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Laura’s attention was riveted back to the minister. “You knew my mother?”
“Of course I did! Even though she was six years younger, Elizabeth used to take her everywhere. I can still picture little Caroline, her golden-brown pigtails, those shining turquoise eyes. And those freckles! She couldn’t say the word ‘sun’ without twenty new dots popping up all over her face. And she had a cute little bump on her nose, just like yours.”
Automatically Laura raised her hand to the bridge of her nose. As a teenager, she’d wanted to have it fixed, but all her friends had been against it. “It gives you character,” Jake had said, “not that you lack any.” Later, she decided that the bump she had inherited from her mother was too small for her to even consider having it removed.
Why can’t I remember what my mother looked like? Laura thought now. I wasn’t that young when she died. I should be able to remember something. For years after the crash Laura had searched for her mother in the park, at school, at the doctor’s office. Even to this day she still caught herself looking around corners in department stores, in the supermarket, in the library. It’s no wonder, she told herself, considering I’ve never seen pictures of my parents. Where are the mementos of our lives? Where are the family albums? These were questions Aunt Tess had never answered.
“My mother looked like me.” The statement had been meant as a question.
“My stars, yes! And how your aunt doted on her! Until the day I performed the wedding ceremony for your parents, Tess was always there, looking out for her. Always sewing something special for her to wear or fixing her hair or baking a special treat. That girl was more like a mother than a sister.”
It was as if Reverend Barnes were describing some other person. Aunt Tess, so it seemed, had worn two faces, one at home, the other for the outside world.
A honking outside jolted Laura back to the moment.
“My taxi must be here,” the minister said, taking her hands in his. “Don’t be a stranger, Laura. Come visit our church in Ridgefield. You might find comfort there.”
She watched as he shuffled down the front walk, leaning heavily on his cane. The taxi drove away and she closed the door.
Her thoughts returned to Jake. She remained in the hallway for several minutes, her eyes fixed on the door as though she could will the bell to ring.
“Weren’t they a nice bunch? Who would have figured she knew so many people?”
Laura sat on the couch next to Cassie, her feet propped up on the coffee table. They had just finished rounding up plates and coffee cups and were relaxing in the living room, going over the events of the day.
“Just be grateful that everyone from the chapel didn’t show up,” Cassie answered, yawning. “These walls would have burst wide open. It would have been a geriatric nightmare. Speaking of absenteeism, why wasn’t Steady Eddy at the service?”
“I told you, Edward couldn’t get away. His surgery schedule is set weeks in advance.” In truth, Laura was relieved. Somehow she couldn’t picture her fiancе here in Middlewood, Connecticut, as she went on with her everyday life. She burst out laughing, trying to imagine the prominent heart surgeon wearing one of her aunt’s prissy smocks, helping her clean the house.
“No fair,” Cassie said. “You’ve got to share your private jokes.”
There was no stopping Cassie once she got started on the defectiveness of the male species, and Laura had no desire to discuss Edward’s flaws. “I was thinking about Ellen with all those bandages, the night we climbed down the tree. I wish she could have been here today. But you know Ellen, busy saving the world.”
“How is our little Florence Nightingale? It must be months since she last called me. Any man in her life?”
“Dr. Ellen Gavin is fine,” Laura said with affection. “And the phone works both ways. To answer your question, yes, there is a man. Although I don’t know how she makes time for any kind of personal life, with the schedule she keeps.”
“There’s always time for a personal life. Trust me, I know.”
Laura didn’t know how Cassie did it, flitting from relationship to relationship without getting involved—or hurt. When it came to men, Cassie claimed she knew exactly what she wanted; the problem was that what she wanted changed from week to week. When it came to business, however, she was as sharp as a razor. Cassie was one of the town’s most successful real estate brokers. Her rise to the top of her field was a result of hard work and shrewd planning, but to Laura it was nothing short of amazing.
Ellen Gavin, too, amazed Laura. Even as a child, Ellen had known exactly what she wanted to do with her life, letting nothing stand in her way. Years later, it was that same will, that same determination, that had helped save Laura’s life. When Laura first became sick and decided to leave Jake, it was Ellen who had convinced her that life was worth living. Even though Ellen had just become a resident in internal medicine, she was the one who had made sure that Laura had the best team on staff—the oncologist, the anesthesiologist, the surgeon, the chemotherapist. And despite her heavy schedule, it was Ellen who had been there for her day and night throughout the entire ordeal.
“It was Ellen who introduced me to Edward,” Laura said to Cassie. “She has a lot of friends at the hospital. Maybe if you’re nice to her, she could set you up with someone who just might convince you to settle down. Didn’t your mother always want you to marry a doctor? How about a psychiatrist?”
“Are you insinuating that I’m not nice, I have bad taste in men and I need therapy?” Feigning indignation, Cassie reached behind her and picked up a throw pillow.
“No, don’t!” Laura squealed. But it was too late. Feathers were flying everywhere. “I tried to warn you,” she rebuked her friend lightly, “but as usual, you just ignored me.”
“Did you say something?” Cassie said, and Laura laughed. Cassie rose from the couch. “I guess this means you want me to sweep up. What a mess!”
“It’s nothing compared to the mess before I cleaned up for the gathering. This place was like a warehouse. Aunt Tess had put everything into boxes and stacked them all in here. It was as if she had known she would be leaving this house.”
“Spooky,” Cassie said. “Where are the boxes now?”
“Forget the broom, and come with me.”
Cassie raised an inquisitive eyebrow, and followed Laura through the archway. “I’d forgotten how dismal this place was,” she said with a shudder. “You should probably renovate before putting it on the market. You could make a tidy profit. What about adding a breakfast nook at the back of the kitchen? And a skylight would do wonders.”
“I don’t want to spend the time, not to mention money I don’t have. Edward keeps asking when I’m coming home.” She pulled open the door to the pantry off the kitchen. “Voil?!” she sang out.
The pantry had been intended as a maid’s room when the house was built in the early 1900s. Layers of wallpaper and different markings on the walls indicated that at one time the room might have been used as a den, a guest room or even a sewing room. As a child, Laura would sneak in there to daydream, and in her fantasies, her mother would be sewing something special—a Halloween costume, a new party dress, Laura’s wedding gown….
Piled up in the middle of the room were dozens of boxes. “You should have seen what I threw out,” Laura said. “There were hundreds of rusty tins on the shelves, and over there—” she pointed to the far wall “—barrels of flour had turned black. I had to disinfect before moving in the boxes. These boxes, by the way, are my next project. I can’t just throw them away without first checking what’s inside.”
“You sure have your work cut out for you,” Cassie said. “I’ll be glad to help—but not tonight. This puppy is off to bed, and I suggest you do the same. It’s been a long day.”
Laura turned to her friend and hugged her. “Thanks so much for being here for me, Cass. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
“You always say that, but the truth is, you’re the strong one here. You’re the fighter, the survivor.” Laura opened her mouth to protest, but Cassie cut her off with a quick peck on the cheek. “You don’t have to walk me to the door. I’ll let myself out. If I know you as well as I think I do, you won’t call it a night until you’ve gone through every box with a magnifying glass.”
Sometimes it seemed as if Cassie knew Laura better than Laura knew herself. But on one particular point, Cassie was wrong. Laura was not strong. There were times when she felt she couldn’t go on, times when she didn’t want to go on. Whenever she thought about going through life without having children…
She waited for the click of the front door before reaching for one of the smaller boxes in the middle of the room. Wrapped in silver cellophane, it was tied with a faded crimson bow. It was one of her own old memory boxes, she realized, one of the many she had not taken with her after she had married Jake and moved into his house. I wanted us to have a fresh start, she thought as she removed the bow.
She tore away the wrapping and hesitated. Weren’t some memories better left buried? As if taunting her to take that scary trip down memory lane, the box lay there, unadorned on the pantry floor. She took a deep breath and lifted the lid.
The first thing she pulled out was a snapshot of her and Cassie proudly dressed in full Girl Scout garb, marching down Saw Mill Road in the Veterans’ Day Parade. She smiled. Going down memory lane wasn’t so bad, after all. Next, she picked up a picture of Jake in his gold-tasseled uniform, playing the trumpet. That is, trying to play the trumpet. His cheeks were puffed out, his eyes bulging out of their sockets.
Then she picked up a photo of Cynthia.
Cynthia was wearing a white satin gown she had designed and made herself. With its deep dеcolletе, and a side slit that ended at the hip, it was so risquе that Cynthia’s mother had forbidden her to wear it. But Cynthia had been determined, and what Cyn wanted, Cyn got. The night of the Sweetheart Dance, she told her mother that Jake would be picking her up at Laura’s house. She put on a plain, high-neck dress, then drove over to Laura’s, where the girls spent hours on their makeup and fixing their hair. Laura had always felt awkward next to her chic, lithe friend, but she had to admit, by the time Cynthia had finished working on her, she looked good. In fact, for the first time in her life, Laura felt beautiful. She slipped into her gown, a fairylike creation of dawn-tinted crepe, and twirled around and around, feeling wonderful and weightless.
Cynthia then wriggled her body into her sleek, tight dress. She was not only sensuous, she was majestic, and wore her confidence like a crown. Laura looked at her with awe. “After you, Your Royal Highness,” she said, curtsying.
“You’re the one who looks like a princess,” Cynthia said, then added jokingly, “I’ll be watching you tonight, so don’t get any notions about my prince!”
Laura studied the photo, trying to recall the name of the boy who had taken her to the dance. That night, all she had thought about was that he wasn’t Jake. David? Donald? I guess some things aren’t worth remembering, she thought now with a twinge of regret.
But there were some things a person couldn’t forget.
An old pain came hurtling back. Cynthia had told her mother that she’d be spending the night at Laura’s.
Laura pulled out more snapshots. Here was Cyn waving goodbye after spring break. Laura remembered how she, Ellen, Cassie and Cynthia had huddled together at the station, as though New York was a thousand miles away. And here was Cyn walking down the aisle, wearing a stunning gown of silk and lace, which she had designed and sewn herself. And here was Cyn, hair and blouse drenched, holding her pink, naked one-year-old son after giving him a bath.
She fingered the photograph of Cynthia with Cory. It might have been the last one ever taken of her once-best friend.
She thought back to that final day, that final hour, that final moment in the hospital when Cynthia had opened her eyes for the last time.
“Take care of my men,” she’d said.
And Laura had. Eight months later she and Jake were married.
What was it Rhett Butler had said to Scarlett? It must be convenient having the first wife’s permission.
Oh, Cyn, I certainly made a mess of things, didn’t I?
Maybe resurrecting old memories wasn’t such a good idea. With each recollection came a fresh wave of pain.
Laura’s thoughts strayed back to her childhood. Aunt Tess had been a cold and stern caretaker. Yet in spite of the resentment Laura felt, she was filled with pity. Poor Aunt Tess. The woman had never known the meaning of happiness.
Before Laura could stop herself, she started to cry. Not the low, broken whimpering that, as a child, she used to smother by burying her head under her pillow, but deep, loud, heart-wrenching sobs that threatened to tear her body into pieces. Whether it was because of her reminiscing or because she was exhausted made no difference; her anguish was an acute physical pain that wouldn’t ease. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, rocking herself to and fro as if her spirit were the mother, her body the child. Through a small window in the kitchen, the late night’s moon cast its rays over the boxes. Outside, the wind had picked up, and she could hear the insistent tinkling of the chimes hanging from the eaves. She sat there for what seemed like hours, weeping for all the losses she and those she had known had endured, until finally her sobs dwindled into whimpers, and exhausted, she lay down and fell asleep.
Chapter Two
Morning was bright and crisp. Last night’s lusty wind had waned to a breeze, its cool breath lingering in the air. In the margins of the roads, sunlight streamed through the trees, exposing hints of autumn’s palette dappling the leaves. Summer was coming to an end.
Jake stood under the overhang outside the front door, pressing the bell. When no one answered, he tried the large brass knocker. He knew she was home. A Ford Taurus was parked in the driveway leading to the garage behind the house. On the rear bumper, a sticker indicated that it was a rental. “What normal person in New York City owns a car?” he imagined her saying.
He stepped back from under the overhang and glanced around. To Jake, the charming Colonial reproduction was a dignified testament to days gone by. He’d always been drawn to this style of architecture, with its direct outlines and sturdy proportions. Especially pleasing to his eye was the way the chimney jutted out from the center of the roof into the sky, majestically uniting hearth and heaven. He’d always believed there was beauty in this kind of design, and that in this kind of beauty lay truth.
Unfortunately, years of neglect had caused both aesthetic and structural damage. Alongside the house, pieces of clapboard had broken off, exposing wood studs. He looked at the broken fence and frowned. Laura hadn’t lived here in a long time, but the house still belonged to her, and she should have seen to its upkeep.
He walked down the pathway and rested his gaze on the window of Laura’s old bedroom. Was that where she was sleeping these nights? Or had she moved into one of the larger rooms? He couldn’t imagine her spending one hour, let alone one night, in her aunt’s room, even though it had once belonged to her parents.
He made his way around to the back of the house. The steeply pitched roof, which covered a lean-to and sloped down almost to the ground, was in need of repair. Several of the shingles had flipped over, and many were missing altogether. The yard here was as unkempt as it was out front. Weeds had overgrown any signs of healthy plant life, and the once trimmed bushes now resembled a forest. He vaguely remembered a garden, and for a moment he could have sworn he smelled roses. But the memory slipped away like a dream, and the scent was gone.
After completing a circle of the entire property, he found himself back at the front door. Where could she be at eight in the morning? Wanting to apologize for his outburst at the chapel, he’d come by early to make sure he’d catch her at home.
A movement at the living room window caught his eye. Suspended from a swag of faded green velvet, white lace curtains flapped in the breeze like laundry on a line. He cut across the lawn, crashing his way through the overgrown grass and weeds.
What was wrong with that woman? Maybe this wasn’t New York, but she just couldn’t go around leaving her windows open! He pushed aside the fabric and peeked inside. Why was there a light on? He knew she liked it bright, but drawing the curtains would have supplied all the light she needed. She must have left it on all night. His concern mushroomed, and he sprinted back to the front door to try the bell again.
This time if she doesn’t answer, he told himself, I’m going to climb in through the open window.
He knew he was being irrational—she could be asleep, or in the shower—but still, he had the unsettling feeling that something was wrong. It was that radar again, the radar she’d always said was between them. Normally he didn’t go in for all that psycho mumbo jumbo, but it was weird how she used to finish his sentences or tell him what was bothering him when he tried to keep it all inside. Maybe now the radar was working the other way. How else could he explain the nagging in his gut?
Maybe I can pick the lock, he thought, not thrilled with the prospect of climbing onto the splintered wood ledge of the living room window. He pulled out the Swiss Army knife from his back pocket. Rattling the knob to test its give, he was surprised when it turned in his hand. It didn’t make any sense. Laura had always been too trusting and a little naive, but she would never have left the door unlocked all night.
He entered the hallway and scrambled up the steep staircase, his footsteps thumping loudly on the threadbare carpet. “Laura!” he called, convinced she was lying unconscious somewhere in the house. “Laura!”
Once inside her childhood bedroom, he allowed himself a moment to think. On the nightstand was a photograph in an expensive-looking frame. His eyes lingered on the couple in the picture. Laura looked exquisite, in a long black-pearl satin gown that slid off her right shoulder, her hair swept back into an elegant knot. The man standing next to her was dressed in full tux, his arm resting familiarly on her exposed shoulder. On the window behind them, a heavy brocaded green curtain served as a backdrop.
In a flash Jake recalled the green velvet swag in the living room. What if she hadn’t left the window open? What if someone had broken in? What if…?
He ran out of the room and down the stairs, taking them three at a time. But she wasn’t in the living room, or anywhere else, as far as he could see. And then, standing in the hallway, just outside the kitchen, he heard a faint, low moan coming from the pantry, no louder than the mew of a kitten.
He rushed into the small room and for a moment his heart stopped beating. She was lying on the floor, motionless. He bent low and nudged her gently.
She blinked her eyes open and stared at him blankly. “What are you doing here?” she sputtered, her blue-green eyes coming to life. “How did you get in?”
“The question is,” he began, “what are you doing here?” A small naked bulb hanging from the ceiling, and a haze of sunlight from the kitchen window provided the only light. Looking at the boxes, he tried to assess the situation. Dozens of photographs were piled in a heap, and in a far corner, a stool lay overturned. “Are you all right? When I saw you lying there, I was afraid…I thought…”
“Of course I’m all right!” She pulled herself to a sitting position. “What’s the matter with you? Don’t I look all right?”
“Don’t move. You may have a concussion, or a broken bone—”
“As I recall, we’re no longer married. I stopped taking orders from you years ago.”
“As I recall, you never took orders from anyone, least of all me.” He had intended his remark to be as caustic as hers, but the relief flooding through him had washed away the sting. She wasn’t hurt. A little irritable and a whole lot rumpled, but she was okay. He eyed her critically. She was still wearing the black linen suit she’d worn at the service, only now it was dusty and wrinkled. Her hair was a mass of stringy tangles, her complexion pale and pasty. Under reddened eyes were large puffy bags, a sure sign that she had been crying. “Actually, you don’t look so hot,” he said matter-of-factly. “What did you do, spend the night here?” When she didn’t answer, he reached out and touched her cheek. “My God, you’re like ice! You did sleep here. Here, let me help you up.” He kneeled behind her and placed his arms around her belly, just above her hips.
“Why are you doing the Heimlich maneuver?” she snapped. “I’m not choking.” She tried to stand, but her legs gave way, and she fell back against him.
In one fluid motion, he was standing again, sweeping her into his arms.
“Who do you think you are, coming in here and manhandling me like this! Put me down!”
“I see you’re feeling better. Back to your old self again.” He rotated the front of her body into his chest, pinning her arms between them. “Still the same hell-bent ball of fire, all right. It’s good to know that some things in life don’t change.”
“You have some nerve,” she hissed, squirming in his arms. “Where are you taking me?”
“No need to thank me,” he said, releasing his grip and dumping her onto the living room couch. “I wouldn’t want you to exert yourself.” He felt her eyes burning on his back as he walked over to the window and banged it shut.
“Now what are you doing?” she called as he retreated into the hallway.
He returned with a bright red afghan. “To answer your question, I’m taking care of you. Apparently, you have forgotten how. Now, are you going to cover yourself or do I have that honor?”
“My fingers…” A look of pain flashed across her face, stripping away the veil of her defiance. “These pins and needles feel more like knives.”
He pulled the blanket over her legs and sat down at the foot of the couch. “Serves you right for leaving the door unlocked.” He reached over and began kneading the life back into her fingers. “It’s payback time. Instant karma.”
“Ouch! That hurts! I suppose you’re enjoying this.”
“Keep still.”
“I thought you didn’t go in for all that stuff.”
“What stuff?”
“Karma and all the other mystical forces of the universe. And for your information, karma is about ethical consequences, not stupid mistakes. And it’s never instant. Although sometimes I think that nothing ever changes, at least not in one lifetime. You even said so yourself. But don’t worry, maybe there’s truth to this reincarnation theory. Maybe next time around, you’ll finally get it right…. Am I babbling?”
“If you’re going to quote me, do it right. My exact phrase was ‘Some things in life don’t change.’ And yeah, you’re babbling.”
“All better,” she said, pulling her hands away. “You missed your calling, Jake. You should have been a doctor. Tell me, Dr. Logan, will I be able to play the piano now that you’ve saved my hands?”
On the coffee table, several charcoal pencils were neatly lined up next to a sketchbook. He leaned forward and picked up the book. “And they’re such talented hands,” he said, leafing through her drawings. “I see you haven’t given up your art.”
“I did give it up, when we got married. I started again after the divorce. Remember my dream? To make a living from my painting? I never gave that up.”
