Heart Song Anthology

by Carolyn Faulkner

  And, she thought sadly, I’ll sleep in the guest room.

  7

  Decisions Made

  “That was tasty,” Carla said the next morning, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. She patted her stomach. “I should have turned down thirds on the pancakes though. Gotta keep my girlish figure.” She smiled at Doug before taking a sip of coffee. “I really appreciate the way you always make me breakfast when I’ve worked late. It’s very kind of you.”

  Doug frowned as he joined her at the kitchen table. “You’re welcome.” She seems different. I can’t put my finger on what it is, though. “You’re feeling chipper. Did you sleep well? I slept hard. I didn’t even realize that you were in the guest room until I got up this morning.”

  Carla nodded. “I slept just fine, thanks. In fact, I think you’re right about having separate rooms. Why don’t you stay in the master? The guest room suits me. After I do the dishes, I’ll start moving my things before I go back to the Royal. I took a shift for one of the girls so she could spend Valentine’s Day with her boyfriend.”

  Doug put up his hands. “Whoa, there, Nellie. I just thought we could talk about it. I wasn’t thinking any time soon.” He was surprised to find that now that Carla was agreeable to the idea, he was having second thoughts himself. Her sudden change of attitude didn’t sit well with him. It was one thing to make a suggestion, hoping to get into an argument that might spark real conversation – something he knew had been sorely lacking for too long. He took the blame for that, but this? Did she have to be so enthusiastic? His feelings were a little hurt. And damned if I didn’t completely forget Valentine’s Day again.

  Doug Danvers was not a man to admit mistakes easily. He was not a man to express affection easily. Losing Katie had just about wiped him out, emotionally speaking. He’d watched Carla grieve openly, even loudly. He’d listened to her tell the whole story to whoever would stand still long enough. Even though it pointed to the fact that their personalities were different, he could see that her approach had worked for her. Her openness had helped her move on, anyone could see that. Yes, she was still heartbroken, but he was a little jealous of her ability to function. Sometimes at work, he would have to just sit down, frozen by his thoughts.

  In the beginning, when feelings were still so raw, he’d assumed that physical intimacy would be the furthest thing from Carla’s mind. He didn’t want to intrude, wanted to be respectful of a grieving mother, even when he felt that it would help him cope. He saw now that he should have brought it up.

  We never did talk enough, not even from the beginning. Now and then over the past few years when he couldn’t take it any more, he had reached out for her in bed. She’d been amenable, always had been. For some reason, he’d always believed that sex was more enjoyable for men than for women, but now that he thought about, Carla had always been more or less pleased. She even initiated it. Until he’d brushed her off a few times. He saw now that mentioning separate bedrooms may have been the ultimate brush-off in Carla’s mind. Damn.

  “You know, I brought that up because–”

  “Because you no longer wish to sleep with me,” Carla said briskly. “I understand. You’ve reached a time in your life when you don’t need me that way. You’ve made that perfectly clear.” She smiled, a little too brightly. “No problem!”

  Doug watched as Carla cleared the table and started filling the sink with hot water. Miserably, he got up and walked down the hall to the master bedroom, closing the door behind him.

  Carla never understood people who complained about washing dishes. She loved the feel of the hot water on her skin. She appreciated the simple sense of accomplishment. The open kitchen window over the sink looked out on an orange grove their property backed up to. She took a deep breath, inhaling the strong scent of orange blossoms. This was her favorite time of year in Florida, when it was a cool in the mornings and evenings. The air, with its smells hinting of spring, was not so humid.

  Despite her assurances to the contrary, she had not slept well, instead endlessly reliving the events of the night before. Unless she was going absolutely stark-raving mad, she saw clearly now that she had in fact, seen a ghost. The ghost of Clark Gable, no less. What a dreamboat!

  But that wasn’t all. Seeing a ghost hadn’t even been the most stressful thing about last night. She had also been faced with the biggest challenge of her career. The real Mrs. Farmer showing up like that had rattled her. The relationship between her husband and whoever-he-was-so-in-love-with had been placed in sudden jeopardy and it had fallen to Carla – somewhat unfairly, it felt – to work it out. She sighed as she stood a sparkling plate in its slot on the drainer. It had been quite a night.

  Now to tackle the pans. Doug always managed to use every skillet and bowl in the house when he cooked. Carla scrubbed harder than was necessary, energized by troubling thoughts. The fact that the couple she’d enjoyed so much over the last several years was not married, gave her pause. They were happy. Not married, but happy. Gloriously, deliriously so; any fool could see that. But weren’t they wrong? She knew what her circle of friends would say, that was certain. They’d be horrified. Judgmental. Self-righteous.

  Carla looked out on the beautiful rows of trees stretching to the horizon. She’d sung This is My Father’s World since she was a little girl, a hymn celebrating the wonders of nature. Isn’t love the greatest wonder? They’re happy, but not married. Doug and I are married, but not happy. Does white-knuckling it please God more than enjoying love’s blessings?

  Sometime between washing the heavy iron skillet and her mother’s favorite mixing bowl, Carla reached a decision. If Doug wanted separate rooms, so be it. She’d thought that agreeing with him this morning might have gotten him to open up more and talk, but no, he had retreated to the bedroom in a huff. Fine. She had been prepared to go the distance, gritting her teeth all the way, but no more. She would turn a page in her own life.

  This is just the first step, she thought, as the water drained out of the sink. She dried her hands on the towel hanging from the cabinet knob and straightened it neatly. Eventually he’d see that there was no need for them to live together at all. Separate beds now, but why not separate everything? She could probably finagle a room at the Royal until she retired. Anything would be better than facing, day after day and night after night, the fact that she was living a life so alien to what she’d dreamed of as a young bride in love.

  When Carla clocked in, she wished Deidre well. A former student at the college, Deidre had been dating Javier, a striking young man who worked at the restaurant across the street, for several months. They would eat dinner there later before taking an evening boat ride out on the lake.

  At the mention of the lake, Carla’s heart sank but her smile didn’t fade. She never knew what might make her remember Katie, but she’d learned to press through, even if she had to excuse herself and have a good cry before resuming her activities. Tonight, though, she was able to hold back the tears. Deidre was about the same height as Katie, the same hair color. She felt a bit of panic rise. Maybe she shouldn’t go on the lake. She closed her eyes briefly, willing herself to stop.

  “Have fun, sweetie,” Carla told her instead. As she watched the girl leave, she was surprised to see the Farmers at the desk. Whoever. They’ll always be the Farmers to me.

  Mr. Farmer laid the room key down a bit sadly. “I apologize, but we need to cancel tonight’s reservation. It’s after check-out, I know, so if you need to charge me, I understand completely.”

  Carla’s face fell. Did Martha Farmer find out about them after all? The “other” Mrs. Farmer’s eyes were red, as if she’d been crying, but she smiled, one arm hooked through his.

  “That’s no problem, Mr. Farmer,” Carla said. “You’ve been coming here so long, y’all are like family. I hope, um, I hope everything’s all right?”

  The couple exchanged a look and seemed genuinely touched by Carla’s words. “It will be,” John Farmer said with a nod. “I was just
called away home abruptly.”

  Greta looked at him with shining eyes, although speaking to Carla. “Really. Everything’s fine. Thank you for everything.”

  “We knew something like this might happen one day, love,” John Farmer said as he held Greta beside her car.

  She began to weep again. “I know. I just... I need you too.”

  He nodded gravely. “Don’t cry, Greta.” He took her face in his hands. “You are my life, understand? It won’t be like this forever. I promise.”

  Greta nodded and whispered her agreement before looking up. “But after a whole month, John. And on Valentine’s Day? How often do we get to spend holidays of any kind together?”

  “Shh,” he said, pulling her to himself. “We see each other more than we ever dreamed possible. This is just a setback. A temporary setback. Things will get better. They have to.”

  After enjoying the complimentary breakfast that morning, John and Greta had returned to Room 207 to dress for a day out. It would be a perfect day for riding around with the top down on his car, and Greta wanted to check out the special event in Sebring while they were out. She had taken off the simple shift she’d thrown on to go downstairs to eat and stood in front of the mirror naked, putting her earrings on.

  John had walked up behind her and pulled her down on the bed. “Sebring will still be there later,” he said. “Do you mind? You know I can’t keep my hands off that luscious body of yours.”

  She’d laughed in response, falling into his arms so that they became a human pretzel of desire. “Oh, definitely. Your devotion is so annoying!”

  An hour later, they parked on one of Sebring’s downtown circle’s side streets and walked toward the festival. Tables and tents held everything from jewelry to essential oils, from plants to blood pressure checks. A health fair, combining Valentine’s Day with information on heart disease. Everywhere they looked, they saw red hearts, red flowers, red shirts. Country music played in the background, courtesy of a local band set up in the middle park area.

  “They really went all out, didn’t they?” Greta commented. “This will be fun. Oh look! A photo booth. Let’s start there.” When John didn’t answer, she squeezed his hand and glanced his way.

  John had stopped suddenly, his face pale under his tan. Greta had followed his line of sight across the crowd. At first, she couldn’t imagine what had caused such a reaction, but then she saw her: Martha Farmer was talking to a hat vendor and she looked angry.

  “John?”

  In response, he’d whipped her around and headed for the car.

  Greta inserted a CD as she headed for her house several hours away. The soundtrack to The King and I had been a favorite since she was a little girl.

  She hummed along as her thoughts returned, as they did so often, to John. As far as she knew, only her closest friends were aware of her relationship with John. No doubt the others would think the worst. Let them think whatever they like, she thought. She’d known John for decades, lost contact, and reconnected on social media some seven or eight years earlier. She had met Martha long ago, but had never known her. That was before her son had left home. Before she’d gone off the deep end in a lot of ways.

  By the time Greta and John found each other again, their lives had changed drastically. She was a widow. Martha was good at hiding her alcoholism from the world, but not from John. She became belligerent, even physically violent, when she was drunk. And she used anything and everything as an excuse, blaming John for all her unhappiness.

  Greta sighed as she drove. She’d asked him the logical question: Why don’t you leave her?

  In his mind, it wasn’t that simple. There were financial issues. Legal entanglements. His own guilt to wrestle with. “She’s the mother of our son,” he’d said. “She acts out, then she acts like it never happened. I don’t want her to fall off a cliff and find out weeks later. When Jeff left home, she fell apart. She needs help, but she won’t get it. The least I can do is keep her from really going off the rails.”

  The least I can do is give him some happiness along the way, Greta thought. She didn’t like the situation, but she couldn’t fix it either. One day, perhaps they could be together all of the time but for now, she was grateful for what they had.

  Greta reminded herself of her decision, years before, to give herself permission to enter into an intimate relationship with another woman’s husband. This wasn’t anything she’d been looking for. She’d had a tolerable relationship with her late husband and didn’t plan on remarrying, although she did miss that comfortable feeling of waking up with someone every morning. Her Jim had been a fine man. She hadn’t counted on falling in love again. For all Jim’s other good qualities, Greta had never been this deliriously happy.

  She’d entered into the relationship with John with her eyes open. It wasn’t an affair, although she was sure that’s how others might categorize it. John was miserable in his marriage, and had tried everything he could to change things. Greta had asked him why he hadn’t left Martha, but she would never ask him to leave Martha. Her job wasn’t to pressure him or add to his already-stressful existence. She was his respite, his vacation, his joy.

  The haunting strains at the beginning of Richard Rodgers “We Kiss in a Shadow” came over the speaker and Greta turned the volume up, singing along as tears streaked her face. Lovers forced to hide their love, meeting clandestinely in the shadows, hoping for a future together in the light – a song that was her life.

  That is us in a nutshell. But one day, we can walk together in the sunlight. For now, the shadows must do. Greta wiped the tears away and turned off the CD. It was John she adored, not the need to be his wife. She would meet him in the shadows for as long as it took.

  8

  Happy Valentine’s Day

  Carla walked up the stairs to the second floor. It was about nine, and as far as she could tell, guests were either in for the evening, or still out on the town. She hoped Deirdre and her beau were having a good time. Housekeeping wouldn’t be in until the next morning, and to take her mind off of things, she decided to turn 207 herself. She had started in the hospitality business as a housekeeper, after all. She had always enjoyed “putting a room to rights,” as her first trainer had called it.

  Opening the door, however, she was surprised to see that everything in 207 was already in perfect order. She found the dirty linens with used towels in the shower, but when she turned back the comforter, there were clean sheets on the bed. Fresh amenities had been carefully placed on the sink.

  Carla stood in the room shaking her head. This is crazy, she thought. Even if the maids were on duty tonight, no one knew the room was going to be empty. She sat down on the settee. And who in the world had put a vase of red roses on the bureau?

  There was a light tap on the door, but before she could shake off her consternation enough to get up, Clark Gable was inside the room. I must be going crazy. “Nice trick,” she said dryly.

  “I’ve had a lot of time to perfect it, Carla,” he said. Tonight he was dressed casually, more The Tall Men than Gone With the Wind. “I hope you don’t mind me getting the room in order. You’ll be needing it later.”

  “Me?” she said with a surprised snicker. “I don’t think so.” She crossed her arms and decided to go with this, whatever it was. “My husband wants to sleep in separate bedrooms. Were you offering?”

  Clark threw back his head and chuckled. “Don’t I wish! I’m afraid I’m not allowed funny business to that degree.”

  “What degree, then? Scaring little old ladies in the hallway? Helping lovers rendezvous?”

  Clark sat on the edge of the bed and shook his head. “You’re in pain, Carla. I can see that. And I understand.”

  Carla shrugged with a frown. “I’ve decided I don’t care about the bedroom thing. I started moving my things this morning. What he wants, he gets.” She sighed. “It’s always been about him.”

  When Clark smiled, his mustache wrinkled. “I didn’t mean th
e bedroom situation, actually. You lost someone, your daughter. Your husband’s hurting, too, you know.”

  “How do you–”

  “I know about loss. I lost my children too.” He looked up at Carla. “My son was born after I died, so I never knew him. I never knew my daughter, who also died. My grandson died.” He raised his eyebrows. “That’s one problem with this limbo deal. You don’t choose where you spend it, or who can see you, but you’re so damn aware of things.”

  “I didn’t know about your kids.”

  “I was a good-looking man,” he said quietly, “but not a good man. I was a tolerable actor who loved the craft. And I loved the perks!” He flashed Carla one of his famous grins. “I loved the women, that’s for sure, and married more than my fair share.” He grimaced. “I would’ve made a poor father, though. Not decent and caring like Doug. He hasn’t handled your daughter’ s death well. I’m no expert, but I think he’s been giving you space for so long he’s forgotten how to find his way back to you again.”

  Carla’s eyes filled with tears. This is nuts. I’m confiding in a ghost. A really handsome ghost. “Doug hasn’t touched me in years. He doesn’t want me. Maybe no man does or will again. If the man you married, who knows you better than anyone on the planet, doesn’t want you, why would anyone else?”

  Clark rose from the bed and walked to the settee, a knowing smirk on his face. “Stand up. To quote Rhett Butler, ‘You need to be kissed, and by someone who knows how.’” At her expression, he explained, “I get one real kiss every decade. I’m due.”

  As if in a dream, Carla stood up and closed her eyes. The ghost of Hollywood’s sexiest dreamboat had walked through a door to find her, but when he kissed her, she felt the sensation of flesh-and-blood lips pressed onto her mouth. Those were actual arms that lifted her slightly so that the sudden weakness in her knees wouldn’t cause her to collapse. He really does know how to kiss, she thought. Searching, desperate, just as if this is his first and last kiss for ten years.