Remember This

by Patricia Koerner

  On a day when a cool fall breeze was blowing around swirls of fallen leaves, I received a letter from John. It was postmarked Los Angeles, so what I’d heard about him and Rachel was true. Matty was now in school all day, so I had time to brace myself for whatever news the letter held.

  September 27, 1986

  Dearest Hannah,

  Please forgive me for not keeping in touch, but after what happened when your mother died, I thought it was best and what you wanted.

  I wanted to be the one to tell you that Rachel and I have a daughter, Kylie. She was born five days ago and is beautiful and healthy, thank God. I know a family is something you and I had planned for and I wasn’t sure I wanted children after that, but Rachel did and I felt I should give her the family she wants. She’s a sweet girl and I know she’ll make a good mother.

  When I moved to New York to be in Mean Streets, I could sense something was different between us, that there was distance. I took it as a sign that you no longer loved me. That’s why I didn’t see you again and began seeing Rachel. I realized later that I was probably wrong and it tears me up even now to know that I may well have blown our chance to get back what we had.

  I came back to California because Rachel wanted to, but that was only part of the reason. The other was that my feelings for you are still so strong, that I felt putting physical distance between us was advisable. That said, I don’t want to lose you from my life. I will always want to hear from you. So, please keep in touch with me. I talked to Danny last week and he has agreed to pass your letters on to me. Remember this – I will love you forever.

  Love,

  John

  As I refolded the letter and returned it to the envelope, I remembered he described Rachel again as ‘a nice sweet girl.’ Was that all he could say about her? It was a punch in the gut to know he now had a child with her, and a little girl at that. I seriously considered breaking off contact with him, but the thought of that hurt even more, so the following day I wrote him back and, as per the arrangement, included that letter with one to Danny.

  32

  The next June, I completed my Master’s. Dad had a movie premiering at the end of the month. So, we decided to incorporate both into one big family event. Matty and I met Dad and Danny at the airport. I was happy to see Dad back to his old self. I knew work would help him move on from Mother’s death.

  I could have sworn that I heard Dad, Danny and Matty cheering as I walked up to accept my diploma. It meant so much to share this moment with them. Though I felt John’s absence and especially Mother’s, it was still one of the brightest days of my life, a day I saw the completion of an achievement I worked for not for money, not to fulfill anyone else’s expectations, but simply for the pleasure of it.

  That night, after Dad had returned to the hotel and Matty was asleep, Danny pulled out an envelope from his jacket pocket and placed it on the coffee table in front of me. I knew immediately what it was. “I was waiting for the right moment to give you this,” he said. “He gave it to me a couple of days before we came and asked me to bring it personally rather than him mailing it as usual.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “Nope. I’d better get back to the hotel. It’s getting late.” He smiled and nodded towards the letter.

  Dad’s movie was, I thought, a rather silly farce. I was happy to see Matty enjoying it, though. He was so proud of his grandfather. He kept telling Dad, “I want to be an actor like you, Granddad.” Dad knew this was likely a passing fancy, but I also noticed he didn’t exactly discourage Matty. I think he rather liked the idea of having another actor in the family.

  Later that week, I went to the first major exhibition at the gallery Danny and Patrick now owned. I noticed among the works which were on permanent display, some of Mother’s paintings. Danny said he wasn’t yet ready to part with them, but he wanted to keep her work before the public and not let her be forgotten.

  When everyone there was occupied, Danny motioned me into his office. When he closed the door, he opened a drawer in his desk and took out a folded piece of paper and a set of keys. On the paper was written an address in Pacific Palisades. “It’s our friend Keith’s apartment. He’s on his way to Tokyo as we speak for a business meeting and won’t be back until Thursday. He gave Pat and me permission to put you up there. I gave John this address too and he’ll meet you there tonight after rehearsal. Expect him around eleven.”

  “Thank you, Danny for doing this for us.” I kissed him and gave him a long hug. In the taxi on the way to Keith’s, I recalled John’s letter to me. In addition to loving words of congratulations and encouragement, he asked me to see him when I was in California. “Even if it’s just for dinner or drinks,” he said, “I want to see you, to talk to you. Please say you will.” After hesitating and changing my mind several times, I asked Danny to discreetly arrange a meeting. I’d told Dad that I was going to be late and that I’d probably stay at Danny’s, so he wouldn’t expect me home.

  Keith had generously stocked his kitchen so I cooked breakfast in the morning for John and me. Over the meal, we talked about our children. I had to brace myself to hear about his daughter and look at her photo, but I have to admit, she was a darling baby. I laughed when he told me about the play he was rehearsing. It was a modern take on ‘The Merry Wives of Windsor.’ John was playing Sir Hugh Evans and he performed a short bit of it for me. I was sorry I couldn’t stay in California long enough to see the performance. When he left, I knew I would miss him, but I was glad for the time together because one day with John was worth to me a year with anyone else. I was so grateful to Keith, I left a thank-you note and $100.

  The next day, Matty and I returned to New York. When we entered the apartment, I was horrified to see it had been burglarized. A bedroom window had been jimmied open. My TV and jewelry box had been taken of course, and my typewriter and my passport. My medicine cabinet had been ransacked. My stereo had been moved away from the wall and the speakers unplugged, but since it was still there, I assume the thieves were scared off before they could finish dismantling it. It could have been much worse. The passport had expired and so was useless to them and I kept only costume jewelry in the box. Still, I felt violated and no longer safe in my own home. I phoned the police and they came and dusted for fingerprints and took a cursory look around, but they held out little hope that either the thieves or my property would be found. Neither ever was.

  I phoned Tony and asked him to keep Matty until I could move to a safer place. At first, he didn’t want to be bothered, but when he arrived and saw the state of my apartment, he changed his mind and agreed to take Matty. He then helped me secure the window and nail it shut.

  It took about a month, but finally an apartment on 91st and Eighth Avenue became available. It wasn’t nearly as nice as the one I’d had, but the building was solid and looked as if breaking in would be much more difficult. On top of that, it had been left in a filthy condition and it would take me three entire days to make it livable. Safety and security were my priorities however, and I just dealt with it. Once I moved in, it didn’t seem so bad and I was able to make it a safe and comfortable home for Matty and me.

  I then wanted to spend time with Matty and to make up some for the trauma of the break-in and the hasty move. I thought a day at Coney Island would do the trick. As Matty enjoyed the swimming, rides and hot dogs, I remembered the day John and I spent there almost fifteen years before. I could have felt sad at the memory, I suppose, but I didn’t. I relished it. I was lucky to have had John in my life. I wouldn’t be the person I am now if not for him.

  33

  Present Day (August 7th):

  “Can we get together Sunday or Monday instead of tomorrow, Hannah?” Sophie asked. “I want to go to the New York Renaissance Faire up in Tuxedo Park tomorrow to do a write-up on it for the local paper. A friend of mine who is an editor there offered me the assignment.”

  Hannah clamped her hand over the receiver so Sophie couldn’t hear he
r laugh. As she brought it back to her ear, she heard Sophie say, “Hannah, are you there?”

  “I’m here. Coincidentally, I was planning to phone you to ask the same thing for the same reason. I thought I’d attend this year and my friend Rob Barnett, whom I know from the Consortium, is one of those who puts the Faire together every year. I’ll introduce you to him and you can get the inside scoop. I’ve already reserved a rental car and there’s plenty of room for you.”

  “Are you going to play this today?” Sophie picked up a long thin box from the front seat as she got in the car.

  “No. Rob asked me to play one or two pieces with the group today, but I couldn’t. I was afraid that like with the piano, I wouldn’t be able to play. I brought the recorder mostly for you, in case you wanted to write anything about it for your piece.”

  Sophie removed the recorder from the box and turned it slowly around, examining it. “So, basically, it’s a flute then?”

  “Pretty much. For centuries, recorders in various sizes and pitches were the primary wind instruments. Its main drawback is the difficulty controlling the volume. Once more sophisticated instruments like the clarinet and oboe were developed and proved more suitable for orchestral ensembles, recorders were relegated mostly to folk and early music.”

  “That’ll make a good sidebar,” said Sophie as she replaced the instrument in its box. “Hey, what does this Hebrew writing on it say?”

  “It says ‘Made in Israel.’”

  They stopped in White Plains to rest and stretch their legs. “Eddie and I finally set the date – October third,” Sophie said as the two women carried their sandwiches and drinks outside to eat them on the café’s patio. “The weather should be nice, Eddie can get time off and our project should be with the publishers by then.”

  Resuming the trip, Hannah turned the car west from Tarrytown toward Tuxedo Park. Soon, they reached the lakeside village and proceeded along a two lane road that ran parallel to the lake and was lined with trees. The road was dappled with sunlight coming through the trees. Hannah slowed down some to enjoy the tranquil scene. She noticed some of the leaves on the trees had just a tinge of yellow. She imagined how they would be ablaze with gorgeous color by the time Sophie got married.

  When Hannah and Sophie reached the Faire, it was in full swing. They pulled into one of the last parking spaces available on the gravel lot. As they walked on towards the group of tents some one hundred yards away, they heard drums, music and the roar of a cheering crowd.

  “Must be a dramatic performance ending,” remarked Hannah.

  A jongleur suddenly appeared in front of them, startling Sophie with his painted grinning face. He danced a jig while he juggled four small balls. When he finished, Hannah pressed a few bills into his hand. The jongleur bowed extravagantly and without a word, disappeared as quickly as he had appeared.

  A woman, fully decked out as Elizabeth I, passed and she did so, nodded to Hannah and Sophie. “Have you ever thought of putting together a get-up like that?” Sophie laughed, jerking her head towards the ersatz queen as she swayed out of sight.

  “This,” said Hannah, indicating her broomstick skirt, embroidered peasant top and leather boots, “is as close as it gets for me. This is where I draw the line, so, no.” She reached into the tote bag she was carrying and drew out a hat, flat and round like a beret, with a narrow brim and decorated with a feather. Putting it on, she said, “OK, this is where I draw the line.”

  Soon, they found the tent where the Consortium was performing. They took seats and while Sophie made notes on her iPad, Hannah listened as the Consortium played a Gagliard and a Saltarello. Hannah remembered playing the recorder at the Faire and other venues some twenty-five years before and she felt a pang of sadness that she didn’t feel able to join the group today.

  When the performance ended, Hannah spotted Barnett and called to him over the crowd. Barnett was a bearded stocky man who carried himself with a regal air when in costume, reminding Hannah of Henry VIII in his prime. “Hannah! I’m glad you decided to come after all.” He took Hannah’s hands in his. Noticing Sophie, he said, “and this is lass is …”

  “Sophie Alessandro. She’s here to write an article about the Faire for the local paper.”

  “Ah, yes. Kenny Shaffer phoned me and asked if I’d give an interview to a reporter he was sending. I take it this is she?”

  “Yes, and as a personal favor to me, try not to overwhelm her, OK Rob?” Hannah and Barnett both laughed. Seeing a wary look come onto Sophie’s face, Hannah said, “Rob here is the person to ask anything about the Faire. He’s been helping to put it together since the first one back in 1978.”

  The three of them walked around the Faire, Barnett and Sophie in front, Hannah following behind. Every so often, they would pause to rest and so Sophie could enter notes into her pad. They visited food booths, one of which served ale, supposedly brewed using the same techniques used in the 16th century. All three bought a mug. For Hannah, it definitely hit the spot as she was quite hot and tired by now. Another booth featured a demonstration of techniques of spinning wool using a spinning wheel.

  Once Sophie had what she needed for her piece, she and Hannah prepared to leave, as Hannah wanted to be back in the City before dark. “You’ve done a spectacular job as always, Rob,” Hannah said, giving Barnett a hug, “and thank you, especially for giving Sophie your time.”

  “I wish you could have played with us. We’d have loved having you.”

  Hannah smiled, thinking how she would have loved to play again if only her music would return. “Maybe next year, Rob. There’s always next year.”

  As they drove by the lake on the way back, Sophie rolled down her window and leaned out, letting the late afternoon sun warm her face and the breeze ruffle her hair. They passed a couple walking with two small children. “Think that’ll be Eddie and me in five years?”

  “That depends. You, I can see with a family, but is Eddie up for it?”

  “Oh yes. We discussed kids of course, and he knows I want them. I had a happy childhood in a close family and I want that experience again. Eddie wasn’t so lucky. His parents divorced when he was only three. Still, I think he has the makings of a good dad.”

  It was nearly dark when Hannah pulled up in front of the row house where Sophie and her family lived. “Why don’t we wait until Tuesday or Wednesday to get back to work? That will give you time to write and submit your article,” Hannah said. “I’m looking forward to reading it.”

  ***

  “I sent you a copy of my piece on the Renaissance Faire just before I left this morning,” Sophie said as she entered Hannah’s apartment. “I finished it last night and submitted it just under the deadline. I went over and over it to be absolutely sure it was right.”

  “I haven’t seen it yet, but I have faith that it is excellent,” Hannah said as she set out the customary iced tea and glasses. “You’re a very talented writer and I am fortunate to have you writing my story.”

  “Thank you. It means a lot to me to hear you say that.”

  After a moment, Sophie turned on the recorder. “When you reconnected with John that summer, did you think the two of you might get back together after all?”

  34

  October 1987:

  I didn’t dare entertain any hopes for that. John now would have to leave a wife and child. One appellation I did not want was ‘home wrecker.’ Such a thing would have certainly poisoned our relationship. Still, we loved each other so much, it would have been just too painful to completely sever contact, so we continued as before, writing letters and passing them via Danny.

  That year, John got a recurring role in Happy Valley, a sitcom, as Jerry, the intrusive know-it-all next door neighbor. When I watched the show, I thought that his character was rather clichéd, obviously written as a foil for the main character, but he did so well in it that over time, John became as popular with the show’s viewers as the regular cast. He told me in one of his letters that he h
ad more fun playing that role than any other he’d ever had up until then.

  I wanted to expand my music research, this time into world music. At that time, world music was just beginning to attract attention outside the academic world. I had heard of all women’s orchestras in Thai classical music and wanted to explore women’s participation in traditional music. I also wanted to study the music itself and perhaps incorporate it into my own compositions much as I had with early music. I presented a research proposal to the Music Department at Columbia and was delighted when it was accepted.

  By mid-October, Tony hadn’t visited Matty since the school year started, so when he dropped by one evening out of the blue, I could tell something was terribly wrong. His face was drained of color and he was near tears. “I want to visit with Matty for a bit,” he said.

  “On a school night?” Without phoning first? And why now, when you haven’t visited him for over a month?”

  “I’ve been talking to my dad. He says Mum is sick, very sick. She went to the doctor for what she thought was gall bladder trouble. Tests showed it to be cancer – stage three. She’s had radiation and all, but it hasn’t helped.” Tony sat down at the dining table and started fiddling with his keys, a nervous habit he had. “Day after tomorrow, I’m flying to London to be with her. I don’t know how long I’ll be there. That’s why I want to see Matty.”

  Tony wanted to take Matty to dinner so he could explain to him about his grand mum’s illness and that he would be away for a while. While they were out, I thought about Vivian and recalled that of all Tony’s family, she was the only one with whom I established a rapport. I never connected with Tony’s two sisters-in-law, even though they were much closer to my own age. I felt sad for Vivian. She didn’t deserve this.