She remembers Oliver that first night in the hospital—a man who heard nothing, saw nothing and had no memory. Then the image takes on Julien’s face. Max gasps. She has created this picture herself, and yet it shocks her.
What if…she wonders. What if such a fate befell Julien?
For two nights she finds sleep impossible to come by. The moment she closes her eyes he is there. Sometimes he lies beside her on the grassy lawns of the Tulleries; other times he walks the pathway alone, his face a blank canvas, his eyes vacant and unseeing. Both images are troubling, but the one where he is alone even more so because when it comes Max is again reminded of Oliver’s words. When I couldn’t remember, Annie remembered for me.
Over the past week Annie has left three messages on the answering machine, but Max has yet to return the call. She knows Annie is concerned, but she is not ready to talk. A voice in the back of her mind keeps urging her to move on, to forget what was and turn her eyes to what could be. And there are times when she thinks the voice might be right.
She has enough money in her savings account to open a small office. She could reach out to her existing clients, ask for referrals, broaden her circle of friends, join a gym, meet new people. All of this seems possible until she closes her eyes and the image of Julien comes back.
After a week of wrestling with such thoughts, she finally returns Annie’s call.
“I’m sorry,” she says, “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
“No problem.” Annie’s reply is soft and mellow, like a pillow inviting you to rest your head. “I’ve created a new cinnamon ginger tea. If you have time, stop over and try it.”
“Is now okay?” Max asks.
Minutes later she is out the door.
There is something about Memory House that makes a person feel welcome. This is how it has been for as far back as anyone can remember. Some believe it is because of the potpourri that sits in the entryway and gives off the scent of whatever a guest has in their thoughts; others claim it is the aroma of lavender that, even in the dead of winter, comes from the apothecary.
Max believes the magic of the house is hidden in the walls. How it got there or where it came from, she cannot say. She only knows that it is.
When she arrives Annie has already set out a plate of hazelnut cookies and a pot of the new cinnamon ginger tea. She hugs Max and says it is good to see her.
“It’s good to be here,” Max replies. Again she apologizes. “I’m sorry about not returning your call—”
Annie waves her off. “Don’t give it a second thought. I understand you’ve been busy.” She knows this isn’t the real reason for Max not calling but hopes to smooth the pathway for her to say what is on her mind.
Today they sit at the kitchen table because it is far too cold for the back porch. It is barely three o’clock, and yet the sky is dark with heavy clouds and the threat of snow hanging in the air. For a long while they talk of inconsequential things: the Gold & Glitter kiosk, a new crochet pattern, the quilt shop sale.
By the time Max finds courage enough to speak her thoughts, the tea in her cup has grown cold. She takes one last sip then pushes the cup aside.
“I’ve finally decided to do something I should have done a long time ago.”
Annie expects Max to say that at long last she is going to open her own office, but instead she says she is going to Paris in search of Julien.
“You’re kidding!” Annie says.
Max shakes her head. “No, I’m not. I’ve given this a lot of thought, and until I know the truth—”
“It’s been over three years!”
“I realize that, but maybe—”
“He hasn’t even tried to get in touch with you!”
“That’s true,” Max replies sadly, “but if something happened—”
“What could possibly happen?” Annie counters. “Even if he lost your address, he could have found you on Facebook or even the damn yellow pages!”
“He’s not on Facebook,” Max says. “I’ve looked.”
A roll of thunder sounds. It is near; not overhead, but near. Annie glances out the window, and the sky is black as night. This is not a good sign, but still she continues. “He’s supposed to be an artist, isn’t he? He must have some sort of business listing. Try LinkedIn, or Google him.”
“I’ve done all that,” Max replies wearily. “Several times.” She says something more, but the thunder comes again and her words are lost beneath the sound of it.
“What was that?” Annie asks.
Max raises her voice to be heard.
“It’s possible he’s been in some sort of accident,” she yells, “and has amnesia!”
The thunder falls silent, and Max’s last word sounds loud as the bang of a kettledrum.
“Amnesia?” Annie stares at Max in wide-eyed disbelief. “Really?”
Max nods. “It’s possible.”
Before Annie can answer there is another boom of thunder; this one is directly overhead. It comes with such force it shakes the walls of the house. A second and third burst follow, both as powerful as the first. While the sound still hangs in the air, a streak of lightning cuts across the sky. Moments later the lights go out, and they are in total darkness.
“Stay there,” Annie says. “I’ve got candles in the cupboard.”
She pushes her chair back and feels her way towards the counter. In the pitch-black room it seems as though nothing is where it is supposed to be, and it is several minutes before she can light a candle and carry it to the table.
As she lowers herself into the chair, Annie sees the tears in Max’s eyes and remembers what hopelessness feels like. It’s a pain that hollows out everything you’ve got inside. It leaves you feeling you are worthless, good for nothing and unlovable. She stretches her arm across the table and covers Max’s hand with her own.
“You’re the most beautiful person I know,” she says tenderly. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“I know.” Max gives a sad little smile. “But I’ve got to do this. Please understand.”
“I can’t say I understand,” Annie replies, “but I’ll be there for you no matter what. I just want you to think about it for a while; think about it and make certain it’s what you really want to do.”
“I will,” Max sniffles. “I promise I will.”
Annie believes this because it is what she wants to believe.
Annie
I wanted to tell Max she’s making a mistake, a terrible mistake, but I couldn’t do it. I love her too much. There’s a big difference between giving someone helpful advice and squashing their dreams.
I know what she’s going through because I’ve been there. It’s the same way I felt when Michael Stavros walked out and left me. The problem with loving such a man is that you’re blinded to everything but his smile. You can’t see the arrogance of his soul or the selfishness of his actions. His beauty draws you in, and that’s all you see. He whispers that he’s the beginning and the end of it all, and you foolishly believe him.
Listening to the stories Max tells about Julien, he sounds exactly like Michael: a man who loves himself way more than he could ever love anyone else. A man such as that will never bring happiness. Heartache and misery, that’s all he has to offer.
The problem is you can’t see this until you muster up enough courage to walk away. When you finally turn your back on him he whines and cries about how much he loves you, but if you listen you’re lost.
Nobody can save you from a love like this; you have to save yourself. The only way you’ll ever be free is to walk away and not look back.
God knows if there were a way to make Max forget Julien, I’d do it. She’s my best friend, and I don’t want to see her get hurt. Tragic as this may be, there’s nothing I can do.
She says she’s going to go in search of him, and if she decides to actually go through with it I won’t be able to stop her. Sure, I could badger her with the thousands of reasons for not doing it
, but then she’d turn a deaf ear and stop talking to me. I don’t want that to happen. I love her as much as I love Ophelia and Oliver, but I have to back off and trust she’ll make the right decision.
That might sound easy but trust me, it’s not. When you’re afraid someone you love is going to be hurt, doing nothing is the hardest thing in the world.
The Copper Kettle
In the weeks that follow there is no further discussion of Julien, not even a mention of his name. Max has three projects underway and the latest one, the addition of a second family room to Doctor Kelly’s house, offers a myriad of challenges. Denise Kelly wants a wall of built-ins and an entertainment area large enough to accommodate a dozen friends. The doctor’s only interest is in seeing the project does not exceed his $40,000 budget.
After three rounds of changes and design revisions, Max finally gets the construction estimate down to $42,000.
“I suppose I can live with that,” Doctor Kelly says, and Denise smiles.
Max promises that once the project gets underway she will be available to answer questions and consult with the builder. As the doctor signs his initials to approve the plans, Denise gives Max a sly wink.
“You’ll love working with Mark Treadway,” she says. “He’s tall, good looking and—”
The doctor is short and balding, so this is apparently a sore spot.
“Denise,” he says sharply. “There’s no need to—”
“Okay, okay.” She shrugs and leaves off the part about Mark Treadway also having the kind of charm that can cause a woman to forget she’s married.
When the doctor goes back to initialing the copies, Denise looks at Max and mouths the words I’ll tell you about him later.
Max shakes her head and waves off such a thought. The truth is she’s not interested in Mark Treadway. Right now the only thing she’s interested in is finishing up the projects on her drawing board.
On the third Monday of March the countertop cosmetics display is delivered, and two weeks later the drawings for the Meyers’ kitchen are finalized.
The following Tuesday Max suggests she and Annie have a girls’ day out. They plan lunch at the Copper Kettle and a bit of shopping afterwards.
“It’ll be good to see you,” Annie says. “It’s been too long.”
Max has seen Annie only three times since January. She’s stayed away because she can’t trust herself to not talk about this. She can’t be angry with Annie for not wanting her to go, but neither can she listen to all the reasons why she shouldn’t be doing it. In a small corner of her mind Max wonders if maybe Annie isn’t right, but when that thought comes she pushes it back and focuses on her memories of Julien. Some nights she falls asleep almost certain she will find him; other nights she sobs into her pillow daunted by the prospect of failure.
Now there is no longer time for procrastination. With only eight days remaining, she has to tell Annie about the plane ticket tucked in the top drawer of her bureau.
A half-hour before she is to head out the door, the telephone rings. Max picks it up; hopefully Annie is not going to cancel.
A male voice says, “Maxine?”
Not since Julien has anyone called her Maxine. Not even her father on the rare occasion when he visits. She answers tentatively, “Yes, this is Max.”
“Mark Treadway here,” he says.
It takes a moment before the name registers. “Oh, yes,” she sputters, “you’re Doctor Kelly’s builder.”
“Construction engineer,” he says with a chuckle.
“Don’t tell me you’ve already run into problems.”
“No. We’re not scheduled to start the job until late April, but Denise said I should give you a call. I thought perhaps we could get together for a drink, go over the plans, you know, kind of outline our expectations.”
Max remembers the smile on Denise’s face when she spoke of Mark.
“I’m sorry,” she says, “but this isn’t a good time. I’m leaving for Paris next week and have a really tight schedule right now.”
“Oh.” The sound of his disappointment is obvious. “Denise said you were available.”
For consultation not recreation, Max thinks. “I can give you a call when I get back and maybe stop by your office; would that work?”
He hesitates then admits, “I don’t have an office. I work from home or the job site. How about we meet at your office?”
Max laughs. “I don’t have an office either. I work out of my house.” For some odd reason saying this is not uncomfortable, and for once she doesn’t feel embarrassed by not having an office.
They talk for a while longer, and Max promises to call when she gets back. She scribbles his number on a scrap of paper and tosses it into the kitchen catch-all drawer.
By the time she sits down to lunch with Annie, Mark Treadway has been long forgotten.
The Copper Kettle is a small restaurant and one of the few that serves a variety of teas as well as cocktails. They settle into a booth, and Annie orders a double spice chai. Max opts for a glass of burgundy. Today is a day of leisure; they are in no hurry to order lunch so they push the menus aside and talk. Mostly it is a conversation that meanders from one subject to another without ever skipping a beat.
“It’s seems like it’s been ages since we did this,” Annie says.
Max laughs. “It has been ages since we treated ourselves to day out.”
“The last time was…” Annie rubs her fingers across her forehead and pinches the top of her nose. She finally sighs. “Good grief, I can’t even remember when the last time was.”
“I think it was right after Ophelia moved to Baylor Towers.”
“You’re right!” Annie laughs. “I remember how worried I was about Ophelia, and then I met her friends at Baylor. I still wasn’t happy about the move, but at least I wasn’t worried anymore.”
“Sometimes you’ve just got to trust that a person knows what’s best for themselves,” Max says.
Annie picks up the menu and is browsing the specials when she senses the thoughts circling through Max’s mind.
“Don’t tell me.” She gives a weary sigh.
This is how their friendship has been from the very start. Both of them somehow know what the other is thinking. Ophelia claims if she didn’t know differently she would swear they were twins born of the same egg. Annie laughs at such a thought, but she also has to admit that it is indeed strange.
“I thought you’d given up your thoughts of him,” she says.
Max shakes her head. “No, but I had a couple of projects I had to finish. Two days ago I delivered the last one.”
Annie already knows the answer, but still she asks the question. “So are you going over there to try and find him?”
They both know the “there” is Paris and the “him” is Julien.
Max nods. “I leave a week from tomorrow.”
Annie lowers the menu and pushes it away; suddenly she has no appetite. “This is a mistake, Max. You know it is. Don’t you think if he loved you—”
“Julien did love me, I know he did,” Max replies. “What I don’t know is what happened.” It is too painful to look straight into Annie’s eyes, so she looks down at the table focusing on a droplet of spilt wine. “Our relationship was something special. There’s no way a man goes from a love like we had to…nothing.” She hesitates then heaves a sigh that rattles through her chest and spills out with pieces of her heart stuck to it. “Unless…”
“Unless what?”
“Unless something happened to him.”
Annie drops her forehead into the palm of her hand. “That’s not logical. You know it’s not logical. Why would you pin your hopes on a possibility that is—”
“It’s better than not having any hope,” Max cuts in. “Trying to understand the logic of things can keep a person from having hope.” She tucks a finger under Annie’s chin, lifts her face and looks into her eyes. “Logic would say a book of law couldn’t possibly be the thing that
would bring Oliver out of his coma, and yet…”
Annie’s eyes grow tearful as she remembers.
“You believed in him enough to try,” Max says, “and you were able to bring him back.”
Annie gives a silent nod.
“Well, I believe in Julien enough to try. I believe if he was able to, he would have come to me.”
“What if you find him and he doesn’t want to remember you?”
“Then I’ll come home and start my life over again. But at least I’ll be able to stop wondering and looking back.”
Annie has no answer for that.
Ophelia
Annie came by this morning full of sorrow and on the verge of tears. Max is going to do it, she said. From the sound of her voice, I pictured something so terrible she couldn’t find the words to describe “it.”
One of the privileges of getting to be my age is that you can be as outspoken as you pretty well please, so I flat out asked what Max was going to do.
Ruin her life, that’s what! Annie answered.
The minute I heard that I figured it had something to do with the memories hanging on to poor Max, and I was right.
Annie told me the whole story of how the girl wanted to restore some fellow’s memory of their love the way she had restored Oliver’s. Over and over again she made the point of how the situation was in no way similar.
Friendship’s a tricky thing. If you value it you listen and don’t go spouting off advice until it’s asked for, so that’s what I did. After Annie finished telling her story, she asked what she could do to stop Max.
Not a single thing, I said and reminded her of how she’d gone back to her boyfriend in Philadelphia. Not once, but twice.
At the time I worried about her the same way she’s worrying about Max, but if I’d have listed all the reasons for her not giving him a second and third chance she would have retaliated with a list of his virtues. People who think they’re in love are blind to anything but what they want to see.
What the Heart Remembers Page 3
