Heart Song Anthology

by Carolyn Faulkner

  When she opened her eyes, she was alone. She dropped back to the settee, her heart pounding. I was just kissed by a ghost. I was just kissed by the ghost of Clark Gable! She laughed, then drew in a shocked breath. It had been an incredible kiss, but smack in the middle of it, it hadn’t been Clark Gable’s face she had imagined. It had been Doug’s.

  “Maybe Gable was right,” she said aloud. “Maybe he lost his way. Maybe there’s still hope.”

  For the time being, however, she was curious. Clark Gable had cleaned up somehow. What else might he have done? She began looking inside of drawers and under the bed in search of items that might offer clues to what in the hell was going on.

  The bedside tables held nothing at all, but when she opened the top bureau drawer, she found a box, pulling it out and setting it on the bed to investigate. It was a plain white cardboard box, oblong. She took off the top and gently pried back the layers of white tissue paper. She gasped when she saw the delicate red lace nightgown inside. Mr. Farmer must have left the gift by mistake. Whatever had interrupted their weekend had distracted him so deeply that he forgot all about it. I could mail it.

  When she held the gown up by its satin straps, however, a card fell out. Remind him who you are. The note was signed C.G.

  “All those years of skulking around the hallways of the Royal seem to have turned you into a romantic,” Carla announced wryly to the empty room. She stood and held the gown up to her to gaze at the reflection in the ornate mirror on the wall.

  “Oh, why not?” She lay the gown on the bed and slipped out of her clothes. The gown fit her figure like it was made for it. The vivid red made her face look awfully plain, though. She glanced over at the open bureau drawer. Would he have...

  Sure enough, there was a small satin makeup bag in the back – and a hairbrush. She glanced up at the paddle fan, as if a miniature movie idol might be sitting on one of the blades. “You sure thought of everything. Only one problem. I’m in a hotel room alone.”

  From inside the pocket of her uniform skirt, her cellphone rang. Rummaging through the piles of clothes, she pulled it out and answered. “Hello?”

  Doug’s voice was concerned. “Are you okay?”

  “What do you mean? Are you okay? You called, not me.”

  “Only because you texted. You know I don’t like to bother you at work.”

  “Texted? I didn’t– Oh never mind.” Carla’s mind was reeling. She let out a long breath. Here goes nothing. “It’s Valentine’s Day, Doug. Why don’t you come spend the night with me at the Royal? Pretend we’re in our twenties again, that nothing bad’s ever happened. Can we do that?”

  “Hell, I’m already here! The text said to come to the hotel, but I got waylaid by Deidre and her fellow in the lobby. They wanted to show her engagement ring to you, but didn’t find you. They’re just hanging out until you come back down.”

  Carla felt dizzy. “Put Deidre on the phone.”

  After a few seconds, the girl’s perky voice came on. “Is everything okay? You sent me such a weird text.”

  “What does it say again? I, um, I forgot exactly.”

  “Just that you needed me to come back after dinner for my shift, that you had a big surprise planned for Doug. He’s here, of course, but, where are you?”

  In LaLa Land, I’m pretty sure. “Give me about five minutes, hon. Then send him up to room 207. Two Oh Seven. Got that? And can you stay?”

  Deidre giggled. “Sure thing, boss. I can show you the ring tomorrow.”

  It had been so long since Carla had applied makeup, she was pleased to discover that it was like riding a bicycle. Mascara, foundation, lipstick, a touch of blush – not that she needed that, flushed as she was. She was stunned by the sheer excitement she felt. She did feel like she was 20 again. Will Doug? Was this all for naught? If he rejected her tonight, at least she’d have her answer. Forget separate bedrooms. She’d just leave for good.

  On a whim, Carla checked the mini-fridge, not at all surprised to find champagne chilling alongside two crystal flutes. Looking up at the fan again, she said, “Thank you, Mr. Gable. Now shoo. No peeping, you hear?”

  There was a tentative knock on the door. When she opened it, Doug’s jaw dropped. “What are– You look amazing!”

  Carla pulled him inside the room. “Well, don’t just stand there in the hall.” She handed him the bottle. “Will you do the honors?”

  Doug couldn’t keep his eyes off of her as he unwrapped the foil and untwisted the wire cage around the cork. When he pushed the cork with his thumbs, it made a satisfying pop on release over the sink, with no precious liquid spilled. Carla held the flutes for him to pour, aware that Doug was in somewhat of a state of shock.

  When he put the bottle down, she handed him his glass and held hers high. “A toast!”

  “To what, exactly?” Doug asked, his voice strained.

  They clinked their flutes together gently. Carla shrugged. “To Valentine’s Day. To us. To being twenty again and starting all over?”

  They each took a sip. Doug slowly took her flute from her and set both down on the bureau, then put his arms around her. “How about to all of the above?”

  Carla drew in a breath and raised her lips to his. It had been so long since he’d given her a kiss of any kind. Even perfunctory goodbye pecks had ceased years ago. And now, their mouths took over, muscle memory returning as tongues danced. Doug’s hands held her back firmly. Has it been too long? But no, there it was. Carla made a little sound of relief as Doug’s erection pressed into her.

  Doug stopped kissing her long enough for a chuckle. “I guess it’s not always true that if you don’t use it, you lose it,” he said softly.

  Carla reached down to massage him through his jeans, then unzipped them. “Let’s make sure he remembers what to do.”

  The next morning, Carla and Doug walked downstairs laughing and holding hands. It was still early, but Deidre had dozed off on the little cot in the back room. When she heard the laughter, she walked out to greet them with a yawn.

  “Javier didn’t stay?” Carla called. Doug was right beside her, his hand at her back, as if he couldn’t bear to be further away from her.

  Deidre raised her eyebrows, and Carla knew immediately why. She and Doug had never been affectionate in public, not at the Royal, not anywhere. No wonder the girl was surprised. As if suddenly remembering, Deidre held her left hand out and wiggled it about so that the little diamond on her ring finger could catch the morning light.

  Carla oohed and ahhed appropriately. “Congratulations. And thank you for last night. It took some doing, but it was,” she said, glancing at Doug, “a memorable Valentine’s Day for us too.”

  Deidre giggled. “I’ll say. It was quiet down here, though. There was one check-out maybe an hour ago.” She rolled her eyes. “Oh. My. Gosh. That was the handsomest man I’ve ever seen in my life. He looked like a movie star! He was all dressed up too. A tux. Said he was making the most important appearance of his life and he wanted to look his best.”

  Carla swallowed hard and when she spoke, her voice sounded odd even to her own ears. “Did he say anything?”

  “Oh yeah. He had me write it down so I didn’t get it wrong. Said to give it to you when I saw you.”

  Doug cleared his throat. “Would you care to explain why a movie star is leaving notes for my wife?”

  Carla took the note from Deidre’s hand and unfolded it, turning so that they couldn’t read it: My work here is done. I finally got a promotion out of limbo. Thanks for helping me make it. C.G.

  “Are you okay, honey?” Doug wiped a tear from Carla’s cheek.

  Carla hugged him enthusiastically. “I’m fine. I think we’re all going to be just fine.”

  9

  Epilogue

  The ballroom of the Royal Poinciana had never looked more beautiful. The double doors were closed as Carla and Deidre walked around the room making last-minute adjustments. China, crystal, and silverware gleamed atop white li
nen tablecloths. Sprigs of lavender mixed with white roses were at each table, a contrast to the Valentine’s decor out in the lobby.

  “Can you believe it’s been two years exactly since Javier and I got engaged?” Deidre said as she arranged a place setting more precisely. She sighed. “He assures me that we can set a date for the fall, though. We’ve both finally got enough money saved.” She looked a bit wistfully around the room. “Not that our wedding will be this posh, but it will be nice. Mama insists on a church wedding, of course, and the restaurant wants us to have the reception there.”

  Carla stood with her hands on her hips, surveying things with a practiced eye. A string ensemble would arrive momentarily. The bride and groom, along with numerous guests, had filled the hotel to full capacity and then some. A few rooms that had not been decorated for use had been hastily put together just for the occasion. It had taken a little doing, but Doug had helped out with last minute repairs and trips to various stores so that everything was ready.

  She’d arranged for everything: the flowers, the minister, the music, the food. She and the Royal staff had pulled out all the stops for the decorations, but it was tasteful, understated, elegant. This couple had waited a long time for this day and she wanted it to be perfect. In fact, when she and Doug retired this summer, after the long RV trip they planned, they were discussing the possibility of her becoming a wedding planner. She’d thoroughly enjoyed herself working on this one, so why not think about a second career? Doug had enjoyed it too. It would be something else they could do together in addition to golf (her idea), fishing (his), church – and of course those long, lazy mornings in bed.

  As if reading her thoughts, Doug’s head popped inside the door. “The band’s here. Okay to let them in?”

  She crooked an index finger to summon him inside. “First things first. Deidre, would you go tell the band we’re almost ready for them to set up?”

  Deidre smiled knowingly and closed the doors quietly behind her as Carla put her arms around Doug’s neck and gave him a wet, passionate kiss. “I love you, Douglas Danvers.”

  “I love you too.” Doug sighed. “We wasted a lot of years, Carla. I’m so thankful we got a second chance.” He looked around the room. “This looks great! It will be a beautiful wedding. Let’s just hope it lasts. These days, so many of them don’t. Look at us! With what we went through, I think we beat the odds, don’t you?”

  Carla smiled at him, then at the room. In a few hours, the bride and groom would step out of the shadows and into the light, officially. Just as the ghost of Clark Gable had played a crucial part in her own happiness, the two of them had had a hand in making today possible, she liked to think.

  “This one will last, I’m sure. John and Greta Farmer won’t have the longest marriage in years, not at their age, but I’d bet any amount that they’ll have one of the happiest.”

  Doug gave his wife another long kiss. “Like ours, then. Let’s get this party started.”

  Carla texted Greta to make sure there were no last minute concerns, asking for permission to begin the ceremony. Most of the guests were from out of town, all staying at the Royal, representing years of friendship, family, and close work relationships. She thought back to that fateful Valentine’s Eve when she realized that Greta was, in fact, not Mrs. Farmer. And now she will be.

  They had approached her a few months earlier to discuss a wedding at the Royal. Carla had neither shown surprise nor explained her lack thereof. She had no idea what had been the deciding factor, but she was happy for them. She and Doug had found a renewed joy in their marriage; she hoped with all her heart that the “new” Farmers would continue their obvious joy as they entered into marriage after the long wait.

  Getting the go-ahead, Carla was about to signal the musical ensemble when the front doors shut noisily behind her. A man in his early thirties walked briskly toward her, his face a picture of concern. “Am I too late?” he asked. “Has the wedding started already?”

  Carla smiled. “You’re just in time. Guests are seating themselves – friends of the bride on the left, friends of the groom on the right.”

  He frowned slightly. “No, I’m not a fr– My name is Jeffrey Farmer,” he explained, holding out a hand to shake. “My dad asked me to be his best man, but...” His voice trailed off and he looked up at the chandelier as if for guidance. “I was stupid and stubborn and told him to go to hell.” Jeff sighed and looked at Carla, shaking his head. “To make matters worse, I know how difficult my mother made his life.” He shrugged. “But she was still my mother.” His face contorted with pain. “When she passed last year... by her own hand, tragically. Controlling to the end. I just never considered, well, this.” His eyes narrowed. “They were together, Greta and my father, for a long time, weren’t they?”

  Carla said nothing, but her eyes were soft. “I am sorry for your loss, Mr. Farmer. It was difficult for me when my mother passed.” She smiled. “But I’m sure she would want you to be happy, and for your father to be happy too.”

  Jeff shook his head grimly. “Me, perhaps. She blamed him for everything from the weather to her headaches, and never let him forget what a disappointment he was. Well, I tried not to see it or hear it, and I got away as soon as I could so I didn’t have to. Dad stayed.” He smiled sadly. “But I think he also got away when he could.”

  He let out a long breath. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, ma’am. But you’re right about one thing. With Greta, I believe Dad truly will be happy. Where is he now?” He grabbed Carla’s sleeve as she began walking toward the ballroom. “Ma’am? Maybe you know. Does Greta have anyone to give her away?”

  Carla shook her head.

  “Then point me in her direction, please.”

  A few minutes later, Carla caught John Farmer’s eye as he stood talking to a few friends he’d asked to stand with him. She held up her arm and tapped her watch. He nodded to her and then to the musicians. It was time.

  Carla took her seat beside Doug, who grabbed her hand and leaned over for a quick kiss. An angelic ten-year-old – Greta’s granddaughter – entered the ballroom first, followed by her mother and aunt, Greta’s daughters. They wore simple flowing dresses of deep purple gauze.

  As the music changed, the guests stood and shifted to watch the doors. Carla’s eyes were on John Farmer, however, not turned to watch the bride enter the room. When his face crumbled with tears of joy, she could tell it was time to turn. Greta’s hand rested softly on the arm of her new stepson. What a gift he is giving her right now, Carla thought. What a gift to his father.

  Carla suddenly realized that this was the first wedding she’d been to in many years that she hadn’t sat frozen in place, wallowing in the grief that she would never be the mother of the bride. Time had not healed the pain of her loss, but together, she and Doug had forged a new path together.

  She leaned her head on Doug’s shoulder and closed her eyes, thanking God and Mr. Gable for the miraculous Valentine’s Day gift two years earlier as the minister gestured for the guests to be seated and raised his voice:

  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here...”

  The End.

  Emily Sharpe

  Emily Sharpe is the pen name for a writer, editor and illustrator in south Florida. A former newspaper columnist, she loves to travel and perform in community theater. Mother of four and grandmother of five, Emily substitute teaches, sings, volunteers in the community and attends a raucous group of writers once a month called “Use Your Words.” She heartily believes in love and finding one’s joy – and she hopes you enjoy this story of romance. Readers may contact her by e-mail: emilysharpebooks@gmail.com.

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