Remember Love

by Jessica Nelson

  "Too busy to let a man know about his only child?" Bitterness edged his words, cut through the pretense, and her shoulders slumped.

  She scooted the chair back and stood. Fighting accomplished nothing. "I can’t apologize enough. If you’ll follow me, I’ll get that box for you." She hated how formal she sounded, how far time and guilt took them from what they once had.

  Alec held up a hand to stop her. "The other little thing I’m here for is business."

  Katrina slowly sat back down in her seat, pulse tripping unevenly. Was this where he’d pressure her into selling? She’d read in the papers years ago about his corporate piracy, the way he pushed a small construction firm into selling. All legal, of course.

  Please, Lord, not that. She needed Kat’s Korner. She felt as fragile as the china cups in her cupboards and hoped Alec didn’t notice.

  "I had a plan, a very good plan. But things have changed now."

  "Rachel thinks you want revenge." She worked hard to keep her voice steady.

  "Revenge?" His mouth twisted. "You think I would wait ten years for some silly plan of revenge, just because you started weeping at our wedding? Left me at the altar? No, I understand why you ran." A mirthless laugh escaped his lips. "Marrying an unemployed eighteen-year old from the wrong side of the tracks would scare anybody, especially a girl with dreams as big as yours."

  Katrina exhaled softly. He didn’t sound angry or vengeful about their failed wedding. Perhaps God would not allow her to reap all that she’d sown, for surely bitterness and sorrow had been planted in her rejection of his love. In her withholding of his child.

  But his words bothered her. They stirred up worry from deep inside. Did he really think his financial status was why she’d rushed from the altar? She watched him fiddle with the tablecloth and frowned.

  He looked up, questions in his dark eyes. "What happened to you, Katrina? Why are you still here? Discovering you own Kat’s Korner shocked me."

  "Dreams change," she murmured. And found she didn’t regret it.

  "You wanted to see Paris. Rome. Have you even left the state?"

  "My priorities are different." She took a deep breath. "Look, I don’t know why it even matters to you. What are these business plans of yours?"

  "I thought your mom owned the store and out of curiosity, I went in to check things out."

  "Just because you were curious?"

  His eyebrows pulled together. "I wanted to see you. Make sure you were okay. Married." He stopped abruptly.

  Prompted by a gut feeling, she leveled a steady stare his way. "And?"

  "If you were alone..." He paused, and his gaze seemed to become more intense, narrowing until she felt the breath in her body still, waiting for him to speak. "I planned to steal your heart and marry you."

  She exhaled sharply.

  "You’ve got to be kidding me." She faltered, yet some part of her believed it of him. He’d always been singular in his pursuits. Persistent. "It’s been ten years."

  "I was completely serious at the time." His eyes rested on her and a ripple of uneasiness shivered through her. The harsh line of his jaw told her clearly his plans had recently changed.

  Blinking, she reined back the urge to fall on her knees and weep her remorse. Instead, she focused on what had anchored her throughout the storms. "As you’ve already guessed, Kat’s Korner is not doing so well. It wouldn’t be in your best interest to become involved like you intimated at the reunion." She rose and walked to the sink, feeling his gaze on her back. Her knees wobbled when she turned to face him. "The box is in the garage. I’ll carry it to your car."

  Alec stood. "I’ll get it. You don’t look like you can lift much over twenty pounds."

  "I’m stronger than I appear."

  He grunted his disbelief but she ignored it, battling instead the goose bumps that rose on her arms. The chill residing in the pit of her stomach.

  They walked into the garage and she retrieved the neatly boxed carton of home movies, letters, and pictures. As always, the heavy feel of the box tightened her chest, the dusty surface bringing tears to prick at her eyelids.

  "I’ve got it." Alec reached for the box.

  In the quiet dark of the garage, she hesitated. Gripped the cardboard and pressed it against her chest as though the memories within belonged only to her. He waited silently, eyes unreadable, mouth drawn.

  Swallowing, surrendering, she gave him his box.

  She pressed the garage door button and it squealed open, a deafening grind that reminded her of one more chore on the eternal to-do list.

  Together they walked into the bright Florida sun.

  "Mike Weston says you go to church."

  "I do." Katrina inhaled the rich scent of freshly cut grass, the newness of the day. God’s mercies were supposed to be new every morning. If only she could believe it. And yet, she felt a smile bloom on her face, unfurling like a rose to the sun.

  Alec stopped, squinting. "You went to church before. Weren’t you a Christian then?"

  "When you knew me? No, just believed in God." They reached his car.

  "Most people think it’s the same thing." His voice muffled as he slid the box into the trunk.

  "I used to." Katrina watched him straighten, tall and lean. He’d changed, but not wholly. He still reminded her of the boy who’d dared her to jump into the river from crazy Louie’s roof, the young man who’d won her heart with a kiss. The man from whom she’d stolen the only chance to know his child.

  She swallowed thickly, finding it hard to breathe in the humidity of morning. Hard to remember anything but her son. Gone.

  "Has religion helped you at all?" Alec closed the trunk, then walked to her.

  "Jesus changed my life." She looked up into his eyes and held his gaze. "I don’t know where I’d be if not for Him." Even if He was further from her heart than anyone could guess.

  "Seems to me you’re pretty miserable."

  "That’s ridiculous." Katrina spun away and began to march back to the house. What did he know of what she’d been through? He hadn’t seen the zombie she’d been the first few months.

  Alec grabbed her arm, gently but firmly stopping her in her tracks.

  "You’re pale. Lifeless. Nothing like the girl I used to know. Where’s Jesus in that?" Though he said it in a tight way, as if the words barely escaped his lips, his eyes remained soft. His reluctant compassion didn’t help. It didn’t ease the burning pain that convulsed the muscles in her chest.

  Morning, newness, what did it matter now? What did anything matter? Not guilt, not shame. Nothing.

  "My child died," she hissed, and yanked her arm from his grip.

  Comprehension slammed into her a moment later. Our child. She saw the realization hit him too, in the squaring of his jaw and the stiffness of his posture.

  "Three years ago," he bit out.

  "Three years ago today," she said as tears burned streams down her cheeks. Alec blurred in front of her.

  "Today?" There was a pause. Heat from the warming morning did nothing to stem the cold washing through her. A bird chirped. For a long second they stood there. She stared at the ground. The grass wavered beneath her gaze.

  Before she could compose herself, he tugged her to him. She melted against his chest. His chin pressed against the top of her head, and she blinked against his black cotton shirt. It smelled like soap and Cool Water cologne. His heart thudded against her cheek, the beats fast and hard. The warmth of his body seeped through her, and she struggled to control her pain. It was fading quickly, replaced by a tenderness she had no business feeling.

  The tears slowed. The chill receded. Shame took the place of heavy grief. After what she’d done, he would comfort her? And she’d slid readily into his arms. This reprieve couldn’t last. He’d drive off with that box and she’d never see him again.

  And that’s what she deserved.

  Humbled and disturbed by his gesture, she pulled out of the cocoon of his arms. Curtness tightened her stride
to the house. She heard him behind her, his steps light on the still dewy grass, then clapping against the concrete floor of the garage as he followed her.

  She opened the kitchen door and the cool air relieved her swollen lids. "I’m sorry for crying on you." Once inside, she turned to face him.

  Alec shut the door and leaned against it, his stance suddenly predatory. The change from comforter to hunter made Katrina gulp. His heavy-lidded eyes traveled the length of her, and the hair rose on her neck. "Seems to me you’re sorry about a lot of things."

  "I don’t expect you to forgive me."

  "Good." His words hung between them.

  A slow churning moved through her gut. "Are you leaving town now?"

  His eyes flickered. "Maybe. I have unfinished business." He stepped away from the door and further into the kitchen.

  Feeling trapped, she moved backwards. He noticed because he stopped and rubbed his chin. "Were you embarrassed by our hug?"

  Trust Alec to pick up on that. Swallowing, she edged further back. "It’s been ten years." The cold steel of the sink pressed against her spine.

  "We’ve been more intimate than a hug." His eyes shuttered and dropped to her lips.

  Alarmed by the look, by the way it picked up her pulse and made blood pound through her body, she swallowed hard.

  "Ten years ago." Her voice firmed. "You’re not stealing my heart or any other such nonsense. The anniversary of Joey’s death is always hard, but God truly changed my life. Living the way I used to is no longer an option."

  "You think I don’t know that?" His eyes narrowed, changing from interest to disgust in a second.

  Her pulse slowed, reduced to sludge by that glare. "I…I wasn’t sure."

  She took a deep breath, stiffening the backbone she rarely used. "I’m more sorry than I can ever prove that I didn’t tell you about Joey. But I’m not about to be . . . intimate with you or sell Kat’s Korner to you. So take the box, and maybe I’ll see you around."

  A strange look crossed Alec’s face, an almost-sadness she couldn’t place. He moved forward, and for a heartbeat Katrina thought he would touch her. But he looked past her.

  "How old was Joey there?" He focused on the small frame she kept beside the sink, a first grade wallet taken right after Joey’s front teeth had fallen out. He looked like a grinning pumpkin with shaggy brown hair and Alec’s golden eyes.

  "Six," Katrina said, surprised Alec hadn’t seen the picture earlier. She handed it to him so he could study the son he’d never met.

  "He has your chin."

  Katrina cringed. "You mean my dimple. Poor kid."

  "I want to see where he’s buried."

  "Today?" Her brow wrinkled. The store was always closed on the anniversary and every year she went to the gravesite alone. Giving away some of Joey’s things had been hard enough, but to share his burial place?

  As if he’d read her thoughts, Alec cleared his throat. "I have to go back to New York for the rest of the week. Maybe Sunday, after church?"

  "That would be better," Katrina answered, slumping against the sink. She crossed her arms. "You go to church?"

  "Yep."

  "Why?"

  "Don’t sound so suspicious. It’s all just a part of my evil plan to take over your life."

  Katrina frowned. The man had a right to come to his hometown, to see his son’s grave. Why did she assume it was all about her? Falling back on old habits.

  "I’m sorry." She chewed her lip, uncertain of what to say next. "Is there anything else you need from me?"

  "Quite a bit." A dark shadow crossed his face. "But I’ll be back."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Alec returned to Katrina’s neighborhood the next morning. Not to see Katrina, though the temptation struck him senseless for a good five minutes in his car. He battled the urge and won. The wounds were too deep, too fresh to expose himself to her again.

  The scent of her called to him, while her betrayal made him want to hurt her. Yesterday he’d been tempted to slam those papers on her table and inform her he wouldn’t be renewing her lease come December.

  But giving news like that on the anniversary of Joey’s death was too cruel.

  She deserves it. The harsh thought sprang up from some deep and dark place inside. A place he’d tried to convince himself didn’t exist anymore.

  But it did, and it hungered for revenge.

  From behind the steering wheel, he focused on the house next to Katrina’s in a bid to rid her from his thoughts. The house's paint had faded with time. The grass covered the yard like a beard in need of a shave.

  Yesterday he’d been surprised to discover Katrina’s home next to Ms. Lincoln’s. He remembered that house and the woman within. His fingers flexed on the wheel. Would Ms. Lincoln remember him?

  He opened his car door, unfolding his frame onto the misty, early morning street. He closed the door and then strode to Ms. Lincoln’s house.

  He chanced a glance at Katrina’s. The dark windows of her house indicated she’d left for work already. But Ms. Lincoln’s kitchen glowed golden, a beam that shot warmth straight to his soul.

  Hesitantly, he lifted his fist to her door, his knocks dropping in quiet beats. Then he waited. It was early, but she’d always been up by dawn when he was a child.

  He heard clicks as locks disengaged, then the door creaked open. Her face, lined deeply, stared at a place somewhere past his shoulder.

  "Yes?" Raspy, older, yet her southern accent still lengthened her vowels.

  He swallowed against the emotion tightening his throat. The safety chain stretched inches above her head. At least she hadn’t opened the door completely to a stranger. He moved his gaze, trying to look into her eyes.

  He remembered the depths of them, walnut brown, softer than the coats of her Persian cats. Eyes that used to look deep into a person, seeing truths others missed. What would she see now?

  He shifted closer. And stopped. Her unfocused eyes still looked past him. His fingers jerked against his jeans. She would see nothing, because she was blind.

  "Alec Munroe?" Her voice lilted, lifting with the upturn of her lips.

  "You remember me?"

  "Your cologne is distinctive." Her grin widened and a gnarled, shaky hand removed the safety chain. She swung the door open. "Come in, my sweet boy."

  He stepped into her home, its yeasty smell transporting him to his childhood. To the escape she’d provided in the form of sweet rolls and milk. His tongue tingled.

  She shut the door behind him and he followed her shuffling gait to the kitchen. Years ago her uncommonly tall stature added authority to her teacher status, but now he realized time had shrunk her.

  He’d missed the change. Too busy forging a new life for himself to remember the good in the old.

  But her kitchen hadn’t changed. Rectangular and small, it boasted a round table topped by a vase of pink-edged hyacinths and surrounded by four cushion-padded chairs. She gestured to one. He pulled it out, the wooden feet scraping against the linoleum floor, and sat.

  Hobbling to the counter, she deftly removed a plate from the cupboard, lifted something from a mint colored jar and carried it to him on the plate.

  The scent reached his nose, made his mouth water before he could identify the source. She set it before him. A cinnamon roll coated thickly with glossy white glaze. He stared at it, uncertain how she’d managed to bake when blind, while she put a glass of milk beside the plate.

  He glanced up as she lowered herself onto the chair opposite him. Chuckling, she rapped the table with her knuckles. "Eat, my boy. Don’t just stare at it."

  "Yes, ma’am." He lifted the roll, his fingers sinking into its sticky sides, and took a bite. The taste threw him back to a time when he and Katrina brought Ms. Lincoln trout in exchange for fresh-baked cookies. They’d wolfed the treats down, giggling. As they’d grown older, childish pleasures died and Katrina stopped visiting Ms. Lincoln in favor of hanging out with Rachel and her other friends.
/>   But he’d never stopped coming.

  Not until he’d left Manatee Bay for good. He grabbed the milk, the glass slippery with cold perspiration, and downed the contents.

  It did nothing to wash away the bitter taste suddenly tainting his memories.

  While he ate, Ms. Lincoln talked. He’d forgotten her animated gestures, the way she flung her hands through the air for no particular reason. She fed his soul with her reminiscing and the hurt of how he’d left faded beneath her exuberant words. When he emptied his glass and set it on the table, she leaned forward, the lines on her face settling into sober furrows.

  "Why did you come back?" Her fingers waved in the air, anticipating his response. "Don’t tell me the reunion. What else, Alec?"

  Alec fumbled with the napkin beside his plate. "Business," he said, hoping the answer would suffice.

  She studied him, her gaze on his shoulder. "As a boy, you struck me with your fervor for justice. Has that changed?"

  He shifted in his chair. The conversation had veered in a strange direction. Towards the heart of his conflict. "No, it hasn’t. Ms. Lincoln." He paused, firming his jaw. "Did you know Joey was my son?"

  Her eyes widened but she didn’t look shocked. "I wondered, when he was first born, but my eyesight was declining rapidly by then. I never saw his face after the first year." Her lips pressed tight and she shook her head. "You poor boy. Katrina never said. I’d heard rumors of course…"

  "That I’d left them."

  "You’re angry." Her head tilted to the side. "But yes, I’d heard the rumors and didn’t believe a word of it."

  "Why?" The question choked out of him. The unexpected sadness bearing down on his shoulders unnerved him. Why should it matter what she thought? But it did and judging by the sudden glistening in her eyes, she knew it.

  "Because of your father. You wouldn’t ever do to your child what he did to you."

  Alec’s throat constricted. He cleared it, then reached for her hand. "Thank you."

  Her fingers closed around his, warm and surprisingly firm. "No thanks needed." She smiled and her wrinkles transformed into loveliness. "Now, can you tell me what time it is?"