Remembering You

by Stella MacLean

  He twirled me around once and let me go. I danced across the lot, moving to imaginary music. Halfway to the car I heard clapping.

  “That’s wonderful. But then, you've had practice.” Sam followed me across the lot, taking my hand in his as if he’d done it a thousand times before.

  “And you’ve been peeking in my windows,” I said, enjoying the way he looked at me, the easy way we shared our thoughts.

  “Do you blame me?” He drew me toward him.

  In his eyes I saw challenge mingled with affection. The air stilled between us as his eyes swept over my face. “Susan, you’re one hell of a woman.”

  Was he flirting with me? I was so out of practice I couldn’t be sure. And if he was, why couldn’t I come up with something clever and sophisticated to say? I was standing in a parking lot with a—yes—handsome man on a beautiful evening. A man who was my neighbor, my friend and someone who understood what I'd been through.

  If I could string a couple of sentences together, what would I want to say? That being here with him like this was one of those crazy moments between two people? That the vulnerable look in his eyes was too real for me right now? Or did I simply lack the social skills to deal with a man who was trying to pay me a compliment?

  Before I could respond, Sam asked, “Would you like to go for coffee?” His voice was tentative as he opened the car door for me.

  I climbed into the seat and he went around to the driver’s side and slid in. I couldn’t look at him, not with so many feelings roaring through me. I felt light-hearted, excited, bursting with pleasure. And most of all, I felt the warmth of Sam’s physical presence. And it felt...right.

  “I make the best espresso on the planet,” Sam said as he started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.

  “You're inviting me to your house,” I said stupidly.

  “Yeah, that’s the plan.” He glanced my way. “Don’t look so scared.”

  I smoothed my expression into what I hoped was one of pleasant interest. “Me? Scared? Hardly.”

  My real fear was that this was all progressing too quickly.

  While I twisted my imaginary worry beads, Sam drove to his house, parked the car and, with gallantry and charm, escorted me into his living room—which had a great view of my living room windows. While we talked he made the best cup of espresso I’d ever had.

  Sitting on the sofa next to him, sipping my coffee, I realized how enjoyable the evening had been despite the dance instructor’s behavior. Sitting here with Sam, chatting like old friends was the perfect end to the day. “Thanks, Sam.”

  “For what?”

  “The evening. Your espresso. Out of curiosity, who told you I liked espresso?” He raised his eyebrows at me. “Cancel that.” I already knew the answer.

  Sam ran his fingers over the back of the sofa, nearly touching my shoulder. I was surprised to discover that I wanted him to touch me and kiss me the way he'd done before.

  “Graham and I sometimes talked about you, even before he got sick. You see, I loved the subject,” Sam said.

  “Me?” I stared at Sam, the man who'd paid me only the slightest interest, who always seemed preoccupied when he talked to me. Until recently.

  “Graham and I would talk about you occasionally, usually about something you said or did. But when you and Graham were separated, he talked about you a lot more. At first I tried not to take it in. It was too hard for me. But Graham was my best friend, and it was very difficult to watch him go through so much pain and misery.”

  “You were very good to him, and in one of his letters he mentioned that he was glad you were there to help him get his life back.”

  “My motives were not just those of a friend. I was half in love with you and secretly hoped your marriage was over—so I'd have a chance. But the anguish in Graham’s eyes told me he wasn’t over you, and he would never be...and that made two of us.”

  My head felt light and funny. Sam was watching me carefully. “You’re...in love with me? But you were Graham’s friend. You hardly gave me the time of day. You didn’t even seem to like me.”

  Sam eased me into his arms, and without any pretense or warning, he kissed me. The kind of kiss that made me want more. Much more.

  He released me, taking my hands in his. “It was a bit of a precarious situation. I was in love with a woman who was in love with my best friend. I didn’t stand a chance.”

  My heart literally skipped a beat.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sam will probably never speak to me again. After he kissed me last evening, I all but catapulted out of his house, leapt through the backyard and home.

  Sam Bannister loved me.

  Now I had to figure out what to do about it. We couldn’t live side by side—having almost daily contact—without some sort of understanding.

  I’d been up since six, emptied the dishwasher, repotted four houseplants and fed Fergus far too much food. All because I woke early this morning and couldn’t get back to sleep. For the first time since Graham’s death, I didn’t wake from the usual dream that he was calling to me. I simply opened my eyes.

  Was this how it would happen? I'd start to enjoy myself, fill my life with people and places and spend less and less time thinking about Graham? Would I begin to forget the sound of his laughter, his wonderful enthusiasm, the way he kissed me?

  Yet deep inside I was well aware that my night had been different because of Sam and his profession of love. Sam was kind, thoughtful, funny, protective—and he could kiss.

  I, on the other hand, didn’t have a clue what I felt or wanted—except maybe to be held and kissed and...

  Feeling guilty about those feelings, I sat at Graham’s desk and looked around the room at the things that had made up Graham’s life.

  I took a photo of Graham from the credenza behind his desk and studied it, reminiscing about the day the photo had been taken. A local photographer covering the story of one of Graham’s trials took the shot and published it in the paper. I contacted the photographer and had the photo framed for Graham’s fiftieth birthday party. We had so much to celebrate that particular birthday. Connor was finally through all of his reconstruction surgeries, Amy loved her education degree program and Jonathan had begun his career as an architect.

  And now with his last letter to read, was this the end of a journey for me? I touched the mahogany photo frame as I had so many mornings in the past months—only today I felt different. Changed somehow.

  I reached into the drawer and pulled out the letters with the realization that I would miss this morning ritual. Needing to feel Graham's presence, I tore open the envelope with the number eleven in the right-hand corner.

  Dearest Susan,

  The heat of July is upon us, but I don’t feel it. We can no longer hide what this disease is doing to us, to our remaining time together. I’m too sick to stay at my desk, and I can't face spending time my office knowing that I’ll never practice law again.

  As I sit here, I listen for the sound of you, memorizing the moment, while I wonder how and when you'll find these letters.

  There’s very little time left to consider what our life would have been had I not developed this horrible illness. But if there’s one thing I need to do, it’s help you see how much you have to offer the people you love and care for, and I'm not talking only about our family.

  Susan, you must come to terms with the idea that your life will go on without me. We've experienced so much together, loved each other through thick and thin, learned from each other—and now I have to make one final plea.

  Find happiness. Take your life back and let me go. You need to find joy, to experience all that is beautiful in this world. The thought of you living alone without someone to cherish breaks my heart. You have to be open to what will happen next. Please promise me that you'll let love into your life again.

  I love you. I'll always love you. Nothing will ever change that. You and I will be together, connected and part of each other, for
all eternity.

  Love always,

  Graham

  * * *

  My chest hurt; my sobs scared Fergus off his usual perch on my lap. This was unfair, so damned unfair. I swiped at the tears and glanced around, looking for anything to distract me. But everything in this room reminded me of Graham.

  Oh, how much I'd like to talk to him, to hear his voice one last time. To ask him about so many things that seemed insignificant back then, but now seem so vital.

  As I stared through my tears at his letter, I was struck by a possibility. I dug around in the desk drawer and retrieved a pen, reached into the bottom drawer and pulled out one of the same vellum sheets he’d used.

  My darling Graham,

  There is not a day that I don’t think about you, about what you said, how you felt, what I did or didn’t do. Or how we managed to survive those last months without one of us going crazy. And that would most certainly have been me. Not you. Never you.

  When I first found your letters, I didn’t know if I wanted to read them, or how I’d feel being privy to your thoughts. Yet, with each letter, I’m becoming less afraid of my life, and more in control of the future. Your letters have been my salvation.

  From the moment you told me about the diagnosis I lived in fear of the end and what it would be like. I wanted you at home with me for as long as possible. I got my wish. Those last days were so blessed. It was as if we were communicating telepathically. I was in your head and you in mine. When your time came, I felt as if you were being torn from me.

  It takes my breath away to realize that even as you were facing the end of your life, your only concern was for my welfare. How could you be so unselfish? How could your last thoughts be of me?

  My darling, one thing I am certain of in this world—you and I were meant to be. I promise you, I’m not going to dwell on the past the way I’ve been doing. I know I’ve worried my children and my friends but I’m going to move forward.

  I’m going to remember the good times we had, the fun, the love and the way we lived for each other. That’s the best anyone could ask for.

  And my love, I’ve had the best. Wherever my life leads me now can never compare to our life with each other.

  Love always,

  Susan

  * * *

  Amy’s voice interrupted me as I read over my letter, and I was glad. Not that I didn’t mean every word I'd written, but I was emotionally exhausted. “I’m in here, in your father’s office,” I called, getting out of the chair and hurrying down the hall to the kitchen.

  Amy was standing in the entrance, and little Graham’s car seat was in the middle of the table. She had a strange look on her face. “Mom, I am so upset. Why didn’t you tell me about the break-in?”

  I stopped, trying to find a reason why I hadn’t told her. The truth was I didn’t want a lecture about the dangers of living alone, but I couldn’t tell her that. “I guess it slipped my mind. I assumed Jonathan would tell you.”

  “Thankfully, he did.” Amy peered around as if looking for something.

  “Want a cup of tea” I started for the stove and the teakettle.

  Graham whimpered and squirmed in his car seat, and we both reached for him, our hands brushing.

  I squeezed my daughter’s fingers. “Amy, please don't be upset about this. You're not responsible for me. I’ve told you that a dozen times.”

  “Are you going to sell this house?”

  “No, Amy, I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?"

  I wanted to wrap my arms around her, but the accusation in her voice stopped me. “Amy, I'm going to stay in this house.”

  Amy rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I realize that—but why?”

  “There was a lot of love in my family when I was growing up, but that’s about all there was. We had nothing, and my father worked hard for us to have even the basics. My parents made huge sacrifices to send me to college. I grew up not wanting to part with anything that might prove useful. As the years went by, keeping things gave me such pleasure, such a sense of security, I couldn’t let them go.”

  “You're talking about your car, right?” Amy said, frowning.

  “The Thunderbird, the attic full of toys, the grandfather clock my uncle gave me and, of course, this house.” I glanced around the kitchen, taking in the decorative plates on the wall above the cabinets and the open cupboard stacked with china dishes. “I need to stay connected with the past.”

  Amy slid into the chair beside me. “Is that why you’re hanging on to Dad?”

  “He and I were a part of each other’s lives for so many years. In his letters, he’s been telling me how he felt about the life we shared. I read the last letter just a little while ago. Amy, your father and I had a wonderful marriage.”

  The ticking of the wall clock filled the room as I waited for Amy to speak. I could handle anything from her but silence.

  “I envy you...I wish he'd written to me.” Her voice shook so badly I could hardly understand her words. “I wish for so many things.” Her eyes shifted to Graham, who was now sleeping peacefully in his car seat.

  I watched as she rested her elbows on the table and her chin on her hands—an endearing action, one she’d done all her life.

  “Mom, I don’t know how to tell you this.”

  "You can tell me anything,” I said relieved she was ready to talk.

  “Thomas’s boss wants him to accept another position in Atlanta. This time it’s a huge promotion. If he doesn’t take it, he won’t be offered another promotion for a very long time. If ever.”

  My daughter and her family in Atlanta.

  I gulped air to keep from crying out. How would I live without her? I needed Amy with me, now more than ever. Surely my son-in-law could find a job closer than Atlanta! He'd turned down other jobs and it hadn’t ended his career.

  “Mom, say something.”

  I wanted to beg her not to leave, to be with me the way she’d always been from the day she was born—not only my daughter, but my friend, my lifeline. I felt the impending loss of her like a physical force that threatened to shred my world into a million pieces. “When would you move?” I asked through dry lips.

  “Thomas has to be in Atlanta by the end of November.”

  A few weeks away. Oh God I can't do this. It’s too soon. There’s so much we still have to straighten out. And how will she cope alone with a new baby without her mother close by?

  My arms trembled from the urge to pull her into my embrace and plead with her not to go, to promise me that she’d stay and allow me to keep some part of my life the way it had always been.

  I looked into her face and saw the hesitation in her eyes, and I knew in that instant that I had to be strong for her. She needed to hear me say that leaving was all right, that I was happy for her and Thomas and little Graham. My gaze swerved to the precious infant asleep between us, while my mind leaped to my Graham and what he’d say if he was here.

  It was in this moment of terrible reckoning that it hit me. I was no longer part of a whole, a couple. I had to face the situation on my own.

  What am I going to say?

  I searched her face for the answer. What I saw was my little girl—the same little girl who solved everything in her brothers’ lives. And recently, despite everything that had been going on in her own life, she was the woman who’d been working diligently on fixing mine.

  But now she needed me to fix something for her. She needed me to understand that she had to move, for her husband’s sake and for her family. She had to make a home for the people she loved.

  Her need for my approval shone in her eyes. And beyond that, I saw that she had to know I'd be all right without her. I took a deep breath. “I’ve heard wonderful things about Atlanta. Huge city, lots going on. You'll love living there.”

  The tension in Amy’s face slipped away. She crushed me in a sweeping hug that nearly landed me on the floor. “Oh, Mom! I’m so glad to hear you say that.”

 
; I patted her back and remembered my life at her age. Graham and I figured we could handle anything, go anywhere.

  And in so many ways we did.

  “Love you, pet. And give Thomas my congratulations.”

  “Thanks, Mom, and you'll come to visit us in Atlanta soon...please.”

  Somehow, I'd managed to say the words my daughter desperately needed to hear, I touched her cheek and she turned her face into my hand the way she used to do as a child. “You bet,” I murmured. “Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.”

  We probably would’ve sat there hugging each other for a while longer if Graham hadn’t started to howl. Amy laughed and reached for the straps holding her son secure in his seat.

  I sat back in my chair and watched, my heart in my throat, as my daughter picked up her baby and cradled him against her. I was reminded of moments like this in my own life—me holding Amy in my arms, the two of us tucked away in our own private world.

  “Mom, there’s something else.”

  I didn’t want to hear one more thing today, but when my daughter and her family left for Atlanta, there wouldn’t be a chance to sit here like this and listen to her thoughts. Sure, we’d have the phone. But the phone wouldn’t be able to tell me what her expression was, or how wide her smile. “More news?”

  “Thomas and I had a long talk when he came home to tell me about Atlanta. We talked about our future, and what life would be like in Atlanta and...and it dawned on me what I’ve done to you. Unintentionally. I’ve let you think Thomas and I have been staying here because of you and what you‘ve been going through.

  “The truth is, I couldn’t bring myself to leave. After Dad died, I couldn’t see myself living anywhere but here, close to home. I couldn’t bear to go because I felt I wouldn’t just be leaving you, but Dad, as well.”

  “Maybe you were missing your father much more than you realized. Maybe you were being strong for me. That’s one of your best traits, you know.”

  Amy and I looked at each other and I saw her father in the way her eyes searched mine.

  “Thomas and I talked about Dad the other night. He made me see that I wasn’t coping well with Dad’s death. He convinced me that it might help to get away from the memories. And he promised me that if I’m not happy in Atlanta, he’ll find a job in this area.”