Memories of Love (3 page)

“Got any naked
pics
of this kid?” Lonnie’s tone was nonchalant. He spoke while keeping his eyes
glued to the photographs.

Happy’s
face clouded over, and his brow wrinkled. “Hey! Watch your mouth! This is a
little girl we’re
talkin
’ about here. Don’t get
disgusting.”

Lonnie put his hands up. “Okay,
okay. Don’t shit a brick. Just
askin
’. People are
into all kinds of weird shit.”

“None of that perverted crap happens
here in this office. Got that?” Happy balled his fingers into a fist.

“Sure, sure. Got it.” Lonnie straightened.
“Know where this kid moved to?”

Happy eyed him suspiciously. “
Naw
. Why do you want to know?”

“No reason. Just curious. D.C.’s a
nice place to
live’s
all.” Lonnie lowered his gaze to
the snapshots of Sarah again.

Happy watched the paunchy man. A
small light in Lonnie’s eyes made the P. I. sick to his stomach. He thought he
might actually throw up. “If I knew, I wouldn’t tell you, you disgusting
perv
.
Raco
isn’t here. Buzz off.
Get outta here. And don’t come back.” Happy pulled back his muscular arm as if
to take a swing.

Lonnie showed his palms. “What’d I
do?” He feigned innocence, dropped his hands, and shrugged his shoulders.

“Fucking scumbag. You make me sick.”
Happy shoved Lonnie out the door, closed it, and locked it in the man’s face.

“Fucking pervert.
Gotta
get those pictures to Cara,” he said, talking to
himself. He picked them up, counted them, and then put them down. He counted
and recounted ten times but came up with the same number—eleven. “I know there
were twelve.” He looked under a small pile of papers, searched the floor under
the desk. Then he patted all his pockets…but no picture. Happy went back into
the digital camera and checked there.

“Yup. Twelve. And they have her name
on the back. Shit!” He ran to the door and yanked it open. Looking up and down
the empty sidewalk, he didn’t see any sign of Lonnie, who was long gone. Pouring
two fingers of scotch in a glass, he picked up the phone and ran his hand
through his hair.

“I’d like to report a theft. A
picture. Maybe I’d better explain...”

Chapter Three

New York City

The moving van arrived. Jane and Grant
spent the day directing the delivery of box after box of their belongings.
Tables, chairs, big and small containers filled with books cluttered up each
room until they could hardly walk from room to room. Dust churned in the air,
suffocating Grant as he attacked each carton with determination.

The apartment was in a
pre-war
building, meaning it was built
before World War II. The rooms were spacious with freshly refinished wood
floors and beautiful molding along the ceilings and floors. The windows were
tall and on the narrow side, especially in the living room. Jane sized them up
and muttered, “Custom drapes,” to no one in particular. Their casements were
old oak, polished to a smooth patina.

All the walls were painted a creamy
white. Grant was inclined to leave the paint, except in Sarah’s room. He liked
the soothing shade, and it seemed to go perfectly with the wood. High ceilings,
at least eight feet, maybe more, provided an airy feel to the apartment. As
soon as he had walked into the place, he liked it.
Jane knows my taste.
It would be a comfortable home for Sarah, Jane,
and Grant.

“I’ve only got three days to get
everything done, Jane.” He ran a box cutter down the center of a tall cardboard
carton.

“I hear
ya
.
It’ll happen, Grant. Relax.
Gotta
get the kitchen set
up. That’s most important.” She trotted off to accomplish her task.

But he couldn’t relax. Every minute
he was there reminded him why they had moved—to keep Sarah safe. Yet this
massive city made him feel anything but. A fish out of water was how he
described it to his colleagues.

So many strangers, unfamiliar faces
everywhere, even at Sarah’s new school. He looked at each one, wondering if
this was the person taking pictures of his daughter. The detectives had not
been able to give him even the name of the man with the camera. Would someone
snatch her and disappear, vanish into the subway or a waiting car? The thought
gave him chills and bad dreams.

When they left, the police assumed
they’d be safe and put the case to rest. Their reasoning was that once the
little girl was gone, the
perp
would move on to an
easier target. They didn’t think he’d pursue her to New York. Grant tried to
make their confident attitude his own, but it didn’t work. Not sure if he was
being cautious or paranoid, he kept his instincts and observation skills sharp
when he was out on the street with Sarah.

Jane directed the arranging and
rearranging of furniture and deciding where things should be stowed. She set up
the kitchen, leaving Grant to do the living room. Sarah flitted back and forth,
making comments of approval or disapproval until Jane took her in hand. She
settled the girl in her room with a new book of
paperdolls
and some scissors.

When she could wade through the
chaos, Jane entered Sarah’s room, followed by Grant. “Time to set up your room,
lovey.”

“I don’t like white walls.” Sarah
folded her arms across her chest.

“We’ll paint them pink. How about
that?” Grant asked, squatting down to be eye level with his daughter.

She jumped up and down. “Pink is my
favorite color!”

“I know,” he laughed.

Jane unloaded a box of clothes, making
the rounds from box to closet or bureau. Then, she checked her watch. “Time to
register you in the new school, cookie.” She folded a tiny, pink T-shirt.

“Will you come with me, Daddy?” Sarah
looked up at him with imploring eyes.

“Of course, pumpkin. Let’s go.”
Grant threw on his suit jacket and took her hand. They walked the four blocks
to her new public school. He filled out the paperwork while Sarah sat in on her
class. The teacher was friendly and the place welcoming. Grant sighed in relief
at having cleared that hurdle.

That evening, he took Jane and Sarah
to a local Chinese restaurant since they were too tired to make dinner. After
an early bedtime for Sarah, Jane and Grant sat in the kitchen over late night
tea.

“Her first day at P.S. fifteen tomorrow.”
Jane took a sip of her Earl Grey.

“And I’m nervous as hell.” Grant
stirred in sugar.

“Why?”

“Because that pervert might be
lurking there.” Grant added milk.

“We’ll keep her safe. You drop her
in the morning, and I’ll pick her up in the afternoon.”

“Best laid plans of mice and men…”

“Worrying like this won’t help. How
would he know where we are? Be vigilant. The school knows. Where’s Evelyn?”

“Still in Washington.”

“Fess up. Is she coming to New York,
or are you two separating?”

Grant looked at her with surprise.
“Where did you get that idea?”

“Hope springs eternal, I guess,”
Jane chuckled.

“Nice, Jane,” Grant glared at her.

“
Gotta
be
honest.”

“Like I don’t know how you feel
about her?” Grant lifted an eyebrow.

“Sorry. It’s not your fault.”

“Oh, but it is.”

“How do you figure that?” Jane
raised her cup.

“I let Carol Anne get away.” He studied
his tea as if the answers to his heartache lay among the leaves.

“Baloney. That’s crap. It takes two,
Grant.”

He laughed. “They both piss you off,
don’t they, Carol Anne and Evelyn?”

“Damn right!” Jane put her mug down
a little too hard.

“Okay, okay. Take it easy,” he said,
putting his hand on hers. “Besides, now that we’ve disappeared, it’s over for
Carol Anne and me.”

Having spoken the words he dreaded,
sadness constricted his heart.
Is it
over? Is she truly gone?

“I hope not,” Jane whispered, rising
to her feet. “Time for bed. School schedule starts tomorrow, and I’m already
exhausted.”
She patted him on the
shoulder before lumbering off to her small room.

Grant washed the dishes and went
into the bedroom. It was a mess, but the bed was made and looked very inviting.
He was a bit worn out but not that tired.
If
Carol Anne were here, I’d find the energy to make love to her.
He lay down,
closed his eyes, and dreamt of their passionate nights as sleep overtook him.

* * * *

After the first week, they settled
into a routine. In the morning, Jane made breakfast then Grant took Sarah to
school on his way to work, allowing Jane some time to herself. Then, Jane
picked her up in the afternoon. In the evenings, Jane cooked dinner while Sarah
set the table and Grant cleaned up.

They functioned like a well-oiled
machine. Having grown up together, Jane and Grant were compatible and knew each
other’s habits, keeping friction at bay.
Why
can’t Evelyn behave more like Jane? Why can’t she go with the flow a bit?
With
a sigh, he figured if they hadn’t reached a comfort zone in seven years, they
weren’t likely to any time soon.

Life was busy in the Hollings
household. A new neighborhood to navigate, a new school to get to know, and new
classmates for Sarah kept them running from one event, one task, to another.

Grant spent long nights at the
office familiarizing himself with new clients and getting briefed by new colleagues.
Often, he brought legal briefs home and set up on the dining room table,
reading and making notes. The newness of the work in this office refreshed him.
He liked getting to know his New York colleagues and actually invited one, Gary
Lawrence, over for dinner. Grant and Gary were working on a case together.

Grant expected his dinner with Gary
to be much about their legal strategy, especially after Sarah was excused to do
homework, but he was surprised. Gary took an obvious interest in Jane, and the
two of them spent the evening getting to know each other. Watching from afar,
Grant was pleased to see his sister light up around Gary. Likewise, Gary smiled
more than Grant had ever seen him do in the office.

Grant listened to them compare
notes, marveling at how many experiences they had in common.
If Jane starts dating Gary, I won’t feel
guilty about dragging her away from her life in D.C. to come here.

Evelyn was to join them after one
week. But one week became two and two became three. Grant stopped calling her every
evening. Often, he got caught up in work and spending time with Sarah, so by
the time he remembered, it was too late to phone. Or that’s what he told
himself.

The peaceful atmosphere without
Evelyn was soothing to Grant and Sarah as well. He didn’t notice how much they had
argued until it stopped. He vowed to try to get along with her better.

One evening when he’d run out of
excuses and justifications for his distance from Evelyn, he made up his mind to
talk to her. Driven by guilt for his neglect of his wife, he forced himself to pick
up his cell. He stretched out on his bed and dialed.

“Hi, it’s me. Hope I didn’t wake you.”
Grant closed his notebook and stretched one arm above his head. “Any word on
when you’re joining us?”

“I was up. I’m surprised there’s so
much to clean up, leaving this place.”

“The new apartment is nice. Roomy. We even have a dining
room.” He kicked off his shoes. “Lovely. I’m planning to come up at the end of
the week.”

“Tell me when the train arrives, and
I’ll meet you at the station.”

“That’s not necessary. I can catch a
cab.”

“You don’t know your way around
here. It can be confusing at first.” He rubbed his eyes with his free hand.

“I’m not a child, Grant. I’ll get
there.”

“Okay, okay. I don’t mean to be
insulting, Evelyn. Does that mean you’ll be here for dinner on Friday?”

“Haven’t checked the train schedule.
Save some food for me, just in case.”

“I’ll tell Jane.”

“She’s still there?”

He heard the edgy tone in her voice.
“She’s helping with Sarah.”

“Right. Well, see you then. ’Night.”

The line went dead before he had a
chance to sign off.
Conversations just keep
getting shorter and chillier. It’s sliding away with her. I can’t stop it.
Perhaps it’s best.
Feeling restless, Grant pushed off his bed and wandered
into the living room. The lights of New York drew him to the window.
Amazing view from here.
He stood,
staring, trying to figure out what was happening to his life.

When he saw the thousands of tiny
lights, he knew his problems were small change in such a big city.
Little people struggling with our lives. I
made my bed. I married her. I’ve tried to be a good husband, but I stink. Guess
I’m not husband material. How long must I live like this?
He put his head
in his hands. The realization that he was one of millions of people here, many
who were probably just as desperately unhappy as he, didn’t comfort him.

He plopped down on the sofa,
exhausted and drained. Hopelessness washed over him, making his eyelids, and
his whole body, droop. Jane came out from the kitchen.

“Did you talk to Evelyn?” She wiped
her hands on her apron.

He nodded, his dark orbs clouded.

“Finally. You haven’t been speaking
to her much.” She joined him, leaning back into the soft cushions of the new
beige, butter-soft, leather couch.

“Less and less. Maybe it’s for the
best.” He sighed.

“Something’s up with her.”

“Guess we’ll find out at the end of
the week.” He ran his fingers through his dark brown hair.

“Oh?”

“She’s coming on Friday.” He pushed
to his feet.

“Good. A thirty-eight year old man
in his prime should have a loving woman at his side.”

He smiled at his sister. “Goodnight,
Sis.” He stretched his long arms above his head, extending his
five-foot-ten-inch frame.
A loving woman
at my side. I wish.

* * * *

“Come on, dad, we’ll be late!” Sarah
tugged on her father’s sleeve.

Grant grabbed his briefcase and let
his daughter drag him through the door. He chuckled at her determined attitude.
So much like Carol Anne.
He took
Sarah’s hand and buttoned his jacket against the crisp, October morning air.
Leaves still clinging to the trees in Central Park were turning a cornucopia of
colors, ranging from brilliant gold, the color of the sun, to glowing orange
and deep russet.

The shifting of the seasons mirrored
the shifting in Grant’s life. A sense of being on automatic pilot, stumbling
along where life dragged him, had frustrated him. Always a man in control of
his professional life, this helplessness in his personal life made him angry.
Evelyn, be my wife all the way or leave me.

He shook his head to clear out the
worry and disturbing thoughts so he could focus his attention on his daughter.

“Mrs.
Wilner
doesn’t like us to be late. Besides, they lock the gate, and you have to go all
the way around to the front. Then you’re even
laterer
then…”

They walked past a row of eclectic
brownstones—each painted a different color, with distinctive, wrought-iron
front doors. Several people were walking their dogs, weaving in and out of the
families with their children and strollers trudging up the street to get to
school on time.
This place is perpetual
motion.

“More late,” he corrected.

“Yeah. That. Come on! Can’t you walk
faster?” She pulled on his hand.

Trying to keep in step made him
trip. His long legs kept stride with her short ones as she scurried down the
sidewalk. After picking up the pace, the twosome made it with one minute to
spare. Grant kissed Sarah goodbye and deposited her with her teacher.