Standing in the center of the crowded room, she feels terribly alone. It is as if she has stumbled into a room filled with strangers.
This isn’t what Max expected. These people were her friends. She’d partied with them all through school. They guzzled beer together and pooled resources to buy a pizza. They sat alongside one another and commiserated on student loans. Friends forever, they’d said. But in three short years they morphed into a group of strangers; people with successful businesses, happy marriages and babies. They moved on while she got stuck in a holding pattern, a pattern that kept circling back to ask, “Why?”
At eleven forty-five LuAnn snaps on the television and announces, “It’s almost time!” She looks around the room to make certain everyone is equipped with paper hats and noisemakers, then hurries over and hands Max a sequined band with a gaudy yellow feather.
“Now you need a noisemaker,” she says.
“No, no, I’m okay,” Max protests, but it does no good.
LuAnn rushes off, and moments later she is back with a paper horn. “Here you go,” she says then disappears again.
At eleven fifty-nine the group clusters around the television, counting along as the crystal ball descends into 2015. They are as one voice echoing, “Nine, eight, seven, six…” When the announcer shouts “Happy New Year!” LuAnn tosses a handful of confetti into the air. Husbands bend and kiss their wives full on the mouth. Many whisper something special to their loved one; then they turn to friends and share cheek-grazing kisses.
The longing Max has carried for so long swells and becomes a hardened lump in her throat. In a voice that is dry and scratchy, she returns the greeting that others give her. “Happy New Year,” she says, but the truth is it’s not at all happy.
It is barely twelve-fifteen when Max goes to LuAnn and thanks her for the invitation. “I’ve got a bit of a drive,” she offers as an excuse for leaving so early. She then makes her way to the door and slips out almost unnoticed.
Brianna catches her eye as Max pulls on her coat. She holds her hand to the side of her face with her pinky and thumb extended as she mouths the words, Call me if you change your mind.
Max returns the smile and nods. She knows, just as Brianna probably knows, that such a call will never happen.
Although Julien Marceau is not in the room this night, he is at the forefront of Max’s mind. She wonders where he is and if perchance he also remembers the New Year’s Eve they spent together.
~ ~ ~
As Max drives home, she replays Oliver’s words. Without you I would not be here to celebrate the new year…what I don’t remember, Annie remembers for me. The words run through her thoughts over and over until she gives them room to grow. Room to become more than just words. Room to become a sorrowful wish. As she drives through the dark of night leaving one year behind and moving into the new one she wonders: what if Julien suffered a fate such as Oliver’s? What if he is left with no memory of her, no memory of anything?
It’s possible, she tells herself. At the back of her mind the small voice of reason argues, Possible maybe, but not probable. She pushes back such a thought and moves on to a deeper level of wondering.
As she slides into her pajamas she imagines Julien walking through the catacomb of tunnels that connect one metro station to another. The tunnels are endless and nearly deserted in the wee hours of the morning. He could have been mugged or grown dizzy and toppled into the path of an oncoming train. No one would know to contact her. No one would know where to call.
This has been a long day. Too long. She climbs into bed and tugs the blanket up around her shoulders. As her eyelids flutter shut she pictures the Honda motorcycle Julien rode. It was way too small. Not safe. Anything could send it flying across a busy intersection: a loose cobblestone, a crevice in the roadway…
She hears a familiar sound and listens. It is the wonk-wonk of a police car. Behind it there is the roar of motorcycles and voices chanting. She is back in Paris. It is a small room, barely wide enough to squeeze past the chair and push open the window. It has a cook stove that at times refuses to work and a crack in the wall where the icy cold of winter slides through.
Julien moves past her and throws open the window. The voices are louder now, angrier. He waves to the crowd in the street, shouts something, then pulls his jacket from the hook and heads for the door.
“Don’t go,” she says.
He turns back and flashes a smile. “Don’t go? Haven’t you always known I would go?”
Before she can answer he is out the door.
She moves to the window and sees him dart from the building. In what seems less than a heartbeat, he is swallowed up by the throng of protestors.
She stands and watches until the parade of people rounds the corner and starts down the side street. Long after he is gone from sight, she can hear the heady sound of his laughter.
She steps back ready to pull the window shut, but there is a sudden burst of gunfire. The rat-a-tat-tat is followed by shouts and crying. She can no longer hear the lilt of his laughter. Leaning out beyond the ledge, she screams his name.
“Julien! Julien!”
Max wakes with a start and sits up. She is soaked through with perspiration but can still feel the chill that has settled in her bones.
Now more than ever she is convinced something has happened to Julien, something that kept him from coming to her.
January 1, 2015
It is New Year’s Day, and everyone is gathering at Memory House. Ophelia comes with Lillian, Sam and Pauline, her new friends from Baylor Towers. They arrive in the Baylor limousine, which is how Ophelia now travels. There is no more driving, not after what happened.
Just the thought of Ophelia or one of her friends behind the wheel of a car gives Annie hives. Blisters rise up, and there is not a potion in the entire apothecary powerful enough to rid her of the itch. Knowing the Baylor car is on hand to take the group wherever they want to go gives Annie the peace of mind an expectant mother needs.
She is not due until the second week of May, but Annie has already felt the baby move. On quiet nights when she and Oliver lie side by side in bed, he places his hand on her stomach and swears he can tell the baby is a boy.
“The way that little rascal is moving around, it’s got to be a boy,” he says.
Ophelia, although she has never had any children of her own, claims the baby is a girl.
“I’m practiced in knowing what’s beneath a person’s skin,” she says, adding that she’s also got a woman’s intuition.
“The child will be born with violet eyes and your gift of perception,” she predicts. “Before the girl is twelve, she will be able to touch her hand to a memory and claim it as her own.”
Annie turns away from such a thought because she is uncertain whether having this gift is what she wants for her child. It is a double-edged sword. True, the bicycle boy’s memories are what led her to Oliver, but there are other memories, ones with anger and violence attached to them. Finding the memories left behind by other people is like opening Pandora’s Box. There is simply no way of telling the good from the bad until you are holding it in your hand, and by then it is often too late.
Although she believes Ophelia’s prediction will turn out to be nothing, Annie is taking no chances. On the back burner of the stove a huge pot simmers. It is the black-eyed peas that have soaked in water since yesterday. This morning she rinsed them for a third time then added chunks of bacon and onion. In the oven a ham drizzled with honey is browning. Annie knows the ham is what people will reach for first, but it is the peas that will bring good luck. Hopefully.
Today there will be eight at the table. Not family, but friends who are close as family. Ophelia will sit at the head of the table. It is where she sat for half a century, and Annie wants to hang on to the tradition. Oliver will sit at the other end. She has tactfully positioned Andrew Steen across the table from Max, close enough to chat but not close enough for their knees to bump up against
each other. She hopes to avoid the testy innuendos that occurred last time.
Just as Annie is pulling the ham from the oven, the doorbell chimes. Andrew and Max arrive—not together but simultaneously.
When Oliver opens the door, Andrew steps back and motions for Max to enter. “Ladies first.”
Max gives a tight-lipped smile. “Thanks.”
With a quick greeting to the group that is already gathered she hurries by. “I’ve got to get this in the fridge,” she says and holds up the bottle of champagne.
Andrew carries a pot of yellow chrysanthemums, but he is in no hurry. He sets the flowers on the coffee table and leans down to kiss Ophelia’s cheek.
“You’re looking well,” he says then turns to greet the others.
It is easy to see why Oliver and Andrew were successful as law partners; they both have the same good-natured manner.
Oliver slings his arm across Andrew’s shoulder. “So how’s it going?”
“Good,” Andrew answers. “This international product liability stuff is keeping me hopping. Winnie is working full time now.”
Winnie is Andrew’s law clerk, not a student but a woman in her early fifties. A woman who studied to become a lawyer, then settled into marriage and a family before she’d had time to take her final exams.
“Is she thinking of going for the bar?” Oliver asks.
Andrew laughs. “You know Winnie. One day she’s dead set on getting her license, the next day she’s off to do something with the grandchildren.”
“That’s Winnie,” Oliver chuckles. Fond memories of the casual office environment he shared with Andrew cross his mind and linger for a moment.
“Give her a hug for me,” he says.
When Max returns to the room, Andrew picks up the chrysanthemums and starts toward the kitchen. He passes her, smiles and gives a nod but says nothing. Not because he doesn’t like Max; he just doesn’t want an act of friendship to be mistaken for something more. Not after what she said at their last meeting.
It is a while before Andrew returns to the living room, and when he finally does Annie is with him.
“Dinner is served,” she says.
The group makes their way to the dining room and settles at the table. Once everyone is seated, Oliver says a prayer. He thanks the Lord for bringing them through the troubles of the past year and asks that He continue to do so in the year that lies ahead.
“Amen to that,” Ophelia says and scoops a sizable portion of black-eyed peas onto her plate. “I was hoping you’d make this,” she tells Annie. “A new year without black-eyed peas doesn’t bode well.”
One word leads to another, and before everyone has finished filling their plate a number of conversations zigzag across the table.
After hearing Ophelia’s explanation that the black-eyed peas are rumored to bring good luck, Sam adds a second scoop to his plate.
“I could use some luck,” he says mournfully. “This week I lost a dollar eighty-seven to Jack Sauer, and he’s the worst pinochle player in the group.”
Lillian laughs. “Jack’s not the worst player, you are.”
Sam gulps down a forkful of peas and replies, “That’s about to change.”
As the group settles into eating there is a lull in the conversation and Annie asks Max, “How was the party last night?”
She shrugs. “Okay, I guess.”
“Okay doesn’t sound like much of a party,” Oliver says with a laugh. “Didn’t you get to see your friends from college?”
Max nods. “Yes, I saw them but…”
She stops. This isn’t what she intended to talk about today. The feeling of loneliness that took hold of her at the party is still heavy in her heart. She hoped to bury it, push it to the back of her mind and never think of it again, but that’s impossible. The hurt is right there on the tip of her tongue, waiting to be told.
“But what?” Annie asks.
“They’ve changed,” Max replies. “The things they talk about, the things they say…”
Andrew knows the feeling. Two years ago he left his class reunion after only an hour and hasn’t been back.
“That happens,” he says softly. “Everyone grows in a different way; maybe you’ve outgrown them.”
“It’s more like they’ve outgrown me,” Max replies. Suddenly it is spilling out, one word after another. She speaks of all the friends who have married or moved on to successful careers. None of those people are the reason Max is lonely, but she lets herself believe they are.
“Brianna Mosley,” she says angrily, “a girl who never did an honest day’s work in her life, had the gall to tell me that if I didn’t have an office, clients wouldn’t take me seriously.”
“That’s true,” Andrew says. He should know better. He should see the hurt tugging at Max’s face and hear the bitterness of her words, but he doesn’t.
“I don’t know that I’d say they wouldn’t take you seriously, but people are more respectful of a legitimate business location.”
He continues, not noticing how Max’s nose twitches side to side.
“Clients figure if you’re working from home, you’re freelancing. They see you as someone who’s just looking to pick up some extra money, not really—”
“Would anyone like another slice of ham?” Annie cuts in. She has seen the look on Max’s face and senses what is about to happen.
“I’ll take one,” Sam answers and passes his plate down.
Ophelia has also noticed Max’s expression, and she jumps in to help Annie.
“I’ll have another scoop of those black-eyed peas,” she says. “Is that collard greens you’ve got mixed in with them?”
“Why, yes it is,” Annie replies. “Mama used to say adding greens to the New Year’s peas will bring money as well as luck.” She leans over and covers Max’s hand with her own. “I added the collard greens especially for you,” she says affectionately.
Max gives a wan smile, and the moment of intensity passes without incident.
The conversation moves to other things: football, the apothecary and news of the day. Max doesn’t mention Julien; for now he is only in her thoughts.
After dinner she follows Annie into the kitchen and helps to clean up. As she stacks the dishes in the sink, Annie asks, “Do you want to talk?”
“Yes,” Max answers, “but not tonight.”
Annie doesn’t push it. “Whenever you’re ready,” she replies then pulls Max into an embrace of friendship.
For the remainder of the night Max steers clear of Andrew. She doesn’t look him in the eye, sit within speaking range or pass him going through the hallway.
Andrew unfortunately does not get the opportunity to give voice to what he had in mind. In his office there is a room that three years earlier was Oliver’s office. It is still empty, and he was going to tell Max she is welcome to use it if she wants to.
Max Martinelli
Sometimes it takes a jolt to make you wake up and see what you’re doing to yourself. For the past three years I’ve been living a lie. It’s one thing to lie to other people, but I’ve also been lying to myself. I say I’m over Julien, he’s a thing of the past, but that’s not true.
Instead of moving on, I’m stuck in a place where he’s not part of my life but he’s enough to keep me from having a life.
Last year I designed the reception area for a good-looking chiropractor who was just starting out. I could see he was flirting with me, but instead of enjoying the moment and allowing myself to like him I started comparing him with Julien. When you have an image of perfection fixed in your mind, it’s impossible for anyone to measure up.
The problem is there’s no ugliness tied to Julien. He was always carefree and full of fun. We almost never fought or got angry at one another; it was just this perfect relationship, and then nothing.
I know it sounds ridiculous to look back and wish we’d had arguments and bitterness, but without those things you have nothing to regret. You don’t regret ha
ving a wonderful relationship; you just keep looking back and wishing you still had it. That’s what I’m now doing.
If the relationship was wonderful for me, I would think it had to be wonderful for Julien also. That’s why I don’t understand him not getting in touch.
I’ve thought about it for so long my head is ready to split open. The only answer I’ve come up with is that something happened to him. Something that would cause him to forget me, maybe even forget everything he ever knew.
It happened to Oliver, so it’s possible it could happen to Julien also. Okay, maybe it’s a long shot, but I owe it to myself to find out for sure.
I don’t want to spend the rest of my life wondering what would have happened if we had gotten back together. That’s no way to live. When you come to a crossroad in life, you’ve got to take one pathway or the other. Just standing in the middle of the road means you’ve got nothing to look forward to because the only thing you can see is what’s behind you.
Maybe I won’t find Julien or find him married to some cute little French girl, but it’s the chance I’ve got to take. This can turn out one of two ways. I can be reunited with the man I love and come home deliriously happy, or I can discover he’s moved on and no longer wants me.
Either way, it’s still better than not knowing.
The Decision
In the week following the New Year’s Day dinner, Max finishes the design of a freestanding kiosk for the Gold & Glitter Shop. But as she sits in front of the computer pulling together a three-dimensional rendering, her mind is not on the project. Even as she blocks in the banner headline, she is thinking of Paris. She remembers walks along the Seine, a small bistro in Rue Cler and the feel of Julien’s hand pressed to the small of her back.
At first the thought of returning to look for him seems ludicrous, but as the days pass it begins to grow on her. By the end of the week she is convinced that only an accident too horrible to imagine could have kept him from coming to her.
What the Heart Remembers Page 2
