by Shayne Ford
“Okay, then.”
Without giving him the slightest explanation, I excuse myself and exit the kitchen.
A long breath enters my lungs as I saunter down the corridor. I walk into my office, snatch my cup of coffee from my desk and make the trip back to the kitchen.
I set the mug on the table, and take a seat. He remains standing. Arms folded across his chest, eyes pinned on me, he studies me.
I struggle to give him a steady gaze.
“To answer your question, it had become increasingly difficult to open the lock, especially at night when it was freezing. The locksmith agreed with me that it showed wear and tear and needed to be replaced.”
“Hmmm...” he mutters skeptically. “You could’ve waited for me.”
Smiling, I bring the cup of coffee to my lips.
“I could, but I wanted to make sure that I don’t come home one night and find myself locked out.”
“One night? Where did yo go these past nights?”
I swallow hard, suddenly realizing that my coffee is only lukewarm.
I push the chair back, rise to my feet and make a beeline for the coffee machine. I pour hot coffee into the mug and stir.
He waits patiently as I come back, set the mug on the table and gather my thoughts.
“Nowhere. A couple of nights ago I took a few steps outside. It snowed for the past few days, and it was beautiful.”
He observes me in silence.
“When did you plan on telling me about the lock?”
I lift my gaze, but quickly pull it down as I’m about to lie.
“ I, um... I thought I sent you a message, didn’t I?”
I sound a bit petulant, and all I get from him is accusatory silence.
I flick my gaze up, but I find it difficult to hold his gaze.
“What is going on with you, Tess?” he asks.
My skin warms up as panic courses through my veins.
“Nothing,” I mutter, as I tear my gaze away from him.
Silence fills the kitchen.
“I talked to Maggie and Viola. They said they called you this past couple of days, yet you didn’t return their calls. Ana hasn’t heard from you since Monday,” he says.
I tilt my chin up, my eyes meeting his.
“And…?”
“Why didn’t you talk to them?”
“No particular reason. I was too busy. I finished my work, and then, I tried to book this new client. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
He tips his head down, evading my eyes, but even so, I notice the expression of disapproval set on his face and reflected in his pursed lips.
“Have you been seeing someone?” he asks without looking at me.
Slowly, I part my lips.
“What are you talking about...?” I ask with a trembling voice.
He swings his eyes at me, and arches an eyebrow, his lips pressing together.
“How can you even think about such a thing?” I ask with a faltering voice.
He searches my eyes for a few moments before he smoothly pushes off the kitchen counter and exits the room without saying a world.
“Allan?”
My chair falls back as I jerk out of it.
I find him in the hallway, putting his coat on. I grab him by the elbow.
“Where are you going?”
He slides his hand into his coat and retrieves a business card from his pocket.
“I’ll stay in this hotel until Monday morning,” he says, without looking at me.
“Allan?”
Desperation breaks into my voice.
He swings his eyes up.
“I need a few days away from you,” he says. “And I think you need some time on your own too. If you don’t hear from me by Sunday evening, I’ll see you next week, when I come back from Seattle.”
“I’d like to see you before you leave.”
His gaze tips down.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he says with a quiet voice. “I prefer not to see you. There are things you need to figure out for yourself before we talk again.”
My mouth falls open.
He looks at me, his face unreadable.
“I’m not seeing anyone, Allan,” I say, frustration flooding my voice.
“As you say...” he mutters, his voice brimming with distrust.
He leans toward me and places a cold kiss on my cheek before he pivots away and heads for the door.
Once he is about to vanish, I toss at him one last time.
“I’m not seeing anyone, Allan.”
He slams the door over my words.
Sunlight greets me when I open the window, the melted snow dripping from the roofs.
Children play in the park, their voices coloring the winter morning. A dog barks in the distance as the man accompanying him waves at me.
“Hi George,” I shout, gesturing at him as well.
“Are you coming today?”
“Luna is at my mom’s place,” I say as loud as I can, a car zooming by.
“You can take a walk. It’s good for your health,” he says, grinning.
I can’t argue with him, but I give it a try anyway.
“I just woke up.”
“No problem. I’ll be here for a while,” he says, tossing me a warm smile.
There’s no way I can win this argument, so I give up.
“Okay... Give me a few minutes,” I say.
I rush down the stairs and set the machine for a cup of coffee before I make the trip back.
I shed my pajama and walk into the shower.
For a few minutes, my mind spins happy thoughts, and then I remember that Allan is gone, and I recollect the conversation that we had last night, everything playing in my head again.
Deep in my thoughts, I turn the water off and step out of the shower, absently wrapping a towel around me. I pivot to the mirror and take a look at my reflection.
Dark crescents lie beneath my eyes, my hair tangled in a mess. I run my fingers through my locks while studying my face. My lips seem fuller, my face more mysterious.
I gently touch my face.
Something happened to me. As imprecise as it is, the thought freezes me.
I run my fingers over my lips, and then my cheeks. Over my brow.
What happened, Tess?
Yes. What happened?
Slowly, I drag my gaze over my face, hoping to find an answer. But the answer doesn’t want to come to me, the same way I can’t find an explanation for Allan’s unwillingness to discuss things with me. Or to remember those few hours of last night that I’m still missing. They’re still unaccounted for.
Why can’t I open that particular door of my mind?
I go back in time. Back to the last night as I try to recollect those moments. I remember the evening and the snow. The quiet street, and the faint light coming from the lampposts. The cold air nipping my face. I even feel the wet kisses of the snow on my cheeks.
I see a car. A long, dark limousine, and then everything goes black.
Fuck.
I try it again. I close my eyes and let my mind sift through the drawers of my memory, searching for the hours and the minutes that have pulled away from me. I feel sick in my stomach when I realize that my mind squirms powerlessly.
There’s nothing there.
Nothing but a big, empty crater sitting in the middle of my mind. Going back and forth, I struggle to remember. What happened in those hours? Why are they sealed and locked away?
Pulling away from that block of time, I reflect and analyze. Perhaps there is something that can help me to remember. Any little detail could be a clue.
With this thought in my head, I spin around and dash out of the room, going straight to the closet. My clothes. What was I wearing? Unfortunately, I can’t remember that either.
I narrow my options down, trying to figure out my last night attire. It must have been pants. A blouse, perhaps?
I run my fingers over the hangers, my eyes swe
eping the warm colors and the soft fabrics. Nothing bears relevance to me. I check the laundry hamper. It’s empty. Nudged by a different thought, I walk into the laundry room.
I slide the washer’s door open.
There they are. A pair of pants, a silk blouse, my lingerie. I have no recollection of putting these inside. Besides, I never wash silk or fancy pants. I usually take them to the cleaners.
Puzzled, I pull the damp clothes out, checking them one by one. Not only that they’re all crumpled, but I forgot to put them in the dryer.
The rest of the last evening flashes in front of my eyes as I stare blankly at my clothes.
I remember spending time in front of my computer, watching that clip. Then, Allan at the door.
Angry and frustrated.
I push that memory back.
I’m back to square one.
Wait a minute...
I spin around and hurriedly, take the stairs down. I enter my office, slide the laptop open and pull up the browser, looking for that web address. The password grants me immediate access.
The link is no longer there. There are no words.
The website has been updated, the content removed.
It’s been erased. By whom?
Anxious, I play that clip in my head from my memory.
I remember everything vividly. The couple–– the man thrusting into that woman. I try to shift the timeline and get to an earlier point, but I hit that wall again, the one that blocks my memory.
Annoyed, I flip the lid on my laptop, but I open it again to check my emails. I skim them quickly before my gaze shifts to the small mirror sitting on my desk.
And then I see them.
“What the…?”
My voice melts in a puddle of despair.
I slide the mirror closer and tilt my head to the side, trying to expose my neck and get a glimpse of my skin. Small, dark marks resembling blotches of ink collar the root of my neck.
“What the fuck is this...?”
My pulse spirals into a frenzy, my heart spasming in my chest. I leap up and dart to the door.
It takes seconds to reach the second floor.
I enter the bathroom, turn the lights on and shed my robe.
The small marks trace my left shoulder, a couple of them looking like ink-colored fingerprints near my collarbone.
How did I get all these bruises?
My head begins to spin, images flashing in front of my eyes at a pace that leaves me breathless. Flurries of snow against the dark backdrop of the night, a limousine, a noisy crowd. Streetlights. Green, yellow, red. I can’t see. I can’t see.
What is it that I can’t see?
I stare vacantly at the mirror as I try to find the missing piece. The sidewalk is filled with people. I hear their laughter. I can see smiles and sparkling eyes. I take inventory of their expensive clothes. Everything is there but what I am looking for.
Ugh!!!
Crushed with disappointment, I give up. I grip the edge of the sink and make an effort to control my breathing as I grapple with a panic attack.
Go out, Tess.
Just go out, whispers the better part of my brain. It takes minutes to pull on lingerie, jeans, a pullover and a coat. My red muffler goes around my neck.
I’m about to exit the house when I turn to stone. I inhale deep, and then I bring the muffler to my nose. I take another breath. It smells like my perfume, but there’s a different scent as well. Exotic. Manly. Reminding me of something. Someone?
I bury my nose in the soft mohair and fill my nostrils and my lungs with it.
The memory stays locked behind that wall, but something else courses through my senses, the sensation so intense and inescapable, my body starts to react to it.
My blood speeds up through my veins, flushing my face, warming up my skin. I sense the edge of arousal, my nipples pushing hard against my top. I feel the tingles and the tension, all bringing to me this unbelievable feeling. It all becomes so real my knees begin to shake. I lean against the wall table in the hallway when my phone begins to ring.
The sound jolts me back to reality.
“Hi Rebecca,” I say with a strained voice.
“Is everything okay, Miss?” she asks as she registers the panic in my voice.
“Yes. Everything is good,” I say with a drier voice.
I grab my keys.
“I just wanted to let you know that I’m on my way.”
“Good,” I say as I walk out the door.
“Are you going to be home?”
“I’ll be in the park. I left the new key under the doormat.”
“Okay. It won’t take long. I’m only minutes away.”
“Perfect.”
I hang up the phone and saunter down the stairs.
George waves at me as I walk briskly to the park.
16
TESS
“Life’s treating you well, isn’t it?” George mutters, motioning me to the bench.
We both take a seat.
His little dog curls up on his lap and falls asleep as we root our eyes to the view. The lake sparkles in the sunlight, the wind making the water ripple.
“What makes you say that?” I ask,
Discreetly, I arrange my muffler, making sure it covers my skin.
He narrows his eyes and studies me for a moment.
“You look good. You got a little color in your cheeks,” he says, gesturing toward my face and smiling.
“It’s the sun, or perhaps the air,” I say, grinning as well.
He searches my eyes.
“Where’s Allan? I haven’t seen him in a while.”
My smile dies out.
“He’s on a business trip. He’s, um... working a lot lately,” I say, peeling my gaze away from him.
“That’s good,” he says. “He’s a good man,” he adds, his stare lingering on my face.
“Yes, he is,” I say, wracked with guilt.
I glance at him just as he shifts his gaze away from me and sets his eyes on the stretch of water.
“When I was young like you there were so many things I thought that were important.”
He pauses, smiling to a private thought as my eyes sweep his profile.
He looks at me as well, pondering for a moment.
“I guess it comes with age,” he says. “When you are very young, you have no perspective. You think that everything is equally important. You think that you have to prove yourself all the time. Sometimes at work, other times in your family, or relationships or whatnot. As you get older, or old like me I should say, you realize that many things have no relevance in the long run. Money is better than poverty, and health is important but other than that not much matters except for how you spent your life and who you spend it with. It took me a failed marriage to understand that.”
He gives me a small smile as my eyes widen with surprise.
“You didn’t know, did you? I’m surprised Maggie didn’t tell you.”
“She never mentioned it,” I say.
He tips his chin down a couple of times.
“Yeah. Eleanor wasn’t my first wife.”
He leans back in his seat, his dog still asleep on his lap.
“We got married young. Younger than you are now. We didn’t know much, and at the time, we did what everybody else was doing. We found someone and got married. We thought that we hit the jackpot, but it didn’t take long and we both realized that our marriage wasn’t working out for us. We weren’t in love with each other, and it took courage to admit it and file for divorce. I don’t know about her, but at the time, I thought I’d never find the woman I was looking for. All the young women around me were already married or engaged, and those older than me had already started their families. There weren’t that many people to choose from, so I did what I thought was the best thing for me. I tried to forget about marriage or finding someone new. And then I moved here. I got a new job and rented a small apartment. Most of my coworkers were men, but a few of
them were women. Almost all women were married, and those who weren’t wouldn't spare a glance in my direction. I was too young for them, and already failed at marriage. I wanted to teach but I said to myself to wait a little more before I leave the firm. And then one day, a woman was transferred to our company. She was older than me, and very reserved in our interactions. For the longest time, I thought she couldn’t stand me, but then I realized it had nothing to do with me. She was a widow who was still grieving after her husband. It took me a long time to convince her to give me a chance, but it was all worth it. One year later, we got married. We never called it love but that’s exactly what it was. We had a deep affection for each all those years we spent together. We didn’t meet at the best time of our lives, but somehow we made it work. It didn’t matter in the end which walk of life we came from. That’s how it dawned on me that some of the most beautiful stories of love stem from the deepest sorrow.”
He goes silent, and for a few moments, we watch the kids playing, the dogs running around, and the ducks flying off the lake.
“How did you know it wasn’t love?” I ask after a while.
I give him a side glance.
He shifts his eyes to me before he trains them on the water.
“Hmm... It wasn’t easy to figure it out because we were kind and caring for each other. To most people, that alone was love, but deep down inside, we knew it wasn’t. The kind of love we both needed was more than words or being friendly with each other. We longed for a deep connection, the kind of bond that you have with someone for a lifetime if all possible. It’s the familiarity that you feel before you even get to know the other person. And it’s the tension in your chest every time you think of him or her. It’s living in the other person’s head. Or getting lost in them. My first wife and I didn’t have all that... And that’s why we split.”
He pauses again.
I stay quiet as well, musing over his words.
“It’s nobody’s fault when things don’t work out,” he continues. “You don’t know. Or perhaps you get a little confused. Sometimes you’re blinded by the fact that you genuinely like that person, but liking someone is not the same as loving them.”
“I have this friend...” I say, my voice a little shaky.
He looks at me.
I clear my throat and try again.