A Moment Forever

by Cat Gardiner

  “I’ll have to think on it. You know what they say, fools rush in.”

  Playfully, she slapped his shoulder, rolling him to her side. “Great. I’ll be 95 before you make up your mind.”

  Tickling fingers along her torso sent her wriggling beside him. “I just may surprise you, Pistol. You know how I love surprises.”

  ~~*~~

  Exactly fifty years had passed since Lizzy and Will had written about their love of baseball and the hope to attend a game together when the war was over. But, after their separation, she had been sure that such a day would never come to fruition; yet here she sat in Candlestick Park, home to the San Francisco Giants baseball team, feeling utterly happy. It was a beautiful afternoon and the setting sun had no effect on warming the grandstands, as it fought with the wind for dominance and victory. Just like her dream of long ago, she wore a white, long-sleeved sweater with decorative red stars upon it. Will’s silver pilot wings were pinned at her shoulder.

  The fans in the stadium were going crazy with enthusiasm as one of the home team’s players hit a double against their long-time former New York City rival, the Los Angeles Dodgers. They were his team, but she paid no attention to the field or the exciting play happening below them. The overhead music, the requisite traditional organ, the colorful electronic scoreboard, and the roar of the crowd went virtually ignored as she focused her attention solely on the man sitting beside her at the aisle. The man she waited a lifetime for—Will.

  Her heart skipped a beat as she watched him from the corner of her eye. He looked twenty-one, again, wearing that blue LA ballcap of his, the long tendrils of hair peeking out below the fabric edge, his expressive eyes sparkling with excitement as his Dodger rounded first base.

  The two of them had been inseparable for the last six weeks, never leaving one another’s side following Paris. She blushed, then bit her lip recalling position number 32 from the Kama Sutra.

  “You’re staring at me. Watch the game,” he said, popping a peanut into his mouth then dropping the shells into the open bag at his feet.

  His strong hand fascinated her. “I like staring at you. I’m making up for all those days that I couldn’t do so.”

  Will glanced over at her and smiled, tapping the visor of the black Giants cap she wore. “What’s going through that mind of yours? Victory? Cause I gotta tell ya’, my boys are kicking your team’s butt all over the field.”

  “Ha! You forget, darling. I’m an optimist, but I am having such a good time I don’t care if they lose!” She laughed.

  Their eyes drank one another in with small smiles playing upon their mouths until she leaned over gifting him a tender lip lock. The taste of peanut was negligible as she enjoyed the overwhelming feel of his soft lip’s tender caress.

  He whispered, “You’re so adorable.”

  “I know.”

  “Are you happy?”

  “You know I am. Are you?”

  “So much so that I feel as though I’ve died and gone to heaven. The Dodgers and my girl on the same day—what more can a man ask for?”

  “Adam, Mitch, and Doug sitting on the other side of you.”

  He smiled, looking forward to spending time alone with his grandsons. “We’ll have the entire World Series together.” He kissed her again, unable to stop doing so. “No, Pistol, today is strictly for you and me.”

  Lizzy could see that across the stadium “the wave” began. Thousands of cheering fans rose in sections from their seats with arms rising in a wave above their heads then back down, as they sat. The next section followed suit in the same manner. The wave was headed their way. “Get ready,” she said with a mischievous gleam in her eye, so sure of his reaction.

  “No way.”

  “Don’t be such a fuddy duddy. Get ready. Here it comes.”

  “I’m not doing it.”

  “Do it!” she laughed, grabbing his hand, pulling him up with her when the wave arrived. They rose together, their clasped hands sweeping upward in the air above them. As though two kids, they laughed raucously.

  Taking in her glorious smile, Will’s heart pounded. Each moment they spent together left him spellbound and in awe at how Lizzy seemed to have defied aging. Making love to her every night was as though they were young and virile again. She made him feel that way, more alive than he had felt while living over five decades, finally now able to live that last unfulfilled life.

  He watched her cheering beside him, chanting “Hey batter-batter,” out at the green field below, the chilled wind giving a rosy blush to her cheeks. He loved her more today than he did in ’42. Reaching into the inside pocket of his leather bomber jacket draped over the arm of his seat, he removed a box of Cracker Jacks. For what felt like long minutes, he held the cardboard in his hand, toying with it as she watched the game and he watched her. He was learning to be more spontaneous, trying not to analyze everything to death. No, he wasn’t about to make the same mistakes he had made over the course of his life, but couldn’t help his innate habits from surfacing.

  “Are you sure about spending the next couple of months in Alaska?” he asked. “You love Long Island, especially in the fall, and with Wendy’s baby coming and me and the boys flying back and forth between World Series games, wherever that is …”

  She smiled sweetly, but then furrowed her brow because this was a topic they had covered two weeks ago. “Yes, I’m sure. I told you—your home is my home, and I’m excited about living someplace new as we begin again with one another. While you’re away for that week, I can get acclimated to your bachelor pad. Will, this is our time and Evermore just wouldn’t feel right.”

  “But Sitka is so far away.”

  “Don’t you remember, we decided to split the year between Alaska, the kids, and travel?”

  “Yes. Of course I remember. I just want to be sure that it’s what you really want. I’d go anywhere you want to, you know, even Evermore.”

  “I know that. Besides, Adam already has dibs on Evermore and with Annette now living in Primrose Cottage and Juliana and Jack installed down in Park Slope, I think our options are a little limited until we can find just the right place for us.”

  “There’s always Rosebriar Manor.”

  She snorted a wry laugh. “The only way I’ll visit there is to put it on the market. No thank you.”

  Nervously, he fidgeted with the box. “Do you still want to go to Venice in the spring.”

  “You know I do. What’s with all these questions? You’re not having second thoughts about us already, are you? Sheesh. Only this morning we were talking marriage. One rival ballgame and already you’re thinking of ditching me.”

  “God no! Don’t ever think that! Did I not make my intentions clear this morning?” He took a deep breath, releasing it in a long stream of air. With an outstretched hand, he gave her the box. “Here, have a Cracker Jack.”

  “That’s your answer? ‘Here, have a Cracker Jack?’ I love that you remembered my dream and you’re such a romantic, but we’re not going to find answers in a box of caramel popcorn.”

  “I told you, baby. I remember everything. Now open it. Let’s see what prize you’ve won.”

  She chatted away, tearing into the paper and prying upon the top. “They’re nothing but cheap plastic toys now, maybe a comic or word game. Nothing like when we were kids. When I was a little girl, I once found a red metal ambulance and cherished that for years.”

  Digging her fingers in, the popcorn contents fell out when she reached deeper in search of the treasure. Once her index and thumb pinched the booty, she beamed. “I got it!” she exclaimed, pulling it from the bottom of the box to the surface.

  Will suddenly stood, dropped his program to the floor, and knelt upon it beside her just as she removed the diamond engagement ring that had sat undelivered in Primrose Cottage.

  A nervous sweat broke upon his brow when Lizzy’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my, G-d!” She squealed, her fingers trembling as they held tightly to the ring.
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  On the video screen above the field, their image flashed with the words “50-Year Giant & Dodger Fans.” Everyone in the stadium watched as the Dodger fan removed the pretty Giant fan’s manicured fingers from her mouth, clasping them in his hand.

  Will took the long awaited token of his love from her and slid it onto her left ring finger.

  Lizzy’s tears flowed down her cheeks, her glorious grin causing others in the stadium to also shed a tear.

  “I asked you once before, but this time I hope to hear your answer, just those two words—the two words from you that would be music to my ears. Will you marry me, Lizzy? Will you be Mrs. Martel till the end of life’s story? Will you finally be my wife and make both our dreams come true?”

  Choked up, she nodded, blubbering “I will! Oh G-D, I will!”

  He kissed his girl in the only way he knew how: with an earth-shattering kiss that actually stopped the game on the field as the players looked up at the flashing screen that read “Congratulations!” He held Lizzy tightly, and the crowd went wild when he dipped her back in her seat, his cap falling to the floor with hers, resting one atop the other.

  Emerging from their passionate embrace, their ragged breath commingled as his lips hovered over hers. Her heart burst at the image of the man she loved, looking the happiest she had ever seen him.

  She panted, “Where’s your horseshoe? There should have been two prizes in the box.”

  “I don’t need a horseshoe. You’re my good luck charm. You always have been—my Pistol Packin’ Lizzy.”

  ~~*~~

  Epilogue

  That’s My Home

  September 26, 1992

  Putting back the pieces of Annette’s life after divorce had been easy. Losing her house, not so much so. Moving in with her mother had been a short-lived comfort, and discovering a father she never knew proved to be an overwhelming joy. However, the single most shocking adjustment was Juliana’s gift of Primrose Cottage and the astonishing fact that she now had four million dollars sitting in a bank. Following her parents’ announcement (at yet another family barbeque) that she, Annette, was William’s heir, her cousin, with an open and loving heart, stood making her own announcement.

  Sitting in the rooster-décor filled kitchen of her new home, she enjoyed the birdsong outside the window while savoring a cup of coffee. The sweet fragrance of the yellow roses climbing the wooden ledge, wafted in the slight breeze further lightening her spirit with peaceful contentment and happiness. The delicate heirloom blooms were something new to enjoy in this mysterious house that continued to reveal its details and secrets every day since her arrival three weeks ago. Only yesterday she had discovered back issues from the Brooklyn Daily Eagle neatly tied in brown paper. Found behind a secret door in the octagonal library, the newspapers dating between 1902 and 1915 were a historian’s jackpot. The top paper detailed the sinking of the Titanic, and it now lay with all the others scattered on the floor awaiting her attention for a Saturday afternoon trip through time.

  Annette felt something in this house. It seemed alive and she felt acutely in tune to it as though it was speaking to her soul. At times, she imagined the former occupants, the Guggenheim newlyweds experiencing the first blush of marriage and passion. Once, she thought she heard her mother’s voice in one of the bedrooms, but apart from moving day with William, her mother had never been to Primrose Cottage. Although, come to think of it, there seemed to be a special gleam in both their eyes, and to the astonishment of Adam who stood by holding boxes, his grandmother unabashedly wept upon entering the house. Will comforted her against his strong chest, whispering “It’s a tender memory.”

  Annette even thought she saw Juliana and Jack dancing in the living room one evening when she played a record in the old Zenith. She made a mental note to ask her nephew about that. It was as though the house held the memories made within it. None of it frightened her though. Built for the sole purpose of love and lovers, it gave her hope that true romance might once again come back to this house—to her. The magic of Primrose Cottage had already touched the Guggenheims, her parents, and Juliana throughout the ninety-one years of its existence. Apparently, 300 Bradford Road was erected for that purpose alone. Briefly, she wondered what her fate in this house would be.

  Annette smiled wistfully at the October issue of Allure before her. Dear, sweet Juliana. How proud they all were of her. She did the impossible: unknowingly divulging every secret this family concealed and uniting them all in the process. Yes, happy ever afters did happen—no matter the age or circumstance. She began to read the slick magazine open to her cousin’s first article,

  True Romance

  By Juliana Martel

  Junior editors of fashion and style are rarely given an opportunity to write an op-ed piece about romance, particularly one that was back in the day when our grandmothers rarely kissed on the first date or had sex with her dreamboat sweetheart before marriage. So, it might surprise you that I’ve been asked to do so by my senior editor who can smell a good story a mile away.

  I never believed in love, well the kind of love we read about in romance novels, especially those bodice rippers you see in the supermarket’s aisle nine beside the bread. You know the type of love I’m talking about … the kind that shifts the earth on its axis when he steps into the room, makes your heart flutter and your palms sweat the minute he speaks your name or gazes into your eyes. The kind that makes you do silly things you never thought you’d do—like sneak onto the Central Park Carousel without paying or take pilot lessons because he simply loves to fly.

  But I’m here to tell you to not give up the dream—it exists. Take it from me. I’ve seen this kind of love and in the process came to find it for myself. I’m sailing the adventurous seas of romance, having taken a chance with the dashing grandson of the couple who opened my eyes and his.

  You see, this couple’s love spanned fifty years and they weren’t even together. He was a Jewish, Army Air Corps Pilot from Brooklyn and she was the debutante daughter of a Nazi party member on Long Island. It was love at first sight in 1942 and ill-fated from the beginning.

  My journey to uncovering their story began with a mysterious house and a stack of letters …

  A noise pulled Annette from her focused reading, and her ears perked up listening for its location. She stilled, removed her reading glasses, and rose from the kitchen table. There it was again, a scratching in fast swipes, then a long one, sounding like fingernails against wood.

  “Hello?” she called out, expecting to see a ghost traverse the entry hall before her. Such were the happenings she came to expect at Primrose Cottage.

  The wooden front door was open, allowing the crisp fall weather to cool the house. Beyond the screen security door, she could see the curbside maple tree blow in the breeze, a magical wave of falling yellow and orange leaves floated away.

  The noise, coming from the front porch, happened again. “Hello? Is someone there?”

  She peered out the screen to see a golden retriever puppy sitting before it. He panted wanting entry, as his paw scratched the old frame. “Oh, hello,” she said, opening the door, walking past her grandmother’s newly installed mezuzah nailed to the threshold. With bare feet she stepped onto the porch. “Aren’t you a cute little fella?”

  His happy, pink tongue slobbered her hand when she squatted, reaching out to pet his head. “Where did you come from? Are you lost? Where’s your owner?”

  As though she had asked for his hand, he attempted to give her his paw, obviously wanting affection. From the corner of her eye she saw a man running down Bradford Road, his dog leash empty, the look on his face, panicked.

  Annette stood and waved to him, calling out, “I take it this friendly pup is yours?”

  The humor in her voice, obviously calmed him when he stopped running. Flashing a winsome smile and a nod, he panted breathlessly, “Doolittle … hasn’t learned the word ‘stop’ yet.” He laughed and it carried to Annette like a thunderbolt to
her heart.

  Devastatingly handsome, he had her full attention as he neared the house. With each step he took up the walkway, she drank in his long legs, NYU sweatshirt, and blond locks. With her pinky, she tucked a curly tendril behind her ear. “Doolittle?” she asked.

  Out of breath, he stood at the bottom of the brick porch steps. “Yes, I named him after one of the greatest Army Air Forces commanders in World War Two.”

  Interesting … and drop-dead gorgeous.

  “I’m sorry about him. I hope he didn’t disturb you.” He offered, eyes raking over her.

  “No problem at all. I was just reading, and about to settle into some old newspapers I found. I’m Annette Robertsen-Martel.” She reached her hand out for a shake as the puppy came to stand between the two, looking up at them.

  Chilled hands met warm ones with a literal electric spark, causing them to jolt back and laugh uneasily. “Nathan Lehman. Nice to meet you.”

  “Are you an aviation buff?”

  “In a way. I’m a professor at New York University. I teach Modern U.S. History.”

  She smiled, unnecessarily tucking her hair for a second time.

  With wagging tail, Doolittle ran down the steps to his owner and Nathan bent to pet him. “You’re killing me, little guy.” He gazed up at Annette.

  There was something in his eyes that made her think there was interest on his part. The stammer in his voice confirmed it.

  “Thanks. We … um … better get back.”

  “Of course. Your wife is probably wondering what’s happened to you.”

  He snorted. “I doubt it. She’s enjoying my Mercedes in Vero Beach with her boyfriend.”

  “Ah. I have one of those, too. Not a Mercedes, but an Ex.” Glancing back into the house over her shoulder, she added. “But I’m better off without him. Everything happens for a reason, maybe as previously ordained.”

  He hooked the leash to the dog’s collar and stood, pausing thoughtfully with a smile as though wanting to say something beyond, “Well. It was really great to meet you, Annette.”