”
“Caroline,” Annie says.
Ophelia’s face is struck with amazement. “How did you—”
Annie doesn’t wait for the rest of the question. “I don’t know. I didn’t even realize I was going to say something. My mouth just opened and out it came.”
A smile of satisfaction curls Ophelia’s lips. “Good. It proves you can do it.” She explains how she carried the watch for weeks before she could catch the memory of Wilbur’s story, and then it came only after she began sleeping with the watch tucked beneath her pillow.
When the moon is high in the sky, Ophelia yawns and says it is time for bed. She hands Annie the watch.
“Sleep with it beneath your pillow,” she says. “Perhaps you will find more about the memory in a dream.”
That night Annie is awakened by the smell of smoke, and she can feel the heat of nearby flames. Her first thought is of Ophelia. Barefoot and in her pajamas, she dashes up the stairs. With three long strides she crosses to Ophelia’s bed.
“Wake up! Wake up!” she screams, tugging at the old woman’s shoulder.
Ophelia is sound asleep, and it is several seconds before she opens her eyes.
“Quick, we’ve got to get out of here!” Annie shouts. “The house is on fire!”
Still struggling to come fully awake, Ophelia asks, “What are you talking about? There’s no fire.”
“Yes, there is!” She pulls back the comforter and reaches for Ophelia’s arm. “Can’t you smell the…” Suddenly Annie realizes she no longer smells the smoke.
“Wait here,” she tells Ophelia and goes to investigate. She descends the stairs slowly, stopping on each step and sniffing at the air. There is no trace of smoke, no flame, no hint of there ever being a fire. Room by room she searches the house, stepping out onto the porch, looking across to the garden and beyond the willow. Everything is as still and peaceful as it was when she went to bed.
Annie is certain there was smoke and flames, but now there is nothing. Returning to the loft she apologizes to Ophelia for such a foolish mistake.
“I can’t imagine why I thought…”
After she is back in her own bed it is a long while before she falls asleep. The fright of the fire is still with her, and it causes her heart to beat like the rat-tat-tat of a snare drum. There is no thought of the watch beneath her pillow.
The Reality of Regret
For the first three days Michael tells himself Annie can go to hell as far as he is concerned. He is certain she wants him to come crawling on his hands and knees begging for her forgiveness. He is equally certain that he’ll never do it.
“We’ll see who can wait the longest,” he says. Yet he checks the messages on his cell phone several times an hour.
In the week she has been gone he has slept with two different women. Both times were disastrous. Instead of enjoying his flings he found himself thinking about Annie and became as impotent as a baby.
It seems as though the week has been a month long, and when Wednesday turns into Thursday with no call he starts to worry. Tomorrow will be Friday, and he thinks Annie just might leave town to spend another weekend with her so-called friend.
Enough is enough. He is not ready to struggle through another weekend of waiting for her to call, but he is also not willing to go in waving the white flag of surrender.
On Thursday morning he decides to stop by her office and casually invite her to lunch. Not a date, just lunch. He’ll make it sound like sort of a friendship thing. He’ll mention that he was looking for his blue jacket and thinks he might have left it at her apartment. She’s bound to mention the flowers, and after she does he’ll ask if she wants to grab a burger together. That should be enough to get the ball rolling.
When he arrives at Metropolitan Underwriting at ten-thirty Thursday morning, he is already planning their weekend together. Saturday night it will be dinner at Jean Pierre, and on Sunday they can take in a Phillies game.
He has been to her office a number of times before, so Michael doesn’t bother to stop at the receptionist’s desk; he breezes by and heads for where he knows he will find Annie. When he rounds the corner, Peter is sitting at Annie’s desk.
“Shit,” he mumbles. As he crosses to the desk, he forces a smile to his face then casually asks, “Is Annie around?”
Peter is surprised to see Michael here but even more surprised by the question.
“No,” he answers. “She hasn’t been here since last Friday.”
“Last Friday?”
Peter nods. “Didn’t she tell you?”
Visibly annoyed, Michael asks, “Tell me what?”
“Annie quit her job on Friday; she hasn’t been back since.”
Michael is not only bewildered, he is also embarrassed. He has been made to look a fool, and that’s something that rankles him down to the soles of his feet.
“Oh, right,” he says. “I’ve been out of town and forgot about her mentioning that she planned to quit.” He turns to leave.
“She planned to quit?” Peter asks.
“Yeah,” Michael replies. “Apparently there was some brouhaha about not getting the promotion she wanted. You know how women are.”
Peter doesn’t bother to answer. He knows Michael is lying. Once Michael disappears down the hallway, Peter dials Annie’s home number and leaves a message.
“This is Peter,” he says. “Call me.”
When Michael leaves Metropolitan Underwriting, he heads for Annie’s apartment building. Joe Felder is the doorman on duty when he scuttles by. He gives Joe a quick wave and disappears into the elevator.
In front of Annie’s apartment is the bouquet of roses. They are limp, and many of the flowers have already turned brown. He rings the doorbell several times and then reaches for the ledge above the door. There is no key.
For several minutes Michael stands in front of the door. He is dumbfounded at this turn of events. When there is no other alternative, he returns to the lobby and tells Joe he’s again forgotten his key to the apar
tment.
“Can you let me in?” he asks.
“No problem,” Joe says and pulls a ring of master keys from his desk.
As they ride up in the elevator Michael makes small talk and tries to sound casual, but his heart pounds against his chest and he hopes the nervous twitch in his right eye is not noticeable.
As they step from the elevator, Joe asks, “You and the missus been away?”
“Sort of,” Michael answers. He claims Annie has a sick friend she’s visiting, and he’s been traveling for business.
Joe gives a nod, “Thought so, since I ain’t seen either of you around all week.” He unlocks the door and pushes it open.
“Thanks,” Michael says and folds a ten-dollar bill into Joe’s hand.
Once Joe is gone Michael rummages through the apartment, not sure what he is looking for but hoping to find an indication of Annie’s whereabouts. She has never before done anything this rash, and he is at a loss to understand why she would do it now. As drawer after drawer reveals nothing, Michael grows increasingly more worried. Okay, they had an argument, but surely she knew he’d be back. He always came back.
When he finishes searching the apartment and finds nothing, he plops down on the sofa. None of this makes sense, he tells himself. Her clothes are still hanging in the closet, so she’s obviously planning to come back. But when? And from where?
As Michael sits and thinks back on the seven years they spent together, he realizes he doesn’t want to lose Annie. It’s the marriage thing that’s the problem, he decides. That’s the only thing it could be. Other than arguments about marriage and kids, they were okay together. They always had fun. She was right for him, and whether or not she realizes it he was right for her.
Although it is early in the afternoon, Michael pulls a bottle of scotch from the cabinet and pours himself a drink. He takes one sip then sits there holding it in his hand. The thought of losing Annie is terrifying. Even during the months they’d been separated, he always believed he could come back whenever he wanted to. He knew she’d be there. Now, he’s not so sure.
Memory House: Memory House Collection (Memory House Series Book 1) Page 11
