Remember This

by Patricia Koerner

  Hannah laughed. “It’s a little late for that now, don’t you think?”

  “As I’ve been writing this story, I have come to realize what I want to do, what I want to write. I want to write the story behind the story of people’s lives. I don’t mean sleazy exposes, but their lives from their perspective, in their words, like I’ve been doing for you.”

  “I imagine that every life story has something unique those who read it can take away with them and I think you have the innate ability to discern what that something is and present it to your readers. I wish you nothing but the best of luck in your endeavors and I look forward to reading your future work.”

  “Speaking of work, I e-mailed Graham and told him we’d submit the last part by the 15th. He wants to know if we plan to include a dedication page or a preface.”

  “I want to.” Hannah went to her desk and took out a notebook and pen. She sat down and bent over the notebook, writing her thoughts as they came to her. “I’m going to say that this book was written to tell not only my story, but John’s,” she said. “People can judge me, my actions, my choices, but they will damned well know that though John was not perfect, not a saint, he was a wonderful man. He gave everything he had unreservedly to his work and to the people he loved. Those of us who loved him and were loved by him realize how lucky we were, I especially, because he saved me. He saved my life and he saved my soul. So, my dedication will be: ‘To John Robert Eaton – my first love, my last love.’”

  “Be happy you didn’t live here when 9/11 happened. It was such a huge kick in the gut to all of us. Walking the streets, you could feel the grief, fear and anger coming from people as you passed them. I think it was at least a year before we even began to feel normal again. I feel so sad about Greg and so sorry for Cindy.” Sophie positioned the recorder on the table. “When you moved back to New York, did you ever reconnect with Cindy?”

  “Yes, just once.”

  53

  August 2005:

  One afternoon I was on the Columbia campus gathering materials for the classes I would be teaching during the upcoming semester. I had just exited Butler Library to make my way towards the subway station, when I spotted a woman who looked oddly familiar. As I got closer, I saw that it was Cindy Barnes.

  “Cindy? What brings you here?”

  “Hannah! I could ask the same thing of you. I thought you were living in Utah.”

  “I was. But I got homesick for New York and moved back last year. How has it been going for you and the kids?”

  “Ethan is starting graduate school at UPenn – business, like his father. Emily is here at freshman orientation. That’s why I’m here. When she finishes, we’re going to dinner and a play, just the two of us, a sort of girls’ night out.” Her smile was the same as I remembered it, but there was still a trace of sadness in her eyes. “Tell me about Matty. I imagine he’s quite a young man now.”

  “He’s in Seattle, working in his father’s record company. He wants to go to law school. He’s going to sit for the LSAT next spring.” I was beginning to sweat under the hot sun. “Do you want to find someplace shady while you wait for Emily?”

  Cindy nodded and as we walked, I told her I was teaching at Columbia and was there preparing for my upcoming classes.

  “Do you ever see John?” she asked me.

  I was caught off guard by her question and it took me a moment to formulate an answer. “N-No, not really,” I stammered. “Seeing that he’s in California and quite busy I’m sure, with work and … his family.”

  We sat down on a bench under a tree. Cindy gazed upward as she collected her thoughts. “Before he was killed,” she finally said, “Greg and I dreamt of going to New Orleans for Mardi Gras. He always wanted us to visit the birthplace of jazz music. But, we kept putting it off, saying we’ll go once the kids are out of school, when we’ve saved more money. We thought we had plenty of time.” She turned back to me. “We never know how long we’ll have the people we love. It’s a mistake not to be with them, to love and cherish them and to fulfill your dreams together while you can.” She laid her hand on my arm. “I hope you don’t make the same mistake, Hannah.”

  I was about to ask what she meant by that when I heard a girl’s voice behind us. “Oh there you are, Mom. I was about to call you.” I turned to see Emily walking toward Cindy and me, cell phone in hand.

  “You remember Hannah, don’t you?” Cindy asked, stroking her daughter’s smooth dark hair.

  The girl looked at me with Greg’s dark eyes and smiled shyly. “Yes. You were at my Dad’s … memorial service. How are you?” Turning to her mother, she said, “I’m done. Can we go for Thai food?”

  “Of course, Honey. You know I’m game for anything.”

  Before you go, Cindy,” I said, “I’d like to get together with you sometime. We can go for dinner. Maybe a concert?”

  “I’d love to, but I can’t. Emily and I are going home tonight.” Seeing the confused look on my face, Cindy explained, “After Greg was killed, I couldn’t stand to be in the City anymore. The next spring, the kids and I moved. We live in Berwyn, Pennsylvania now. I won’t be coming back. I only came today to be with Emily. After you and John came to Greg’s memorial, I’ve hoped that I would see you again sometime, and have a chance to talk with you. I guess today was a lucky day.” She put her arms around me and held me a long moment. “Goodbye, Hannah.”

  I never saw either of them again. As I watched them walk away, I pondered Cindy’s words, but I had no idea then how prophetic they were.

  Laurie’s birthday was coming up on October 7th and I’d spotted a brooch at a store downtown that I thought would perfectly match a knit top I saw her wear. It was Saturday, so I planned to go buy it and have it sent to her as well as run a few other errands. I was just about to leave my apartment when the phone rang.

  “Hannah, its James.”

  I felt my spine tingle. Laurie and I phoned or e-mailed one another at least a couple of times a month, but James never called me.

  “Laurie was in an accident Thursday. There was another accident on the freeway and she slowed down to go around it. The driver behind her didn’t see – maybe she wasn’t paying attention, I don’t know. Anyway, she hit Laurie from behind still going 60. Laurie had nowhere to go but right into the car in front of her. It took two hours to pry her out of her car.” James stopped talking for a minute and I waited until he could continue. “After twenty-four hours, she wasn’t responding to any stimuli. The doctors didn’t give her much chance even to regain consciousness, much less recover, so her mother and I allowed her to be taken off life support. We stayed with her until it was over. We believe it was what she would have wanted.”

  I was in tears by now, but I managed to tell James I would be on the next flight I could get to Los Angeles. I canceled my two classes for the next week and e-mailed my students their assignments for that period.

  I phoned John, but had to leave a message. He wasn’t able to call back until late that night. “I only now got your message. I could barely understand it, you were so upset. Can you tell me now what’s happened?”

  I told John what James told me and I had booked a flight early Monday morning. “The funeral is scheduled for Tuesday. Also, I thought since I’d be out there anyway, I’d go up to Monterey afterwards and see Dad.”

  “Tell me your flight number and your arrival time. I’ll meet you. I don’t want you to be alone through this.”

  At the funeral, I was glad to see James’ parents were up from Oceanside to support him. I told John later how glad I was that he was there for me.

  “I was here mostly for you, but I wanted to be here for Laurie also. She did so much for us over the years.” I nodded in agreement. I knew what he meant.

  I came back to New York straight from Monterey the following Sunday, satisfied, for the time being anyway, that Dad was doing all right. A change in his blood pressure medication had caused a little dizziness, but the episodes had subsided. O
n the plane, I remembered back to Laurie’s and my First Communion. We sat together and held each other’s hand tight all through the Mass, we were so nervous. Once home, I found a photo of the two of us taken that day in our little white dresses and veils, still holding hands. I wanted to keep that memory with me, so I bought a frame for the photo and today it still sits on my dresser.

  54

  After the Christmas holidays, John accompanied his daughter Kylie back to school at her mother’s alma mater, Coker College in Hartville, South Carolina. Once she was settled in, he came up to New York. He had exciting news.

  He’d just gotten a role in a film, Return to India, a story set at the end of the British Raj. John was playing an aide to Viceroy Mountbatten. Location filming was to begin in June and run through September.

  “I suggested you as someone to work on the music. Does it sound like something you would want to do?” he asked.

  “Something I would want to do? I’d almost kill for the chance.”

  “Well, you don’t have to do that.” John said dryly. He handed me a business card. “Just phone Bob Ivors’ assistant and set up a meeting with Bob. If you want, Ron can act as your agent.”

  Ever since I worked with Terpsichore in Utah, I’d wanted to study Indian dance and dance music, especially Kathak. Terpsichore’s dancers incorporated Kathak steps and movements into their choreography. While it wasn’t necessary for me to go to India to write the score, I saw it as a good excuse to make the trip.

  On June 8th, I flew first to Los Angeles, where I met John. We then continued to Calcutta and then Lucknow, in the state of Uttar Pradesh. John and I took a place together; a beautiful little house, a cottage really. Months earlier, I had contacted Professor Prasad Sharma, the head of the Music & Theatre Department at the University of Lucknow and he was more than happy to assist me in my research. Not too many Americans showed interest in Kathak, apparently.

  Professor Sharma put me in touch with Sitara Bhawani, a former dancer and now teacher of classical dance who lived in Jaipur, in the neighboring state of Rajasthan. Near the end of July, I traveled by rail to Jaipur for a week and met with her, who invited me to watch her students perform. Kathak is a storytelling dance, the steps and movements relating stories of the Hindu deities, or of historical figures. I noted that while the dances I saw in Lucknow were graceful, with elegant movements, those in Jaipur featured strong rhythms and boisterous, showy movements. This contrast suggested the title of my paper, The Yin and Yang of Kathak Dancing.

  When I finished my research in Jaipur, Sitara invited me to extend my stay. I stayed two extra days and went with Sitara to the Hawa Mahal and the Sri Kali Temple, two of Jaipur’s main attractions.

  Walking into the house back in Lucknow, my mouth began watering as my nose detected the most enticing odor. John came out of the kitchen. “My love, prepare to enjoy the best chicken tandoori you’ve ever tasted.” And it was. It most surely was.

  I had to return to New York several weeks before filming wrapped to finish the score, my paper and prepare for the two classes I was going to teach Fall Semester. By Christmas, my paper had been published, and Return to India, the only film project John and I both worked on, was being released. Not long afterward, I learned that my score was on the short list for Oscar nomination.

  My disappointment in again not winning was mitigated by being with John. I went up to Monterey to see Dad and Mabel. He was getting frail. His doctor said his kidneys were failing and he would need to go on dialysis. I seriously considered moving back to California to help care for him, but Dad wouldn’t hear of it. I went home feeling anxious, but a couple of weeks later, I received a reassuring call from Dad that the dialysis was working and he felt much better.

  On Mother’s Day, Matty phoned me as he never failed to do. This time, he told me that he had just gotten his acceptance letter to Stanford Law School. All of us – Matty, Tony and Deirdre, and myself had been waiting for months to see which of the three law schools Matty applied to would admit him. Stanford was Matty’s first choice and we were excited for him. I asked how Tony was taking losing his business manager.

  “Well, as we discussed when I first said I wanted to go into law, I knew Dad might not react well, so from the beginning, I made sure he was aware that I would leave at some point for law school. I did everything I could to prepare him. I helped find someone to replace me and even trained the guy we hired. Deep down, Dad knows this is what I’ve wanted for a long time. Knowing that, I think he made up his mind to just accept it.”

  “I’m happy to know that,” I said. “I was ready to have a talk with him and impart to him a little reason, but I see now I won’t need to. I’m so proud of you. Handling your father as well as you have is proof you have the skills of a good lawyer.”

  55

  In June, John and Rachel attended his daughter Kylie’s graduation from Coker College. After visiting with Rachel’s family, Rachel and the kids returned to California, but John came up to New York for a few days.

  “Beginning next month, I’m going to be living in Miami,” he told me. “I got the part in D.E.A. and we’re filming the season there, so I’ll be staying there until the end of next April.”

  The series was popular enough that I often heard it discussed on the subway and by the students on campus and had read articles on it in the media. The previous season, set in Tucson, set new records for gore and violence, so it definitely wasn’t on my viewing list. I already knew the upcoming season was to be set in Miami and that John was up for the Miami Mike role, but I had a hard time imagining him playing a vicious drug lord. John was a gifted actor, but I had a feeling this was going to be a stretch even for him.

  At Thanksgiving, John got a break in filming and came up to New York. I was pleasantly surprised, as I assumed he would spend the holiday with Rachel and the kids, even if only for appearances’ sake.

  “No,” John said. “As the years have passed and the kids have gotten older, we bother less and less with the pretense. Besides, neither Kylie nor Robby will be there. Kylie will be with her boyfriend at his parents’ and Robby was invited home with a friend from school. It would only be Rachel and me at the table, eating in cold silence.” He took my hands and held them. “Besides, I want to be with you. I’m so glad you didn’t have other plans.”

  “You may change your mind once I put you to work helping me cook.”

  “May I remind you,” he called, following me out the door as I headed for the market, “I am quite handy in the kitchen.”

  I’d been watching D.E.A. all season and was impressed with the creativity of the story writers, but I was still appalled at the graphic violence and copious bloodletting. I told John, “I hope you keep a safe distance from those alligators your character keeps and calls his ‘pets.’”

  He laughed. “I promise, my love, I never get near them. When we shoot the scenes where Mike throws them his rivals and suspected police informants, there is only an empty pool of water. Romeo and Juliet are filmed separately, then the parts are put together.”

  On Saturday, it was chilly but sunny, so we decided on a walk in Central Park. I had my camera with me, hoping to get an opportunity for some good photos. I noticed a bench between two trees that looked oddly familiar. As we drew closer, it dawned on me.

  “John,” I said, turning to him. “We have to have a picture taken here. This is where we first kissed. Don’t you remember?”

  “I don’t remember the bench particularly. What I remember is how sweet it was, and that I was so nervous and excited, I almost passed out.”

  We sat down and waited for someone to come by that we could ask to take the photograph. Presently, just as John and I were getting cold, a group of tourists passed by. I called to them and one of them, a friendly young man named Josef, agreed to take our picture. He moved back and forth, trying to find just the right angle. Finally, he held up his hand and said, “Ja! Ja!” Then snapped two shots. John and I offered him payment, but Jose
f shook his head and said all he wanted was the quickest way to the Empire State Building and the best Japanese restaurant we knew.

  After Josef and his companions headed off to ascend the Empire State Building and sample some sushi, John took me by the hand and led me back to the bench. “There’s one more thing,” he said. He leaned in and kissed me, at first gentle and sweet, then deeper, just as he did thirty-five years before. “Hmmm, still sweet.”

  I was enjoying my first day of Christmas break when a courier delivered a package. It was from John. When I removed the outer wrapping, I recognized the distinctive red box and knew at once which shop in Palm Beach it had come from. I opened it to find a hinged bracelet in the shape of an alligator, its body paved with green crystals, the eyes two yellow stones that I swear glow in the dark. The accompanying card read

  Merry Christmas

  Love, “Mike”

  I shook my head. “Very funny,” I said out loud. “Merry Christmas to you, too.”

  56

  “OK, everyone,” I told my freshman music history class. “That’s it. Enjoy your Spring Break and come back ready to jump into the Romantic Period.”

  “What are you doing for Spring Break, Professor Newman?” one girl asked.

  “Tuesday, I’m flying down to Fort Lauderdale, where I am going to spend a week going to the beach, going clubbing and anything else fun I can think of.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” she said, suppressing a giggle.

  “I most certainly am not.”

  I wasn’t. Weeks before, John told me that there was going to be a break in filming. We decided I would go down and we would have a Spring Break of our own.