“Do you have any fans here?”
“Sarah, this is our staff, they are good people. You picked each and every one of them yourself…except Terry. She has been my family’s cook since I was a boy.” He smiled roguishly and my heart nearly forgot how to beat.
“Thank you for everything. And thank Terry for me.”
“You can thank her yourself; she’ll be up in a bit to collect the tray.” He turned to look at the clock. “I’ve got a couple of appointments I need to keep or I’d stay with you all day. I’ll see you at your mother’s tonight.”
“Does my mother cook?” The question came out of left field, but I was really curious. Do these people have others to cook and clean for them?
“Actually, you learned from the best, your mother is a damn good cook. Although she didn’t specify who was cooking tonight. I just assume she will.”
“Do I cook well?”
“Yes, you do, very well. You make a Coq Au Vin better than any I’ve ever had. You also make a killer Veal Saltimbucca, amongst many others, but that is my favorite. I’ll see you later. Okay?”
“It’s not like I’ve got a hell of a lot to do here.” I snickered.
“Funny…”
“Don’t say it.”
“Alright. My lips are sealed.”
“Thank you again for the breakfast, it smells delicious.”
He nodded, “anytime my love,” and kissed me again, this time on the cheek. The feel of his soft, full lips grazing my cheek left me wanting more.
Mental note to self, get more!
He walked out the bedroom door, closing it softly behind him.
“I guess breakfast will have to suffice.” I said to no one in particular.
I sat up rubbing the sleep from my eyes and made my way to the bathroom where I did what I needed to do, washed up and brushed my teeth afterwards.
“Darn, something smells so good in here.” I poured myself a cup of tea and lifted the metal top off of the plate. Perfectly centered on the plate was three slices of French toast, dusted with powdered sugar, and a heap of well-done bacon. My favorite…I think.
I got real busy smearing the butter on the French toast and with a very generous hand I poured the syrup until it flooded the plate. I smiled as the thick, viscous sweetness made a trail over to the mound of well-done bacon.
“I guess I know how to eat.”
I took a sip of the orange cranberry juice to wash down the food I’d just eaten. Proud of having finished every bit on my plate, leaving nary a crumb, not even enough for a tiny mouse.
I was just wiping my mouth with the pretty hunter green linen napkin when I heard a light tap on the door.
“Ms. Sarah, are you finished?” A small voice called out.
“Yes, I am. Please come in.”
The door opened slowly and I turned from the table to face her. A pretty, round faced, petite brunette, with a fair amount of gray throughout, stood in the doorway. A warm smile reached her twinkling brown eyes. She was still for a moment, looking at me as so many others have done since I’ve woken up, hoping something about them would shock me back to reality.
“I’ll take the tray down if you’re done.” She stepped closer slowly, like she was walking on eggshells. Her accent was sweet and suited her.
“I am, and I have to thank you Terry, that was delicious.” I looked directly at her.
She smiled, “Mr. Brad said to make you your favorite. I’m so glad you enjoyed it.”
“I’m sorry I don’t remember…” I drifted off.
“No worries. The Lord will take his own time in making you whole again. I’ve been praying since that night…” She didn’t finish.
I felt a chill run up my spine and tried to push it aside.
“Than..thank you Terry. I can sense, although I can’t remember, that you are a very good woman with a generous heart.” I smiled awkwardly. “And you make a breakfast to die for.”
She made the sign of the cross over her chest as she smiled.
“God forbid Miss Sarah.”
“Just Sarah. I’m having a hard enough time coming to grips with a name I don’t know.”
She giggled.
“Terry, can I ask you a question?”
“Of course, Miss Sarah….Sarah.”
“Am I a nice person, did you like me?” I saw a strange look wash over her features, “Please, there isn’t a wrong answer; I just want to know more about who I was.”
“Miss Sarah, darlin’ you, my dear, are the sweetest woman, and a godsend to Mr. Hunter…Mr. Bradley.”
“How strange. A godsend?” I was more than curious.
“Mr. Bradley lost both his parents right before he met you—his mother from a heart attack, his father from a broken heart—at least that’s my thinking. Please keep that between us.” She worried her hands together.
“Of course, no worries.” I nodded. “Please continue.” This was a heartbreaking story, but my curiosity was piqued. “Please.” I urged.
“Well, it’s not like I’m telling you something you didn’t know, so I guess I’m not guilty of giving out any deep seeded family secrets.” She seemed more at ease, “Mr. Bradley’s mother, whom I’ve worked for, for…mmm…some thirty five years, wonderful woman, and a bigger heart you’d never find.” Her eyes welled up and I instantly felt guilty asking her to continue just to appease my curiosity. “Well, she was found by Mr. Bradley on the floor in the living room. Sudden the doctors said, but the look on that woman’s face when I saw her told me another story, it was an anguished look to my way of thinking.”
My eyes silently urged her to continue.
“Well, Mr. Bradley called the 911 and the EMT’s couldn’t help, you see, she’d been dead for over an hour. Well, Mr. Hunter, Bradley Senior, came home and was told the news. He didn’t believe anyone. Told them, he just spoke with her a few hours earlier. Said she was fine. He’d just spoken to her he kept saying. Not more than a few hours ago. He refused to believe his Irene was gone. That’d be Mrs. Hunter. Well, the poor man, he just shut down. Stopped eating or caring, he also took up the drinking. The poor soul was broken hearted and tried to drown his sorrows with the drink. He liked his liquor. I could see right up, he was on a course that would end badly. Mr. Bradley was so sad about his mum; he didn’t even notice his father was on a downward spiral.” She wiped at her tears, “Mr. Bradley Senior died not even two months later. I know it was a broken heart, although his doctors say it was a stroke.”
I inhaled deeply. This story was so sad and so consuming that I found myself wiping my own tears.
“You came into Mr. Bradley’s life at just the right time. He was a very sad man indeed.”
“How did we meet, me and Mr. Bradley?” I found myself asking in an Irish accent. I shook my head to clear it.
“You both were both looking for each other. That’s my opinion. You met in Manhattan. His family owned the building where you had your offices and he spotted you in the lift one day. Says you had a glow around your whole body. I knew he was bitten. It took him over two weeks to get the courage to ask you to dinner. You said yes of course, Mr. Bradley is a very handsome man, yes?”
I nodded.
“Well, that was that. You were inseparable since. And now…” she paused, obviously feeling a bit uncomfortable, “well, now you’re to be married. Miss Sarah, I do pray you get your memory back. Not only because Mr. Bradley needs and loves you so very much, but because you were truly happy here.”
She lowered her gaze and I noticed her fingers were still laced together.
“Look at me going on and on, loose lips and all, can I get you anything else?”
“No Terry that was perfect. Thank you again, and thank you for telling me that story, it makes things seem to line up, if you get my meaning.”
“Oh yes.” She nodded unequivocally as she took the empty tray and walked towards the door. “You’re to see your mother today Mr. Bradley said.”
It was more a question than a statement.
>
“Yes.” I looked at her.
“Good woman your mother, heart of gold. Have yourself a good day Miss.”
She closed the door after herself. She had certainly given me a lot to think about.
Chapter Nine
I climbed off of bed and opened the top drawer of the nightstand next to where I lay. It was organized and neat. There was a large manila envelope to one side. I assumed it was my drawer, as this was the side of the bed I occupied when Brad and I…I blushed again.
Really Sarah?
I opened the envelope and looked inside.
I tipped it over and dumped all of the contents onto the top of the bed. The entire envelope was full of greeting cards. Christmas, birthday, Valentine’s Day, Thinking of You, along with some handwritten notes. I lifted the birthday card up and opened it.
There was no writing other than two words at the bottom, written in very neat cursive. Ever, Sarah. That’s it. No note, no ‘to so and so’ at the top. I closed my eyes, hoping I could picture myself writing this. I sat there for a minute squeezing my eyes tightly, silently praying I’d remember something, but I got nothing. No memory came to mind. No small flashes went off in my head.
I opened the rest of the cards—there had to be at least twenty—and they were all signed Ever, Sarah. Well, I had to admit, I wasn’t one to waste words. I guess I let Hallmark do the talking for me. The wording on the Thinking of You card was sweet and sentimental, chuck full of I love yous, one more would have been one too many.
I pushed aside a bottle of aspirin, a nail clipper, a clip-on reading lamp, and I knew immediately this was not a woman’s drawer. I quickly put the cards back into the large envelope and shoved it back into the drawer, just as I had found it. I purposefully didn’t read the notes. After realizing it wasn’t my drawer, I felt like a nosey body, like I was spying or something.
Feeling somewhat guilty having gone through Bradley’s…Brad’s things, I climbed across the bed and opened the drawer to the other night side table. Inside was a nail file, a couple of bottles of nail polish, and a book, some nose spray, pocket tissues and a Chapstick!
I lifted the book out and almost fell backwards. The word Diary was imprinted on the top of the book in embedded cursive gold lettering. I had literally struck gold. Here in my hand was my life, or at least a part of it. I eagerly opened it to the first page.
‘I don’t know why I’m starting to write a diary at this stage of my life, but it’s something I’d always wanted to do. I have to admit I prefer the word journal to diary, sounds more professional, but you, dear diary, are too pretty to be a mere journal.
Brad was right. I am corny.
Today was a good day. I finished a project and the client was very, very pleased. Kudos to me! I hired two new staff members; one a fresh ‘out of grad school’ architect, he is hungry and willing to work long hours, looks like he was just what I was looking for, and Lena, my new assistant. It was hard losing Christy, but she wanted to spend more time with her new baby and her husband, not that I blamed her. I actually envy her.
In any case, looks like Lena is just perfect!
We shall see.
I saw that guy again. He’s a little odd. He looks at me like he can see through me. He’s really handsome, but also really strange. Never talks just stares. Maybe he’s shy…or some sort of psycho nut. Now that would be my luck!
All in all, day went well!’
Diary,
Today, I saw a man on the elevator and nearly lost it. He is soooo good looking, but somewhat removed and distant, almost sad. I’m trying to think of some way to break the ice and start up a conversation, which you would think would be easy for me since I never stop…talking that is. But of course, today, words fail me. The irony of it all. Well, let’s hope tomorrow is as good a day as today was. Off to sleep for now.’
I turned the page.
Diary, I think I will name you. Feels a little juvenile addressing each entry to ‘Diary’. How about Donna? Better than Diary right?
Donna,
Well, when I say it out loud like that, it sounds a bit silly. I’ll stick with Diary.
Well, anyway, Diary… I did it!
I came up with an interesting way of breaking the ice…so to speak.
This morning I walked into the elevator with fresh, delicious smelling coffee in hand and I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how much I needed that caffeine! But anyway, I stepped to the back so that more people could get in. I turned towards the wall after I took a sip and was trying to push the lid down, as the girl who handed it to me neglected to do. Well, in a matter of seconds, my coffee got shoved up against the back of the person in front of me. I pivoted to the side to avoid spilling it all over myself, and in the process of avoiding getting it all over me, that I spilled it all over the incredibly handsome man with the sad eyes. Guess I found a really unique way to start a conversation. Would have been much better if I used words rather than scalding him though, don’t you think?
I must have looked a wreck because even with hot coffee covering most of his chest, he smiled and was kind. I talked him into getting off on my floor and took him directly through my office and into my private bath where I tried to clean his jacket, tie and shirt. YUP. I dowsed him. Clever aren’t I?
I laughed out loud. I was a very strange woman.
He insisted that everything would be fine. He kept on saying fine. It’s fine, I’ll be fine, it’s really fine... He told me he keeps a few backup shirts and spare ties in his office.
Good opener right?
Well, I got a conversation started and I wanted to keep him talking. The smell of him was driving me crazy. He smelled like soap, clean fresh linen and male. Pure male. Suffice it to say, he smelled divine!
During the course of my cleaning him and him telling me everything was fine, I asked him where he worked…
The punch line was that I had just spilled coffee on the man that owns my building. Great move Sarah! I think I turned red as a beet!
I walked him outside of the elevator, apologizing profusely. He just smiled and said, “It’s really fine.” He really likes that word.
He got into the elevator, but not before I was able to get his name. Bradley Hunter. Sounds hot right? He is!
I guess I got his attention.
I read on, and on, learning that he came back downstairs to my office.
‘I looked up to find Lena standing next to a very enthusiastic man, whose eyes didn’t look quite as sad anymore. She had been about to tap on my door, but he took the liberty of just walking into my office…I smiled at Lena and shrugged my shoulders indicating it was okay. It was almost comical. The look of relief on her face nearly caused me to laugh out loud. She certainly took her job very seriously.
He asked if he could sit and of course, I said yes. I don’t know for sure if my mouth was hanging open at this point, or when he began speaking for that matter.
He asked me if I wanted to make the little ‘coffee incident’ up to him. I think I just nodded. The smell of him was getting me drunk, and I was acting like an inebriated fool.
I asked how.
And this is the best part, he said, by joining him for dinner. Seems his previous dinner plans were cancelled and he had reservations, if I would like to join him.
Of course I said yes…oh and I also finally closed my mouth.
I laughed again. I was a bit goofy.
I was just starting to read about the details of their…our dinner when there was a tap at the door. I quickly shoved the diary back into the drawer and closed it before saying ‘come in’. Looking every bit like I was almost caught red-handed reading my own diary. I shook my head. What an ass I am at times.
“Miss Sarah, your mother’s driver, Peter, is here to take you to visit your mother.”
“Oh, shoot. Tell him I’ll be right down.” I climbed out of bed as quickly as I could, which wasn’t very quick, and pulled on a pair of jeans I found in the closet and a short sleeved t
ee shirt. Pulled my long hair into a low hanging ponytail in an attempt to cover the area where my head was shaved, then brushed my teeth and made my way downstairs.
“Thank you Terry.” I said when I finally reached the bottom.
“He’s in the back Miss, easier for you. Not so many steps.” She looked positively nervous.
“Thank you.”
I pulled the sweater I had been carrying up my arms and made my way out through the garage to the waiting car. And when I say car, I mean boat. The door of the stretch limo was opened and next to it was a slim man with gray hair and mustache, a little taller than myself, dressed to the T’s. I often wonder what that even means.
“Miss Sarah. It’s good to see you.” The man said.
“Peter right?”
“Yes, do you remember me?” He asked, a hopeful note in his voice.
“I’m sorry, I don’t.” I actually feel guilty telling people that. They must have been such a part of my life and here I was telling them I had no clue who they were. I climbed in through the open door and settled myself on the long back seat, “But don’t feel bad, I don’t remember my own mother.”
He laughed heartily and closed the door shaking his head. He climbed into the driver’s seat and we pulled away from the large house. My face was glued to the window, searching for anything that would seem recognizable. Of course, there was nothing.
A short twenty minutes later, we pulled onto the driveway and drove up stopping in front of another very large house. It was a beautiful colonial. A three story white building with a red door, and black plantation shutters. There were so many windows; each one had a small candle in it still lit even though it was daylight out.
I looked up as I got out of the car. It was enormous.
“Thank you for driving me Peter.”
“Ma’am.” He got back in and pulled to the back of the house.
The door was pulled open and before I could say a word, Veronica, aka mother, was standing in the doorway with a huge grin on her face and her arms held open.
Ever, Sarah Page 7
