Throughout the remainder of lunch they talk of the parties and games of Baylor.
“Poker night,” Sam says. “That’s my favorite.
“Fiddlesticks,” Pauline counters. “That doesn’t hold a candle to the Valentine’s Day dance. All those heart decorations and streamers…”
When they have finished eating and the trays are taken away, Ophelia is not ready for this conversation to end. She pulls out the box of chocolates Oliver has sent her and sets it on the table with a smile.
“I thought we could all use a bit of sweetness.”
Sam eyes the box. “Are there caramels in here? I can’t eat caramels.”
“Well, I can,” Lillian says and plucks a big fat chocolate from the center of the box.
It is almost three-thirty when they finally resume their game. Ophelia, now quite invigorated, wins both rounds. She is ready for a third game when Tyrone shows up with the wheelchair and carts her off to therapy.
“Oh, darn,” she says. “I hate to leave when I’m winning,”
“You ain’t moving in here permanently,” Tyrone laughs. “You is here for the exercise what gets people better.” His laughter is contagious.
“Yeah,” Sam says. “Get well enough to come on over to Baylor and be my poker partner. I been having a bad streak and I could use…”
The remainder of what he says is lost when Tyrone wheels Ophelia from the room.
Ophelia
For the first time in all these years I’m thinking of moving away from Memory House. I never thought I’d consider such a thing, but here I am saying it.
Last night after everybody went home Lil and I sat up talking. She told me something I wouldn’t have in a million years suspected. She said she had awful dreams after Walter died.
I look at Lil and see a woman tough as nails, but the truth is she’s not that way at all. She acts gruff and matter-of-fact, but once you see past all that huffing and puffing she’s got heartaches the same as me.
She said when her Walter died, she went through the exact same misery I had when I lost Edward. The thing that saved her was moving out of that house. She claims memories are something you need to pass on to young people. According to Lil, weighing yourself down with a truckload of memories will just hold you back from moving on and enjoying the rest of your years.
I never told Annie this, but I was figuring to leave her Memory House. She loves it there, and I’ve got no one else. In my heart I’m certain as certain can be that Edward brought that girl to my door. It’s just like him to do such a thing. When he was alive, he always took good care of me and I think he’s still doing it.
Fred Worthington said the house is too old to be worth much, but the property is valuable. He claims he could sell it in less than a minute. A smart buyer would knock the place down and put in a sprawling single-story ranch, he said. All the time he was talking I was thinking, Over my dead body.
That’s why I had to find somebody before my time came, somebody who could take over the memories and appreciate the place. It would break my heart to see a house with so much happiness in it sold to a perfect stranger.
Fred’s a lawyer, which explains why he thinks that way. Everybody knows lawyers don’t have a heart. Most lawyers anyway. Ethan Allen and Oliver are exceptions, but that’s probably why they changed from lawyering to being judges.
Being a judge, now that’s a respectable profession.
I’m not one hundred percent sure of what I’m going to do, but I’m keeping an open mind. I’m hoping Edward will come visit me soon and I can talk to him about it.
Max’s Visits
In the days that follow, Max makes three different visits to Memory House. The first time it is to study the bookcases in the loft. She pokes around the dividing walls for several minutes then frowns. It is as she feared. The bookcase is built as a single unit and impossible to move intact.
Trying to sound optimistic she says, “We can explore other options.”
Annie asks what those options are.
Pinching her brows together, Max closes her eyes and runs her hand along the end of the bookcase. It is almost a full minute before her eyes pop open and she speaks.
“The most cost efficient way would be to match the wood and duplicate the construction, but…”
“But what?” Annie asks.
“There are a lot of memories in this wood,” Max says. “If we built a new bookcase it will look the same, but it won’t have the memories.”
“You can feel the memories?”
Max nods, then explains the alternative would be to take the bookcase apart shelf by shelf and reassemble it in the new room.
“The problem is that would be a lot more expensive.”
“How much more?”
Max feels along the back edge of several shelves then gives another frown. “Glued tight,” she says. “Taking it apart is going to be slow and labor intensive.”
“So how much?” Annie asks.
“I’m better at getting the feel of a place than doing numbers off the top of my head, but I’d guess three to five thousand.”
Annie gives a low whistle.
“You don’t have to decide now,” Max says. “I’ll pencil in both options on the drawing and give you estimates.”
As they are descending the stairs Annie asks if Max has time for a cup of tea.
“Absolutely,” she answers.
A pot of lemon balm tea already sits on the back of the stove. Today Annie has brewed a calming blend. When she works in the apothecary she wants her mind to be relaxed and open to all thoughts. She hopes one day she will discover the magic of Ophelia’s special potpourri.
She adds a teaspoon of honey to each cup then fills a plate with ginger cookies and carries the tray to the back porch. Much the same as she did with Ophelia, Annie and Max sit across from one another in the wicker chairs.
The day is warm, but here it is comfortable. The swans glide across the pond, and a soft breeze ripples the water. Max catches the scent of the flower garden.
“This is such a beautiful spot,” she says. “No wonder Ophelia loves it.”
“It’s this house,” Annie replies. “It has a magic of its own.”
Max nods agreement then talks about her year in Paris.
“The peacefulness here is like what I found at Tuileries Gardens,” she says. “No pond, but a lovely fountain.” Her face takes on a look of remembering. “Julian and I spent countless afternoons there.”
Annie’s mouth curls into a smile. She can feel a certain fondness attached to the name. “Was this Julien someone special?”
“For a while,” Max says. “But once I came home…” Her words trail off.
Although she already surmises the answer, Annie says, “He didn’t come to visit?”
Max shakes her head sadly. “Not even an email.” She pushes thoughts of Julian from her head and says, “But I’m totally over him now.”
Annie doubts this is true but accepts the answer and switches back to talking about the project.
“I’m super anxious to introduce you to Ophelia,” she says. “When do you think the drawings will be ready?”
Max fingers her chin thoughtfully. “Late next week?” She hooks a question mark onto the end of her answer, hoping for an approval.
“Perfect,” Annie says.
Ophelia has another two weeks at the rehab center; then she will be coming home. For the evening of her return, they will plan a special dinner party. That same evening they will introduce Max and unveil the drawing for the new room.
Two days later Max returns. This time she hauls a twelve-foot ladder to the loft so she can get the exact dimensions of the skylight.
“Brace this at the bottom, and make sure it doesn’t tilt,” she tells Annie, then scoots up the ladder and stretches her folding yardstick in one direction and the other.
This task takes less than a half-hour, but again Max stays for tea and doesn’t leave until Oliver returns from
the courthouse.
When Annie hears him call out that he’s home, she can scarcely believe how the time has flown. That evening instead of visiting Ophelia, she telephones.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’d planned to come for a visit, but the afternoon got away from me.”
Ophelia’s voice is breezy and light. There is no sound of disappointment. “That’s okay,” she says. “I’m kind of busy anyway.”
“Busy? Doing what?”
Ophelia giggles. “Beating Sam’s butt at pinochle.”
They talk for less than a minute; then Ophelia says she’s got to go. Annie senses she is anxious to get back to the game.
“I’ll be there Friday afternoon for sure,” she says and hangs up.
As it turns out, Max is back again on Friday. This time she comes carrying a chilled bottle of champagne.
“Celebration time,” she says and holds out the bottle.
Annie laughs. “What exactly are we celebrating?”
“Thanks to that channeling tea you made for me, I’ve got two new clients.”
“How wonderful!” Annie exclaims. “But I really don’t think it was the tea. It’s probably more because—”
Max shakes her head. “It’s the tea. I’m certain of it.” Her smile is stretched the full width of her face when she asks if Annie has time for a glass of champagne.
“Since you’re responsible for my good fortune,” she says, “I thought we could celebrate together.”
“Of course,” Annie replies.
True, she has planned to visit Ophelia. But over the weeks Max has also become a friend, and Annie wants to share this moment of happiness. A flicker of guilt tickles the back of Annie’s mind, but she pushes it away.
I’ll call Ophelia this evening, she tells herself. Then tomorrow I’ll spend the entire afternoon with her. This is enough to appease her conscience.
Max pops open the bottle of champagne, and Annie carries a small basket of salted zucchini chips to the back porch. They settle into the chairs, and in less than a heartbeat they are involved in a conversation that has the sound of lifelong friends.
The Decision
On Friday Baylor Towers is hosting a party, so none of the pinochle players visit. Lillian and Ophelia are alone in the room when Annie calls to say she won’t be able to make it.
“Tomorrow will be fine,” Ophelia says, but Lillian hears the disappointment in her voice.
Waiting until the receiver is back in its cradle, Lillian glances over with a raised eyebrow. “That’s the third time this week.”
“I can count,” Ophelia replies, her words rather testy.
Lillian slides a slip of paper into the book she’s reading and closes the cover. “I hate to say I told you so, but—”
“Then don’t say it,” Ophelia cuts in. “I understand why Annie’s busy. She’s taking care of the apothecary and—”
Without allowing Ophelia to finish the thought, Lillian says, “She’s a young woman who wants to spend some time alone with her new husband.” A second later she adds, “Which is perfectly normal.”
Ophelia lets this thought settle in her head and says nothing. Several minutes pass before she sheepishly admits there’s a possibility that Lillian is right.
“After our talk a few nights ago, I’ve been giving some serious consideration to moving into a place like Baylor Towers,” she says.
“Why not Baylor Towers itself?” Lillian asks. Without waiting for an answer she enumerates the countless reasons for choosing Baylor Towers, not the least of which is the dozen or more friends who live there.
“I just might do that,” Ophelia says with a smile. “Of course, first I’d have to visit the place and make certain I like it.”
“Oh, you’ll like it.” Lillian gives a grin of satisfaction. “I’m certain of that.” She climbs from her bed, comes around and sits in the chair beside Ophelia. “There’s never a dull moment. Why, when they have the Saint Patrick’s Day party…”
They talk late into the evening and when Ophelia’s eyes finally begin to flutter, Lillian sashays back to her own bed. She waits until she hears the soft sounds of Ophelia’s sleep and then dials Pauline’s number.
“Okay, this is what we have to do…” She whispers the plan, and Pauline is in full agreement.
The next morning before the breakfast trays have been delivered, Sam walks in.
“I was up early,” he says, “so I thought I’d stop by for a visit.” By some odd circumstance, he’s carrying a photo album filled with snapshots of Baylor Towers.
“I thought maybe you’d like to see this.” He plops down alongside Ophelia and begins to flip through the pages.
“This is the new pool table,” he explains. “And this one’s the card room. Poker every Friday night.” He segues into a tale of how he’s lost for the past eight years and could use a card-smart partner, then looks square into Ophelia’s eye.
“I’m thinking you’d fit the bill perfectly.”
She laughs. “I doubt that. The only game I know is pinochle and maybe a smidgen of bridge.”
“But you’re a natural,” Sam says. “I can tell.”
Before he has finished showing his album, Pauline arrives. She’s got pictures of pets: dogs, cats and even a small monkey. She shoves the photo of a sad-eyed beagle in front of Ophelia and says, “This is Buster; he belongs to Tess Abrams. You’re going to love Tess, she’s a barrel of laughs.”
“But I haven’t actually decided—”
“And this is Mildred’s poodle. Smartest dog I’ve ever seen. Mildred tells her to go get the bunny toy, and Poopsie digs through her basket until she finds that stuffed rabbit.”
One by one Pauline goes through the photos describing both the pet and the owner. When she has exhausted her supply of photos, she apologizes for not having a shot of Calvin’s aquarium but adds that it’s a beauty.
After Pauline, Mildred comes with pictures of both her apartment and Poopsie. Several others follow her. That afternoon by the time Annie and Oliver arrive Ophelia has seen photos of everything, including the empty one-bedroom with a terrace that overlooks the gardens. She has all but made up her mind, yet she says nothing. It is too early. There are arrangements to be made. Legalities to be addressed.
Oliver kisses Ophelia on the cheek and hands her a second box of chocolates. “You’re looking well,” he says.
Ophelia does look good. She is rested and happy. For the first time in more years than she can remember, she has made a decision without consulting the stars.
As they move into an easy conversation, Ophelia notices how Oliver tugs Annie close to his side and how she in turn blushes at his touch. They are happy, quite possibly as happy as she was with Edward.
Watching them together, a thought comes to her.
“You two should move into the loft,” she says. “The doctor said no stairs, so I won’t be using it.”
Annie shakes her head. “We couldn’t. Edward built that room for you. It’s a place where—”
Ophelia stops her. “Edward’s gone. But he intended the room to be a place for lovers. I think he’d be pleased to know I’ve passed it on to someone I love.”
Annie notices something different. It’s a strange new level of acceptance in Ophelia’s voice. This is the first time she’s spoken of Edward as if he is actually gone, actually dead.
She lifts Ophelia’s hand into hers. A worried expression knits her brows.
“Are you okay?” she asks. “The doctor hasn’t said something we should know about, has he?”
“I’m fine,” Ophelia says. “Better than ever. Being here has actually been good for me.”
“Well, don’t get too comfortable,” Oliver warns. “In less than two weeks, you’ll be coming home.”
When he says this Ophelia forces a smile, but Annie catches the pinched expression on her face.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” she asks again.
They stay until the dinner trays come, an
d then Ophelia chases them out.
“I need my rest,” she says.
As soon as their footsteps disappear down the hallway, Ophelia picks up the telephone and dials Fred Worthington’s number. It’s Saturday and the probability is he won’t be in his office, but she’ll leave a message and say it’s a matter of urgency.
She is set to talk to the machine, but he picks up on the third ring.
“Worthington,” he says.
“Is that you, Fred?”
“Yes,” he answers. “Who’s this?”
“Ophelia.” She waits for a response, but there is none. “Ophelia Browne,” she clarifies. “Edward Browne’s wife.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he says with a hearty laugh. “I haven’t heard from you in a dog’s age. Where’ve you been keeping yourself?”
“In the same place as always,” she answers. “Except for the past few weeks. I’m not at Memory House; now I’m at the Kipling Rehabilitation Center.”
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Nothing,” she replies. “Everything is fine, but I need to speak with you about a business matter.”
“So,” Fred says, “you’re finally going to sell the house, huh?”
“No,” Ophelia answers. “I’m going to give it away.”
Changes
On Monday morning Fred arrives with a stack of documents for Ophelia to sign. Giving away the house turns out to be not quite as easy as she’d anticipated. Before the property can be transferred Fred claims there are issues of tax escrow, title search and legality of sale to be addressed. He says to establish a bona fide transaction, Annie needs to pay Ophelia at least $100.
“Now if you were dead, that wouldn’t be necessary. She could receive it as part of your estate.”
“I’m not dead!” Ophelia snaps.
After three trips back and forth to the Kipling Center, Fred shows up Thursday afternoon with the last of the paperwork. He hands Ophelia an overstuffed folder and says, “This is it. Once Annie signs these papers, the house is hers.”
The Loft Page 7