by Laura Briggs
Ghosts Of Romances Past
GhostsofRomancesPast
GHOSTS OF ROMANCES PAST
Laura Briggs
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
GHOSTS OF ROMANCES PAST
COPYRIGHT 2011 by LAURA BRIGGS
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Pelican Ventures, LLC except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
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All scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version(R), NIV(R), Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com
Cover Art by Nicola Martinez
White Rose Publishing, a division of Pelican Ventures, LLC
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White Rose Publishing Circle and Rosebud logo is a trademark of Pelican Ventures, LLC
Publishing History
First White Rose Edition, 2011
Electronic Edition ISBN 978-1-61116-119-9
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To Pinky Pye, who was our little Monday girl for a little while this story came together.
Ghosts Of Romances Past
1
Ghosts were watching Alice Headley.
Photos that crowded her mantelpiece, a cacophony of people and places. Smiling faces and somber expressions, a handful blurred by shadows or grainy blemishes. A black and white image of her grandmother hoeing a garden plot; a color one of her favorite aunt, wearing a smile and a yellow silk dress.
They were friendly ghosts, on whom Alice bestowed a smile as she designed creations for Storyhour Books, one of North Carolina’s most respected publishing companies. Right now, the ghosts were watching Alice argue with her collaborator. Or perhaps argue was too strong a word for the playful tones that laced their lively exchange.
“How about a rainbow?” Jamie Lewison leaned towards the canvas, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Or maybe a couple of beating hearts overhead—something I can animate with the CG software.”
“A little cliché, don’t you think?” Alice let her brush play between her fingers as she studied the image of two lovebirds in green and pink, perched on a branch with wings intertwined and cheeks pressed close together. “I mean, romance isn’t all sunshine and flowers.”
“Well this is for Valentine’s Day.” Her partner’s dark brown eyes sparked with good humor. “Or do you think the most romantic day of the year is a cliché, too?”
“Of course not,” Alice said, tucking a stray curl beneath her do-rag. “It just seems like art should reflect more about real life.”
He snorted. “We are talking about the same project, right? A cute, colorful motif that fits the bill of requirements for a kid’s storybook website?”
“Well, maybe we shouldn’t be encouraging hopeless romantics.” She spun her stool around to face him, her chin tilted in defiance. “That’s how it starts, you know. Kids see stuff like this and they grow-up expecting the fairytale to come true.”
“So what’s wrong with that?” A boyish grin cracked his features. “Some of us like believing in fairytales. I still make a wish on the occasional falling star, for instance.”
“That’s exactly what I mean.” She turned away from the crooked smile that threatened to break down her careful philosophy. “And I still say these little birds are perfect as is. It’s an image that conveys loyalty, security, affection. That’s all most people can really expect out of relationships.”
Jamie groaned and rumpled his spiked brown hair. “Isn’t there some rule about not letting your personal life bleed into your work? Because I’m pretty sure we’re talking about your relationship with a certain advertising executive.”
Here we go. She felt a flush spread across her cheeks at the mention of the man who shared the past two years of her life and countless experiences. “Warren and I are perfectly happy as we are, thank you,” she said, raising her brush to add a daub of blue to the skyline.
“Oh?” Jamie moved to the mantle, where among the family photos were pictures of Warren hiking beside Alice in the Blue Ridge Mountains and another with a professional look as he held the Salesman of the Year plaque for advertising. And the one where he was basking in the warmth of her smile as they embraced tenderly beneath the mistletoe.
“Why shouldn’t we be?” She blended different shades of white for the clouds. “After all, Warren is thoughtful and caring. He’s ambitious. He shares my faith and my values. “
“I just thought by now you’d have made a commitment if it was real. I mean, you’ve been seeing him long enough.”
“We believe in taking things slowly.” An abrupt answer, but then she wasn’t in the mood for a relationship analysis. Especially not from a former boyfriend turned co-worker.
“Maybe there’s a reason you’re hanging back.” Jamie’s voice was hard to read, as he came to stand behind her. “Maybe your heart’s saying there’s something else out there and you’re refusing to listen.”
Her brush slipped, sending a trickle of white into the tree foliage. Grabbing a clean rag, she covered her confusion with a playful comeback. “Thank you, Mr. Relationship Expert. But you haven’t exactly been burning up the relationship scene lately.”
“That you know of,” he teased, leaning over her shoulder. “Besides, I’m looking for a special connection. There needs to be a moment where you know you could share a lifetime together. And if there’s nothing to build on, then it’s not worth pursuing.”
An awkward silence fell, as Alice pretended to get lost in the design, contemplating the shading and texture of the clouds. She gasped with surprise as Jamie’s hands came around to lift the canvas, tilting it towards the trickle of afternoon light.
“Hey, watch those fingers.” She laughed, glad for the subject change. “I don’t want to paint over any marks from a careless observer.”
His face assumed an exaggerated hurt look as he returned the canvas to its stand. “Fine, I’ll leave it alone. Besides, what I really came for was to show off the finished graphics for the activities page,” he added, sliding the strap of his bag from his shoulder.
She adjusted her painting smock and followed him to a partially-cleared table, where he lifted the computer from its case. A few key clicks opened a program, depicting Alice’s last creation dancing across the screen.
A pink elephant in a ballerina skirt balanced on a high wire with an umbrella overhead. Alice watched it perform a careful pirouette before losing its balance and plunging into a net below.
“It’s adorable,” she said. “The administrator for Storyhour Books will love it.” The elephant was one in a series of characters she painted for the website, including alligator acrobats, a hyena unicyclist, and a ringmaster giraffe.
“At least it’s a living, right?” Jamie teased.
She glanced at the clock. Two hours until her weekly date night with Warren. “Listen, I—”
“Need to get ready for dinner,” he finished with a knowing smile. “I’ve sort of
picked up on your social pattern by now. Warren isn’t exactly full of surprises.”
She bounced a pencil eraser off his arm as he shoved his laptop in its case. “Just go, if you don’t mind. And tell the editors we need more time on the lovebird design.”
Maybe her tone was harsher than she intended, because he looked almost ashamed as he ducked out the door.
****
“Idiot.”
Jamie leaned against the corridor in Alice’s apartment building, wishing he could erase their conversation the way he rubbed out lines on a sketch pad. It didn’t help that her closed door stared back at him, discouraging and a little bit accusing.
Kind of like the look Alice gave him when he mentioned the connection thing. Well, who could blame her? Really, did any woman appreciate relationship advice from an ex-boyfriend?
A quick glance at his watch told him that Rick and the other Storyhour editors were already placing their orders at the Café au Lait. They were probably wondering why he could never be on time for any of these meetings.
With a last look at Alice’s door, he took the stairs two a time to the exit. Out on the sidewalk, warm afternoon sunshine stroked his face, but his thoughts stayed in the same gloomy sphere.
Maybe it was that word, ex-boyfriend. So negative, so past tense. Nothing at all like his real relationship with Alice. Maybe first love would have been a better choice. Or childhood sweetheart. Both accurate, both bittersweet.
He paused at the crosswalk and hitched his shoulder bag further up. Beneath the fabric, his laptop shifted, along with Alice’s folder of sketches. The editors would love the latest round of holiday designs. They always did.
“You guys make a perfect team,” Rick told him more than once, a satisfied grin stretching his features.
If only. He batted the thought away as he crossed the street, pulling his jacket closer to block the February chill. Meanwhile, his mood was darker and colder than ever. Looks like I still have some work do to, Lord.
Two more blocks to his lunch destination. Now if he could just find his appetite.
****
I shouldn’t be having doubts about my love life. That’s what she told herself, anyway, as she slipped feet into a pair of red cherry pumps. With an attractive, godly man seeing her on a regular basis, what more could she want?
She smoothed the pleated skirt of her black-and-white checkered dress. Was it a little too loud? As much as she hated to admit it, vintage dresses weren’t always the most sensible choice for an evening out. Some of Warren’s friends raised their eyebrows at the sight of a girl wearing a gown they’d only seen in photos of their grandparents’ college days.
“What’s missing?” She popped open the antique wooden box that sat beneath her great-great grandmother’s portrait. Rummaging through its contents, she selected an old rhinestone brooch and pinned it to the dress. Then she unfastened the clip from her hair, releasing a flood of curls the same shade of red as the woman in the painting, whose beauty and talent was the subject of family stories.
The wall clock chimed the four o’ clock hour. At six, she promised to meet Warren at the restaurant in downtown Charleston. Even now, his smiling face beamed at her from a photo taken in a rainy park somewhere.
Warm. Handsome. Intelligent. That’s how she described him to others. At times, he seemed almost flawless, like the moment they met, when Alice stumbled from a cab with a stack of canvases, straight into the arms of a passing businessman with a briefcase and blue silk tie. Other times, he seemed perfectly human, such as the finicky way he refused to eat ice cream cones because of the melting drips.
As she passed the dresser, she paused to shove into place a frame close to the edge, the one of Warren posing in tennis whites on the court. It had been a gift last Christmas, accompanied by a year’s worth of lessons for Alice, who tended to bat balls into the net instead of over it.
With a fond smile, she glanced at another photo—a small cutout of her and Jamie, twelve years younger, both wearing silly grins. Her smile faded into tenderness as she laid her finger lightly against the paper surface.
“Someday you’ll understand,” she said, as she closed the door and left her memories behind in pursuit of a relationship in progress.
****
Clink! Jamie’s paintbrush bounced off the tray of miscellaneous artist’s tools. He’d flung it aside after his hand slipped and left a trail of red liquid where blank canvas should have been. Another small mistake in what had so far been the longest project of his artistic career.
Not that you could expect much from an art school dropout, a guy who abandoned his lifelong dreams of painting for a career in digital design. It was a rash decision his family never understood. And Alice never tired of reminding him where his real talents lay.
What would she say if she knew it was because of her—because of what they once shared—that made him swear off a God-given talent? Sure, his vow was made as a bitter and somewhat lovesick kid. But he’d stuck to it, never again putting paintbrush to canvas for profit. Only this one canvas remained, and it was for personal use only.
With a sigh, he grabbed a rag and soaked up the stain. It would never be perfect, he knew, but this project needed to capture the essence of his best and most vivid memories. Or at least it should resemble the tiny snapshot he kept tucked in the easel’s corner. The faded image served as a daily reminder of the subject’s deep gaze and secret smile. Two elements that proved more and more elusive for his pencils and paint brush.
The phone rang from somewhere across the room, its sound muffled by a jacket. Jamie wiped his hands with a cloth and paused to listen as the answering service picked up.
“Hey, it’s Rick from Storyhour,” said an enthusiastic male voice. “I need to reschedule our meeting for the Nursery Time project.”
Right. The future project Rick hinted at during today’s meeting, the one with career-changing possibilities attached. Not just for him, but for Alice, though she didn’t know it yet.
The sound of pages rustling translated as static across the line. “How does one-thirty on the fourteenth sound? Don’t worry,” Rick added with a chuckle. “I promise to keep it short, so it won’t put a crimp in your Valentine’s plans.”
As if he had any. Snatching a pencil from the tray, Jamie swiveled his chair to reach the giant wall calendar. He penciled in the new meeting time as the machine clicked off with a beep. Well, at least there was something written on his otherwise blank schedule for Valentine’s Day. Even if it was just a business thing.
He drummed fingers against the wall, his gaze catching the calendar’s cupid and heart motif. There were plenty of girls he could share a romantic dinner with. Girls who were pretty, smart, talented, and spiritual. Girls who admired his artwork and amazingly enough, his cheesy sense of humor.
His neighbor, Vicki Hanson, was one. A pretty professional photographer who lived one floor down, she hinted more than once that he was welcome to drop by for coffee and chat.
But what was the use, when his heart compared every woman he met to the one who got away?
He groaned. “Now you sound like a sappy love song.” Despite the reality of the words, self-pity would get him nowhere. Neither would stirring up feelings of anger and regret.
A shrill whistle resonated through the apartment, signaling the water for hot chocolate was ready and waiting. The interruption was more than welcome, considering his mood was about three steps away from a therapy session.
With a last look, he covered the canvas with its cloth. No matter how strong his feelings seemed, God didn’t intend for him to waste his life pining for a lost love. And even if he and Alice were somehow meant to be, praying for a second chance couldn’t be right as long as she was dating someone else. Could it?
Cradling the mug of hot liquid, he wandered through the cluttered living room, kicking aside stacks of old magazines. Twelve years. Shouldn’t I be over this by now?
“Your timing is definitely different tha
n mine.” He bestowed a tired smile on the faded Bible that occupied his coffee table. Its cracked spine and crinkled pages denoted the most read passages. Verses on grief and disappointment he’d learned by heart those first months after Alice told him goodbye. And who knew how many times he’d reread them since she came back into his life four months ago.
The view from his window showed a cold February afternoon, the sky slightly overcast. A young couple strolled into view, hands clasped. The girl’s head rested against her protector’s shoulder. Pausing by the entryway, they shared a tender goodbye kiss.
A heavy feeling nestled in Jamie’s chest as he retraced his steps to the easel. He stared at the covered canvas, hesitated, and then flicked the cloth back. Dark green eyes stared back at him, their gaze gentle, understanding.
A “masterpiece in the making,” he called it, the secret project he added to bit by bit whenever he had a moment between freelance jobs. A part of him doubted whether he could—or should—finish it.
Dropping the cloth back over the canvas, he closed his eyes. What is Alice doing right now?
Ghosts Of Romances Past
2
Alice checked her reflection in her compact mirror, and then checked the time. Fifteen minutes late. A blemish on Warren’s otherwise impeccable timing record. A firm believer in punctuality, he liked to kid her about her ‘head-in-the-clouds artist syndrome,’ which caused her to be late to every event.
Yawning, she stretched her legs beneath the tablecloth. Then, giving into temptation, she slid off the high heeled shoes and wiggled her toes.
The Orange Blossom was a swanky establishment, with red carpet, velvet drapes, and a chandelier that resembled ropes of pearls bound together. A mahogany staircase wound up to the second floor, where Alice’s table overlooked the grand lobby from a balcony area.
