by Carol Grace
What she didn’t want was to marry a predictable man. It was more than that. She didn’t want a predictable job, either. She’d straightened out everything at her office and settled the dispute with F and F, but just a few days later, she found the work to be boring. What on earth was wrong with her? She suddenly realized Jeff was looking at her intently, waiting for her answer.
“What do I want? I don’t know. I wish I did. Maybe I need a different job or a change of scenery.”
“You just had a change of scenery. You went up to the country. You haven’t been the same since.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing,” she mused, half to herself. Brian’s words echoed in her brain. More mellow, relaxed, carefree. These days, she felt anything but. She felt anxious, stressed and nervous. Now that she’d told Jeff, she thought she’d at least feel relieved.
“A good thing? How can you say that? When you left, you enjoyed your work and you and I got along perfectly. Now, by your own admission, you’re not happy with anything.”
“Not here, no,” she murmured. She looked out the window of the coffee shop at the cars whizzing by, and instead she saw a bucolic scene— Granny’s roses and clear skies and the breeze whispering through the pine trees. And the face of her neighbor, the set of his shoulders, the wry half smile on his face, his lips on hers, their kisses. She gave a little involuntary shiver.
“I know,” he said, beaming proudly. “We’ll take a vacation together. We’ll go on a cruise to Mexico. We’ll dance till dawn, we’ll dine at the captain’s table, we’ll play blackjack and we’ll sign up for the glass-bottom boat off Baja.”
Amelia stared at him in disbelief, as if he’d suggested crossing the country in a covered wagon. How little he knew her. Or more accurately, how little he knew the person she’d become. How could he know the new her? She didn’t know herself very well, either, anymore. “I don’t think so, Jeff,” she said gently. “I’m sorry, but I’m not very good company these days. You go. Take someone else.”
“I don’t get it,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re a different person than you used to be. You’ve changed and I haven’t. It’s over for us isn’t it?”
He was more perceptive than she’d realized, because she had changed and it was over. She put some money on the table and stood up.
“Yes, it is, Jeff. I’m sorry,” she said.
When Amelia got home, turned on her computer and tried to work, she stared at the screen as if the words were in a foreign language. She pressed her fingers against her temples, as if she could stimulate her brain that way, but it didn’t work. Next, she picked up the newspaper, sank down in an easy chair and thumbed through the pages without knowing what she was reading. Finally, her eyes lit on an article about the exhibition at the San Francisco Children’s Toy Museum.
She remembered that unopened letter from the museum she’d seen at Brian’s house. Had he ever opened it? Would he have considered going to the exhibit? She knew the answers to those questions. They were no and no. It was too bad. It would be so good for him to get out of his rut, see some new toys, maybe even display his toys. It would be a psychological boost, and it would get his name out and remind people that he was still alive, and still creating new products. But he wouldn’t leave Pine Mountain; she was sure of that. And whatever he did or didn’t do had nothing to do with her.
It was time to stop thinking about him and get on with her life. One thing she’d never done before was visit a children’s museum. She had no kids, and saw none in her future. Especially after she’d just turned down the one man she thought she might marry.
But she cut out the article and pinned it to her bulletin board. She wondered what kind of toys were popular these days, besides the ones Brian had invented and the obvious electronic ones. She wondered if there would be anything there to compare with his miniature roller coaster or his pogo stick. And if there was, what would kids think?
Brian shoved his pile of unanswered mail into a bag to throw in the garbage. If anyone had anything important to say to him, they could e-mail him or call him on the phone. Not that he ever answered his phone, but his machine would pick up and he could answer or not. Mostly not. One envelope fell to the side. Just out of curiosity, he opened it. He went out on his deck and stared off into the distant valley for a long time. Then he stuffed it into his pocket, whistled for his dog and walked over to Helen’s house.
“What would you think of taking care of Dante for me for a few days?” he asked Helen.
Helen reached down to pet the dog at her feet. “You know I’d love it,” she said. “Don’t tell her I said so, but I’ve been lonely ever since Amelia left. I’d welcome the company. Have you, um, talked to her?”
“Amelia? No,” he said shortly. What would he tell Amelia? That he, too, had been lonely since she’d left? That he missed her? That he couldn’t work, sleep or do much of anything, and that it was her fault?
“Where are you going?” Helen asked.
“To San Francisco. I’ve been invited to speak at a symposium of toy makers at a museum.”
“But, Brian…”
“I know what you’re going to say,” he said. “I never go to those things. But maybe it’s time I did.”
“Yes, definitely,” she said, her eyes wide, a big smile on her face. He knew what she was thinking, and he wished she wouldn’t. He didn’t want her to get her hopes up. He had no idea what Amelia had told her grandmother. He could only imagine it went something like this: “I have to get away. The country is too boring. Your neighbor is the most boring man I’ve ever met.”
“I’d rather Amelia didn’t know I was going to the city,” he said.
“My lips are sealed,” she said, drawing an imaginary line across her mouth. “You can count on me. It’s just, well…never mind.”
“What is it?”
“I wanted to send her my grandmother’s Wedgwood pitcher for her birthday.”
“Is it her birthday?”
“Oh, yes, didn’t she tell you? I should have given it to her when she was here, but I forgot. Now I’m afraid to mail it. It’s very valuable, and very fragile.”
“Maybe I could leave it at her office,” he suggested. Leave it with a receptionist and flee the premises before she saw him. She’d think he’d come to see her, and he didn’t want to mislead her again. That’s where he’d gotten in trouble the last time.
“That’s a wonderful idea,” Helen said brightly. “I’ll wrap it up right now. When are you going?”
Brian checked into a hotel in the downtown area of the big city that represented everything he didn’t like. He stood at the window of his room on the nineteenth floor to survey the scene. He was high enough so the traffic noise was muted, and he had to admit the view of the sun setting over the Golden Gate Bridge was spectacular. The panel discussion was tomorrow, and he had nothing official to do tonight.
He knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to see Amelia. He wanted to see her in her setting. At her work, with her fiancé or at a trendy bar with co-workers. He wanted to see her as he’d seen her that first day, in a suit and high heels, her red hair fashionably styled. This way, he would know for sure she didn’t belong in the country. He’d know there was no chance she could be happy there. No possibility he could convince her to come back.
Because unless he saw her like that, he’d have the memories stuck in his brain of Amelia riding a roller coaster, Amelia rolling around in the leaves under the apple tree, Amelia with a smudge of flour on her nose. And he’d wonder, he’d always wonder, what would have happened if he’d asked her to stay. If he’d told her how he felt about her. If he’d said that he knew she was nothing like his ex-wife. If he’d begged her to give him a chance. If he’d said that he was ready—or he could be ready, with her help—for a new life.
He’d thought that as soon as she’d left, the images would fade. But no, they were more vivid than ever. They encouraged him to believe in something that was unbelievable. That Amelia
felt something for him. Something that he’d seen in her eyes, heard in her voice. He didn’t know what to call it—it couldn’t be love. He also wanted to believe that these feelings he couldn’t shake—the sleepless nights, the inability to concentrate on anything—meant that he’d turned the corner and was ready to live again and, best of all, to love again.
So he went out on the town. He strolled up and down Union Street, all over Cow Hollow, standing in the doorways of restaurants and bars, watching and listening to music, to yuppies laughing, drinking and talking. But she wasn’t there. He was half relieved, half disappointed. He had her home address as well as her office address in his pocket— Helen had seen to that. “So you can deliver the pitcher, but only if you have the time,” she’d said when he’d dropped off Dante that morning.
So why didn’t he? Why didn’t he call her like a normal person, tell her he had something for her and drop it off? She’d recognize it right away for the setup it was, and they’d have a good chuckle over Helen’s refusal to give up on them. He didn’t know why he didn’t call her and go see her. Maybe he wasn’t ready for a face-to-face meeting.
He continued walking until he came to her building, a charming duplex painted gray and white. He looked up at her window. There was a light on, but he saw no one. He stood there for many minutes, picturing her in her kitchen. Did she bake pies in the city? Probably not. He imagined her in her bedroom, wearing that nightgown he’d seen her in at her grand-mother’s that morning, and he clenched his fist around the paper her address was written on. His pulse leapt, the way it had that morning. Maybe she was there with her almost fiancé. The idea made him feel sick.
He walked up the front steps and looked at the mailbox and the buzzer with Tucker written next to it. He took a deep breath and pressed the buzzer. He had an insane desire to run before she could let him in. But he had an even stronger desire to stay, and an overwhelming need to see her, to talk to her. He waited an eternity but no one answered. Of course not. Why would she be in on a Saturday night? If she wasn’t at a restaurant or a bar, maybe she was at a movie or at the symphony with her fiancé. Or out celebrating her birthday. Of course, that was it. She’d be surrounded by throngs of friends. How could he compete with that?
He ground his teeth in frustration. He hadn’t come to the city to see her, and yet now that he was here, he wondered what was the point of this trip if he didn’t? Sure, he would connect with the world of toys again, but was that enough?
It had to be. He’d tell Helen he’d tried but hadn’t been able to get in touch with her.
Amelia yanked on the cord of the vacuum cleaner, and the roar in her ears died down. She’d finally stopped her Saturday-night cleaning binge. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. She had a cleaning lady who came once a week, but for some reason, she was attacking her apartment like a woman possessed. She’d turned down three invitations that evening—she just couldn’t face another singles’ scene. Not that she wanted to face a married scene, either, especially not with Jeff. Tonight, she only wanted to stay home with her dust rag and her thoughts. She’d go to the museum tomorrow and look at toys, and after that, she would wash her hands of anything and everything connected with Brian Wolf.
The Children’s Toy Museum of San Francisco was located in a spacious, old Victorian house in Pacific Heights that had been donated by a wealthy family. Walls had been ripped out to make three floors of space for exhibits. There had been no attempt to fill it with e-toys. The house was old-fashioned, as were most of the toys. There were no video games. But everywhere there were signs that said Please Touch.
Not that the toys didn’t make use of the latest technology—like a robot that looked like a dog. Amelia lingered, watching children lead the robot around. Then there was the pièce de résistance—at least, for her—the toy kitchen stove where the food turned color when it was done. Amelia remembered that Brian had invented it. Fascinated, she watched while a docent helped a little girl make a tiny cake, patting it with her little pudgy fingers and putting it in the oven. Amelia felt a surge of pride, almost as if she’d invented the stove. Brian should be here. He should see this. But he was far away, hidden behind a tall fence, reveling in his solitude. Watching these kids play, she felt a pang of loss for her own childhood. Could she make it up by raising her own children in a different way? She certainly understood Brian’s disappointment at not having his own kids and watching them enjoy the toys.
“You could even bake an apple pie in it.”
Amelia wheeled around and her knees buckled. It was him. She wasn’t prepared to see him, or for the chills that ran up her spine or the way her face flamed.
“I came to see the toys,” she blurted, then wished she had bitten her tongue. She hadn’t prepared herself for this meeting because she thought it would never happen. So she’d blurted a blatant lie, and he must have known it. The truth was, she’d come to see him, hoped to see him, hoped that he’d made the effort to come to the city, because if he hadn’t…
But he had made the effort. He’d come to town, yes, but he hadn’t bothered to look her up. That almost made it worse. That hurt.
“What do you think?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I think you could have called me. Oh, you mean the toys. They’re amazing,” she said, tearing her eyes from his face to look around at the toys. “The best part is watching the kids. You should be very proud.”
“I am,” he said. Then he looked at his watch. “I’m supposed to be on a panel discussing—guess what?—toys. I don’t suppose you’d want to… No, you’d be bored.”
“I’d like to come,” she said. No matter that he hadn’t made an attempt to see her, he was not going to get rid of her that fast. She was not going to simply fade away. At least he’d come to the city. That was a big step. She needed to find out just how big, and how many more steps he’d be willing to take.
She sat in the back of the lecture room on the third floor, along with a mixture of parents, squirming kids and toy-industry types, and heard Brian being introduced. Some of the words they used that stuck in her brain were brilliant, innovative, amazing. Brian looked embarrassed at all this praise. Then he stood and talked about the future of toys. He spoke with passion and humor and intelligence. She was mesmerized. This was the man who’d been hiding behind a tall fence. This was a man who seemed more and more at ease as the session went on. This was the man she’d fallen in love with. She stared at him, shocked at the conclusion she’d just come to.
She sat on the edge of her seat, excited and encouraged that he was focusing on the future and not the past. After the discussion, many people went up to ask questions. He caught her eye and mouthed, “Wait” to her. As if she’d leave now. Even if he just wanted to say goodbye, she had no intention of walking out of that room without talking to him. For all she knew, his plan was to jump in his car and head back to Pine Mountain immediately so he wouldn’t have to spend another minute in the admittedly noisy, hectic city.
When the room finally emptied of all but a few people, Brian excused himself and strode across the room to where Amelia was waiting. He’d never lost sight of her, never stopped thinking about her, even during the discussion. He wondered if, and how, he’d managed to sound coherent and knowledgeable about anything with her in the back row. He couldn’t believe she’d stayed through the whole thing. If she hadn’t, if she’d gotten up and walked out—and he wouldn’t have blamed her if she had—he would have had to go after her. Because he had to talk to her.
Seeing her there at the museum this morning had sent his heart pounding. He could no longer fool himself into thinking he’d come to the city for the toys or for the museum. He’d come for her.
“Amelia, we need to talk. Where can we go?”
“How about the Top of the Mark Hopkins Hotel? There’s a wonderful view from up there. On a clear day, you can see forever.”
“I don’t need to see forever. All I want to see is you.”
> She nodded. He wasn’t sure if she believed him. He had to convince her. He wasn’t going home until she’d at least given him a chance.
She drove through the streets with great skill, weaving through the traffic until she pulled up in the hotel parking lot. It was crystal clear to him that she was at home here. What chance did he have of persuading her to move to the country?
They rode up in the glassed-in outdoor elevator. They were the only passengers. Instead of admiring the stunning view of dusk settling on the shimmering waters of the bay, and of the bridge with its lights on, she didn’t even appear to notice it. Instead, she turned to look at him.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming to town?” she asked.
“Last-minute decision. By the way, your grandmother sent you a birthday present.”
She laughed. “My birthday is in January. So she hasn’t quit hoping.”
“Neither have I,” he said solemnly.
She didn’t say anything, but her brown eyes darkened. She leaned back against the wall, her lips pressed together as if she was afraid of saying something.
“You know, I don’t have much of a track record in relationships,” he said.
“You’re not the only one,” she murmured.
“You mean you and Jeff…?”
She shook her head. “I broke up with him.”
He felt a huge wave of relief. He hadn’t known. He’d been afraid to ask.
The elevator came to a halt on the top floor. The doors opened. No one got in. He didn’t want to change venues—if they did, he might lose his nerve. So he put his finger on the button for the lobby, and they started back down. She didn’t seem to notice.
“I didn’t come to the city because I was invited to the museum today.”
