by Laura Briggs
“So this is a little awkward, right?” she said. “I don’t want you to think I had anything to do with this, Jamie. If I had known this was your assignment, I would’ve turned it down, honestly.” She gave him a smile despite nervousness.
Her willpower was faltering under his stare, those dark eyes that had every right to be cold if they chose to be. Leaning a little closer, he locked his gaze with hers.
“Look,” he began. “We can either make this work, or go home right now. As for me, I’m ready to forget our differences and start over again. How about you?” He raised his eyebrows, a smile of truce playing around his mouth.
A sense of relief flooded her. The opportunity to sweep aside that moment in her past meant he wasn’t upset with her. Maybe there was still a chance they could be friends again.
He held out a hand and gave her an impish smile. “Hi there. Name’s Jamie.”
She resisted the urge to laugh. “Alice,” she answered, reaching across to meet his hand with her own.
****
It was only a few weeks after she and Jamie were paired together for the assignment that Alice’s dating life came up in the conversation by accident.
“What’s this for?” Jamie asked, holding up a tennis racquet he’d found in the corner. “A giant bug swatter, maybe?”
She glanced up from the proofs for the first circus characters, which she and Jamie had wrestled with for the last hour. “No, it’s mine.” Her mind struggled to stay focused on shading the circus tent design with a magenta she knew would look good on a canvas.
Jamie snorted with laughter. “Since when? As I recall, you used to tell horror stories about P.E. tennis in high school and beaning the school mascot with a ball.”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, I’ve decided to take it up again, since Warren enjoys it.” This remark was met with a moment of confused silence. From the corner of her eye, she saw Jamie turning the racquet between his hands.
“Warren,” Jamie repeated. “You haven’t mentioned him.” He tossed the racquet back into the corner and reached for Alice’s spare easel. “Old or new boyfriend?”
“You could say both. We’ve been seeing each other for a couple of years now.”
He released a long, slow breath. “Then I’d say that’s serious. Given that it’s you we’re talking about.” His expression became an amused little smile that annoyed her. “So you’re telling me that you’ve been seeing someone steadily and haven’t talked about him these last few weeks?”
Tossing her head, she looked away as she concentrated on the sketch. “If you’re implying that I have something to hide, the answer’s no. Warren’s a great guy whom I’ve been seeing steadily for a while now.”
Jamie responded with a cocky voice. “So he’s just a great guy whose name slipped your mind until this moment.”
“It just hasn’t come up.” Irritation trickled through her, along with a sense of discomfort.
Jamie snapped the easel’s legs in place and propped it near hers. “I didn’t say he wasn’t a great guy. All I said was, if he’s so great, why haven’t you been talking about him? Or showing off pictures or inviting him to lunch while I’m here working—”
“Because he’s busy with work,” she answered, cutting him off. “Warren and I usually see each other on the weekends and for lunch a couple of times a week. We’re both busy, especially now that I have this project.”
He propped a partial sketch on the newly-assembled easel. “Sounds like you’re keeping it pretty casual.”
Her brush swept over the canvas. She knew where this conversation was going and resisted the bait. “Warren has no problem with us taking things slowly. He says our relationship is on track to success.”
“On track?” Jamie laughed. “To what? I’m pretty sure your ideas about relationships bar the use of timetables, so he must be a patient guy.”
She rolled her eyes, wishing she’d never mentioned the subject. “Why do you have such a problem with that? Don’t you think anything worth pursuing requires a little patience? Like all those years we spent learning in art schools, for instance?”
“Not the same, Ali. Relationships aren’t cars, and they’re not supposed to be a never-ending test drive.”
He was pushing her buttons—deliberately, she was pretty sure. She tried changing the subject. “So what about you? You haven’t mentioned any girlfriends in the past week or two.”
He shook his head. “I was seeing someone,” he answered, “but it didn’t work out. She wasn’t the one, apparently.”
She was silent after this remark, letting a moment pass before speaking again. “Nobody since then? When did things fall through?”
“Awhile back. Since then I’ve had a few dates, but they’ve been casual. I guess like you’re “right time” theory, I have a “right one” theory. So unless there’s a spark after a little time, I don’t string them along.”
Her emotions still bristled under his criticism, but she felt the sting of guilt all the same. Jamie had only been back in her life for a matter of weeks and already they were bickering. He just didn’t understand her heart. And he definitely didn’t understand what she needed in a relationship.
****
Or did he? Alice pondered as she stood alone in her living room, surrounded by the scrapbook and pieces of picture frame glass. The last twenty-four hours of her life seemed to be a confirmation of his criticism.
Ghosts Of Romances Past
12
Vintage dresses and secondhand shirts whizzed past on the rack at the Eclectic Notions clothing shop as Alice checked tags for sizes and prices. She had twenty minutes before she was to meet Warren at the Southside Bistro.
Consulting the mirror with a pink blouse pressed against her body, she frowned a little. Was it too much? The shirt was trimmed with pink transparent fabric along the neck and sleeves, a little daring for Alice’s tastes. Still, she found the shade irresistible.
“What do you think? Is this blouse is too daring?” she mused aloud.
“Absolutely,” replied an elderly female voice.
Startled, Alice whirled around. On the other side of the clothing rack stood a gray-haired woman in a blue wool coat, a netted hat pinned to her head, white gloves, and a plain snap handbag like little old ladies once carried to town and Sunday services. Alice’s paternal grandmother, Ruth Tilden.
Trouble was, Ruth was in a nursing home in Kansas, with late-state Alzheimer’s.
“Well, aren’t you going to put it back?” The voice was stern and commanding, but with a hint of love beneath the authority.
Alice knew her mouth was open; she was also aware that a few customers in the shop were staring at her. Her gaze darted back to the mirror: the clothing rack was reflected behind her, but no grandmother.
“Ma’am? Is everything all right?” The clerk approached from the maze of racks.
Alice bobbed her head yes. “It’s fine.” She hung the blouse on the rack and turned to go.
Walking down the sidewalk, she kept her gaze focused on the sandwich shop ahead. As she crossed the street, she forced a calm smile, aware that Warren was waving through the glass, lowering his newspaper from sight.
“Looks like you’re well on the road to recovery,” he said, as she slipped through the door. Pulling out a chair for her, he studied the bruise she received courtesy of the metal pole. “Did you hit your face on something during the dizzy spell yesterday?”
“Um, sort of.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Was that a customer standing behind the waitress? The girl moved, revealing Grandma Ruth seated at an empty table, hands folded primly across her pocketbook.
Alice’s fingers trembled as she gripped her menu. “I’ll have the turkey on rye and a cup of coffee.” Her gaze darted back to the booth where Ruth sat, knitting a scarf with a pair of oversized needles. Customers and staff passed without noticing her in a way that made Alice’s scalp prickle.
Warren ordered egg salad and a glas
s of ice tea, and then turned back to Alice. “Sorry this has to be quick, but Brewster is coming in at one-thirty. The guy is one tough customer.”
“Hmmm…” She racked her brain for a response, thoughts still entranced by the image across the room.
“Oh, and guess what? Rob says we can use the villa in Copenhagen, as long as it’s before July. His arrangement with the land owner stipulates spring and winter visits only. Which are really the best seasons to go there, anyway. “
Alice snapped back to reality. Villa? Copenhagen? “What are you talking about?”
“Our honeymoon, of course.” He spread a stack of brochures across the table, moving aside a napkin holder. “I thought we might as well discuss some possibilities as long as we’re meeting. Or did you have something important to tell me?” His raised brows left no doubt what that “something” meant.
“No, no…” She swallowed, throat dry as sandpaper. “I thought it might be nice to see you, that’s all. Sort of a “just because” lunch.”
“That’s just like you.” He chuckled and reached for her hand. “Spontaneous and full of surprises.”
Their hands broke apart as the waitress deposited coffee and tea between them. Alice welcomed the warmth of her mug. She’d come here to gauge her feelings for Warren, but the unwanted guest in the corner booth made it difficult to concentrate.
“Now Klaus, he owns an art gallery in Washington, remember? He makes an annual Denmark trip in the summer, and he says the Tivoli Gardens are a must see. But if I know you, we’ll be devoting a whole day to Rosenborg Castle.” Warren tapped a brochure near the top of the pile. “Imagine putting that architecture on canvas. Breathtaking, no?”
“Beautiful,” she murmured, her gaze scanning the image without taking it in.
Warren stirred a sugar packet into his tea. “Copenhagen could be an exciting opportunity for your art career, too. Klaus says the style down there is contemporary but quite unique. It might give you some new ideas. Help you…I don’t know. Grow a little, artistically.”
“I’m not sure Klaus’s ideas of art and mine are quite the same.” Alice took a long sip of coffee, wishing honeymoon details could wait until things were official. And definitely until illusions were no longer haunting her mind.
“Well, it’s worth thinking about,” Warren said, his tone a little bit peeved. “Unless, of course, you already have something in mind? There’s always Rome. Or Paris. You went there on a university trip, right?”
“Those all sound fine. Wonderful, actually.” She drew a deep breath. “It’s just that…”
Her heart caught at the sight of an empty corner booth. Too good to be true? She breathed a frantic prayer that it wasn’t.
“Well?” Warren tapped her hand, a humorous gleam in his eye. “Earth to Alice. Tell me; what’s your idea of a perfect honeymoon?”
“Nothing with castles or villas, I’m afraid.” She tucked a stray curl behind her ear.
“Then what?”
“I don’t know. We could visit family.” She kept her gaze fastened on Warren, despite the burning urge to check the empty table. “My uncle’s family always visits mom around June. We could spend a few days and then maybe swing by your grandparents’ farmhouse in Boston. I’ve never met them, you know.”
“Oh…” Warren laid his spoon down with an uncertain look. “Well, of course we’d visit family eventually. But, really, I thought you might want something a little grander for our first trip together. Especially given your limited travel experience.”
Silence fell, broken by the sound of Alice’s cell phone buzzing. She dug through the cluttered handbag, removing a compact mirror and pain pills. Finally unearthing the cell phone, she found a text from Jamie. A question about adding snow to one of the Christmas designs.
“Something important?” Warren asked.
“Nothing I can’t take care of later,” she said, shoving the phone back in her purse. Her gaze caught a flash of dark blue in the corner booth.
“Here we go folks.” The waitress smiled as she deposited a large sandwich in front of Alice, whose stomach turned over at the sight of food.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Warren studied her face.
“Guess not,” Alice answered, with a weak smile. From the corner of her eye, she saw the disapproving stare of her grandmother over a row of perfect yarn stitches.
****
“What’s wrong with me?” Alice groaned as the glass door swung closed behind her. She knew Warren was watching from the window, as he stood in line to pay the tab. So she waved goodbye and flashed a smile, trying to keep her expression from deteriorating into a frantic, panic-stricken gaze.
Her temples throbbed. The future seemed like a fog enveloping her in confusion, too many questions, and too much self-doubt. The sight of an elderly lady on the other side of the pane was too much. She turned and made for the crosswalk, tensing at the feel of her own purse flapping against her side.
“You’re not getting away from me that easily.” Ruth’s sudden appearance startled her. She walked alongside Alice as if the two of them were out for a stroll.
“Yes, I am,” Alice said, her voice trembling. “I am, because this is all in my head. All I have to do is show up for my doctor’s appointment tomorrow and find out how to get rid of you.” She couldn’t suppress a shaky note of triumph with the words.
“Nonsense, girl.” Her grandmother gave a snort of derision. “That was hardly what spoiled your coffee. The truth is, you’re afraid to find out what’s in your heart. Afraid it might require you to take a risk—or correct a mistake.”
Alice pretended not to hear, pushing hard on the button for the crossing signal. She needed to escape this encounter. Impossible, since the whole scenario was a figment of her imagination.
“Don’t be childish,” Ruth scolded her. “This is important. The course of your whole life depends on how you deal with what’s in front of you right now.”
The signal turned green and Alice marched across. She turned the corner past a bridal shop, her gaze darting towards the window display, revealing a pale face reflected in the glass, an empty sidewalk behind her.
“God, what’s happening to me?” she whispered a prayer. “This isn’t fair. I can’t take this anymore.”
“That kind of talk isn’t helpful, either,” Ruth observed. She was keeping up an impressive pace. “This isn’t something you can cure with a pill; this is a lesson in making the right choice.”
“What is it you want me to figure out?” Alice wailed. “First I’m afraid of commitment, then I’m leaping into a decision I’m not ready to make?”
A woman passing by with an armful of shopping bags stared at Alice, whose gaping mouth closed with embarrassment. Of course she was bound to attract attention, talking to herself like this.
Fumbling with her handbag, she searched for the keys to her apartment. A frantic urge to dump its contents on the sidewalk seized her.
“Alice—”
“Just go away!” Alice snapped. “Just leave me alone! I can figure it out by myself, thank you very much.” She pulled open the door to her building and darted inside, climbing the stairs two at a time.
Peering into the hallway of her floor, she half-expected to see a dozen figments of her past lingering there. What do you do about delusions following you around—other than pray that they disappear? Should she go to the emergency room and claim she was hallucinating? Should she just spend the rest of the day under her bedcovers?
She slammed the door of her apartment and locked it. As if a lock would keep out the manifestation of her grandmother, this one twenty years younger than the real-life version, no doubt lying sleepily in bed at a care facility near Alice’s childhood home.
It’s not Grandma Ruth who’s following me; it’s just a random delusion caused by a little stumble on the stairs. Tomorrow, the doctor will tell me not to worry. It’s a perfectly normal side effect. Right, Lord? She took a slow, deep breath, letting the words sink
in.
“You always were stubborn,” Ruth commented.
Ghosts Of Romances Past
13
Alice’s most enduring memory of her Grandmother Ruth involved rooster cookies with raisin eyes. They were the soft side of Ruth’s personality, kept in a blue and yellow jar that passed to Alice along with a jumble of antiques and utensils.
Her grandmother’s whitewashed prairie kitchen was colorized by knickknacks, flowered tins, and old calendar pictures in frames. A photo of her grandfather was enshrined above the kitchen table, next to a painting of hands folded in prayer. His body was interred in a Kansas cemetery beside World War II veterans and pioneers from centuries before.
Her second strongest memory of her grandmother was the black and white image framed on the mantelpiece. Ruth’s sunburned face was upturned to a gray sky, her thin, straight frame clothed in a patterned cotton dress, hands and apron stained with garden dirt as she hoed rows of okra and cabbages.
But that picture was taken over forty years ago. The patterned dress would be nothing but rags now. Which didn’t explain why it looked just like the picture, as Ruth sat wearing it, in Alice’s living room.
“This must be a dream,” Alice murmured, leaning her head against the mantelpiece. “Maybe I’m hooked to a machine in the hospital, unconscious from my fall down the stairs.”
“An inventive explanation but not a true one.” Her grandmother stirred in the chair, smoothing the dress with gloved hands. “You need my help, Alice. Whether you like it or not, you’ve got a lot to learn about love—and the value of a rare second chance.”
Alice groaned. “But I’ve been helped. We’ve been over this, and I know it’s a mistake to run from commitment, so what more do you want?”
“Do you really think the only fear you have to face is whether or not you’ll be married?” Her grandmother’s dry chuckle sounded more like a scolding than comfort. “If so, then you’re worse off than I thought.”
