Amanda’s body began to shake with chills and, as the air turned colder, she realized she’d been perspiring heavily and her gown was soaked through. To her horror, his image began to quiver and fade, but the concern for her that had shown in his eyes stayed with her. Tears spilled from her eyes as the image receded and the air resettled to its normal atmosphere.
“David!” she whispered through a painfully clogged throat. Of course, there was no response. She tried again and called louder, “David!” But he was gone.
She stared around her, at a loss, and with her tears blinding her. Had she really seen him, or had she finally had the nervous breakdown everyone feared and begun to hallucinate? She looked at her hands, now empty, as the photo frame lay on the floor. Picking it up, she noticed it felt oddly warm, almost hot to the touch.
She gently set the frame back down on the floor with shaking hands and sat with her back against the dresser, breathing heavily through her sobs. She didn’t have the energy to gain her footing. So instead, she crawled over to the bed and pulled herself up onto it.
She laid there shivering, shaking, and sobbing for many minutes, not willing to think about what she’d just experienced. She longed for unconsciousness, and prayed she would pass out or fall asleep. As long as she could have oblivion in any form, she’d take it.
Chapter 2:
Surprise!
The next morning, May 11
Amanda watched the sun come up from her bedroom balcony, gazing eastward and down the valley. The trees bordering the river were almost fully bloomed, and she could see splashes of color in yellow, pink, and white, from the flowering trees and bushes along the riverbank.
She’d never been granted the oblivion she’d longed for the night before. She’d given in to her impulses for the first time in a year and laid there sobbing brokenly for her lost love until she’d been cried out, and then spent the rest of that seemingly endless night desperately trying to convince herself that she wasn’t losing her mind. Hearing the echo of David’s voice in her mind every so often was one thing. Physically seeing him, touching him, was something else entirely.
Now, she sat, with one of her most ratty but comfortable chenille robes wrapped around her, glumly staring at the finally clearing cloud cover. Seated in a wooden porch rocker with her right foot tucked under her and her left placed on the bottom rail between the metal spindles, she gently rocked herself trying to ignore the increased soreness of her throat.
It was still very gray and overcast, though it had stopped drizzling at some point during the night. The sky seemed as if it was as worn out from the contrasting weather systems it had suffered, as she’d been from her own emotional storm.
She’d been sitting on the balcony since four that morning and was just now noticing the frostiness of the air. She shivered involuntarily as the morning breeze kicked up a notch. Brrr, it was still a bit chilly, but she held out hope for a warm-up. She’d heard on the news yesterday that temps would rise into the low-seventies today. Rubbing her hands together for warmth, she hoped the weatherman would be correct for a change. Right now, she was guessing the temp was probably somewhere in the mid-fifties.
She so badly wanted to crawl back into her bed and hide from the world, but if she did, she might never emerge from her refuge again. So thinking, she willed herself to start her day. She’d gotten through worse nights than the last before. She could manage through this one, too, she told herself, trying to bolster her flagging spirits.
First up on her agenda was a long, hot shower. Rising from the rocker she realized that she had been still for too long and her right foot was asleep. Stepping carefully down on it she felt the pins and needles that accompany prolonged inactivity and pinched circulation. She stomped her foot lightly a few times, wiggled her toes, and rolled her ankle, trying to restore her blood flow. Still hobbling a bit, she headed into her room, looking longingly at the unmade bed, wanting nothing more than to dive back underneath the covers.
As she circled around the bed her attention was caught by the rectangular object on the floor. Carefully, she stepped over the picture frame, feeling both terrified and entranced by it. She forced herself to continue on through to the master bath.
Ugh! Gazing at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, she really took stock of herself for the first time in months. She sadly realized that she, indeed, was a mess. Her skin tone, usually an ivory with peach tones, looked rather sickly and sallow. Her face was thinner and more drawn, with slight hollows to her cheeks. Her forest green eyes, tinged with lighter flecks of grass, moss, and emerald green colors, were swollen and bloodshot from her night of weeping. Added to that, she had dark, nearly purple circles beneath them.
Beautiful, she thought sarcastically, and grimaced at her likeness.
Her long auburn hair, generally one of her more distinguishing elements, was in bad need of a trim, and fell dull, limp, and tangled to the middle of her back. She made a mental note to call for a hair appointment on Monday.
Grabbing her toothbrush she tore her eyes from the mirror. She didn’t want to see what she had become. She was now a far cry, from the lighthearted, warm, and vibrant woman she’d been with David. She had literally turned into a ghost of herself. This thought quickly brought to mind last night’s apparition, or hallucination, she acknowledged unwillingly. She began trembling and sat down on the closed toilet lid, trying to get a grip on herself, while continuing to scrub her teeth.
An hour later, as she was locking the front door behind her, she heard her phone ring. She hesitated, trying to decide if she should go back in and answer it, and determined that her peace of mind was more important than the ringing phone. Whoever it was, they could damn well leave a message. If it was a friend they could call her cell, which she carried. Even that she might let go to voice mail.
She acknowledged that she was in a thoroughly foul mood, better not to deal with other people until she gained control of herself. She’d noticed, recently, that that control was becoming more and more difficult to maintain. She could feel herself nearing the edge of a precipice, but didn’t know how to stop herself from going over it.
The toe of the shoe on her left foot caught on the edge of the welcome mat as she turned, and she stumbled, sending the mat skidding several feet across the porch. She stomped over to it, grabbed it, and viciously slammed it back into place. The mat retaliated by offering up a plume of dirt and dust. Three sneezes later she stomped on it and muttered, “Stay there, damn it!”
Okay, so maybe she couldn’t blame all of her clumsiness on her sixth sense. She was just naturally uncoordinated, she admitted mentally. She smiled slightly to herself, wondering who she had inherited those particularly irksome genes from.
Taking a deep, cleansing breath, she headed down the front stairs, trying to determine which direction to take for her walk. She used to run each morning, as David had. Since the accident, though, she’d had severe, continuing trouble with her right hip, thigh, and knee. Running aggravated the places that the pins, plates, and bolts held her bones together. So, she tried to content herself with the many walks she took.
Setting off to her right, Amanda began her trek. She took in her neighbors’ homes, eyeing with delight the ongoing home renovations that were taking place in her community. Taking in the newer apartment buildings she was slightly less than enthusiastic. While she appreciated the effort to improve the neighborhood’s image, she wasn’t thrilled with the razing of historical homes to make way for yet more generic townhomes and apartments. She was afraid that the neighborhood would lose its hometown personality and pizzazz.
After strolling for about two hundred yards she crossed the street to one of the observation platforms that the tourists used for photo ops, or to take panoramic shots of the city, and stood there taking in the view. The platform consisted of a large concrete deck whose entrance held a bronze marker dedicated to the history of the area. The platform itself was rounded with a metal railing set into its outer peri
meter. The base of the platform was sunk into the steep and heavily vegetated Mt. Washington hillside, and situated approximately four hundred feet above the river.
Hearing the traffic below her on the McArdle Roadway and further down on West Carson Street, she turned her gaze downward to Station Square, whose area housed restaurants, shops, and entertainment. Unfortunately, she’d looked down too fast and was quickly hit with a strong sense of vertigo. As the world briefly spun and her ears began to ring, she closed her eyes to regain her equilibrium. Her awful sense of balance was always badly affected when she swung her gaze too quickly, or if she didn’t take the time to adjust to the height before she looked down.
There now, she thought, that’s a bit better. As she stabilized, she looked down once more on the now swollen Monongahela River, or “Mon”, as the locals called it. Its normally steel gray-green color was now a muddy brown as detritus from upriver was washed downstream from the storm. The river churned roughly around the many bridge abutments and up over its own banks in places.
Although still a bit early in the morning, she could see the one of the Gateway Clipper Fleet out on the water. The flagship of the fleet, The Majestic, which typically docked at Station Square, was sweeping down the waterway heading toward the Point, with tourists strolling on its upper deck.
She could also see a few river barges, on their appointed deliveries, heading toward the confluence of the Monongahela and Allegheny Rivers that, together, became the Ohio River. Point State Park was situated at the meeting of these three rivers. She remembered that Point State Park had originally held the French military’s Fort Duquesne, and it had played an important part in the French and Indian War. When the British captured the fort it had been rebuilt and renamed Fort Pitt, after William Pitt, a key figure in Pittsburgh’s history. Of course the Fort was long gone now, but the park still harbored a wonderful little museum dedicated to informing visitors of the history of both forts and the impact those forts had had on the area.
Pittsburgh held a great amount of history. She felt sad that too few people knew its background, or understood its role in times past. Of course it was her job to know the local history, traditions, and architecture. In the world of renovations, clients assume you to be well versed. Perhaps she was being unkind in thinking others didn’t know enough? Everyone is his own expert in his own area, right?
Amanda lifted her face to the now warming sun, and for a few minutes she allowed herself to just enjoy the crisp morning. Looking at the skyline she could see strips of blue. The sun was beginning to break through the gray cloudbank. She could see the watery sunlight beginning to reflect off of the tallest buildings in town. She thought that it might actually turn into a fairly nice day after all.
She turned away from the view and began walking again, heading toward the Mon Incline, which ferried people, in a cable car of sorts, from the top of Mt Washington to its base. She reached up and massaged her temples with both hands. She couldn’t seem to shake the throbbing in her temples. The pain reliever she’d popped earlier had barely taken the edge off of it, not that that was unusual since she was prone to migraines and an over-the-counter pain reliever did little to help those. Her throat also felt more raw. She rationalized it, this time, by telling herself it was from sitting out in the chilly air for so many hours.
Deliberately, she turned her thoughts to somewhat enjoyable topics. Her friend’s pregnancy, her coworker’s birthday party that coming evening.
“Oh, damn!” she said aloud, stopping suddenly in her tracks. She’d just remembered she still had to pick up a gift for Jerry Robinson. His wife, Beth, was throwing him a surprise party for his thirty-fifth birthday, that night.
Remembering this task, Amanda turned on her heel and began walking home. She pulled her cell phone from her back pocket, looked up Jerry’s wife’s cell number, and dialed. It rang only once before a flustered voiced answered.
“Hello?” That one word was quick, sharp, and full of frustration. Beth must be hurrying to finish last-minute party arrangements, she thought. She was usually a fairly chipper and friendly person.
“Beth?” she asked. “This is Amanda. I’m so sorry to bother you today. I know you must be very busy getting ready for the party tonight.”
They went through the usual social rounds of “how are yous,” and inevitable discussion of the weather before Amanda was able to ask her what she thought her husband might need or want. She hung up feeling less anxiety ridden. Fortunately, Jerry was easy to shop for, he loved to read. It would be simple enough to visit his Wishlist on Amazon.com and purchase something for his Kindle.
The cell phone vibrated in her hand almost as soon as she hung up with Beth. She had a text message from Diane. It stated “Leaving for my parents for the weekend. Take care of yourself. I love you,” and ended with a winky smile.
She texted back, “Have fun, and be careful driving.” Back home after her truncated walk, and in a somewhat better mood, she marched herself upstairs to strip her bed and gather her laundry. She decided she’d spend the day getting caught up on household chores that had been neglected. The floors in the foyer and hall downstairs needed to be washed and waxed, so while the laundry was running she’d take care of those, too.
In her bedroom once again, she looked at the silver picture frame still lying on the floor. She stood there, staring at it indecisively. She couldn’t just leave it there. “Come on, Amanda, don’t be such a coward,” she scolded herself.
She wasn’t afraid of her love appearing to her again. Instead she was terrified of how she’d feel when he disappeared once more. She didn’t care if he was an apparition or a hallucination. That didn’t matter. It was the awful pain she’d felt of losing him again that worried her. Strangely enough, she’d stopped wondering about her sanity. Was that a bad thing? With a shiver, she decided she still wasn’t ready to deal with last night.
She tried to gather her courage, but there was no way she was going to touch that barehanded again. She went into the bathroom and grabbed a washcloth out of the small linen closet. Holding her breath, she used the cloth to lift the frame and place it back on her dresser. Once in place, she let the air out in a rush between pursed lips, grateful nothing untoward had happened. Refocusing, she started her chores.
* * * *
Amanda glanced at the clock as she finished mopping the kitchen floor and did a double take. She’d washed and scrubbed her way through the day, keeping busy so she wouldn’t focus on last night’s happenings, and ignoring the growing fire in her throat and throb of her head. Now, all sweaty and grungy from her day’s labor, she needed to shower again, and then determine what the heck she would wear to the party.
Exiting the shower with now baby-smooth legs, she applied some skin moisturizer all over her body. Appraising herself in the mirror, she thought, It could be worse. Lord knew it had been. Other than the noticeable weight loss, she still looked relatively good.
She had some severe scarring on her right side from the accident for sure, but it wasn’t like she had to worry about anyone seeing it. The worst areas were covered when she was dressed, with only one scar highly visible in the summer. That one curved around from above her right shoulder down to her elbow, where a piece of metal had sliced through the meat of her arm. She was lucky in that her face had only suffered from minor cuts and contusions. She’d been left with no scarring there, though beneath her hair she had more than a few scars from where her head had connected with the window. If she hadn’t been looking at David and the oncoming truck, she would have had a hell of a lot worse done to her face.
With high, perky breasts, a round firm bottom, and sleek, defined legs, men still made passes at her. Her only complaint was that God had not been generous enough in the breast department. She could use a bit more there, Other than that, her hips, collarbones, and shoulders did stand out now that she’d lost so much weight. There wasn’t much she could do about it tonight, however. Who do you have to impress anyway? she a
sked herself, and then chuckled reluctantly when she realized the answer was “no one.”
She couldn’t even remember the last real party she’d been to, other than to Di and Eric’s home for dinners now and again. She wondered if she’d even remember how to socialize with people who weren’t clients or coworkers, though she was sure some of them would be there, too.
Wrapping the thick blue towel she’d used to dry herself around her, she went to hunt through her closet for something appropriate to wear to the party. Surely she had something to throw on, it wasn’t as if it was a highly formal occasion.
“Ah ha!” she exclaimed somewhat hoarsely as she finally found and pulled out a v-neck, whisker-print tunic length top in shades of black, gray and white. It was studded with rhinestones here and there, and even better it had three-quarter length bishop sleeves.
It’ll do, she thought. Even if it did hang on her just a little bit, it would cover the noticeable scar on her arm. She would pair the top with black rinse slim-leg jeans, and a pair of black sling-back pumps. She could complete her ensemble with pearl stud earrings, and a long single-strand pearl necklace.
A lump formed in her throat as she took the items from her jewelry chest. They had been wedding gifts from her husband. She held her breath, closed her eyes tightly, and clamped down on her emotions as a tidal wave of wedding memories surfaced.
After a minute she was able to relax. She opened her eyes and blinked away the extra moisture that had risen in them. She’d already read all the memories the items contained and so would be fine the remainder of the evening wearing them.
She knew, if she wore them more often, they would cease to have the dramatic impact on her that they did. She just couldn’t bring herself to do so. She wasn’t sure if she wanted those memories to have a lessened impact on her, bittersweet as they were. She wasn’t a masochist, she just felt it helped her to remember him more clearly. In the back of her mind, she somehow felt, if the pain was lessened she’d lose what little she had left of him. Though she guessed that didn’t make much sense.
Amanda's Touch [D.A.R.E.ing Women] (Siren Publishing Allure) Page 5
