Remembering You

by Stella MacLean

He gazes into my eyes, the sun glinting off his dark red hair while a smile raises the corners of his mouth. “I'll make it up to you tonight, Mrs. Ellison. I promise.”

  “l'll hold you to that,” I say, winking at him.

  He kisses me over the snap of flashbulbs and calls for “more.”

  “Are we ready to go to the reception?” asks Barry Snow, Graham’s best man and the driver of our landau carriage.

  “We're ready.”

  “Then we're off.” Barry gives us a jaunty salute as he reaches for the reins and snaps them gently.

  The crack and crunch of carriage wheels on gravel, the elegant way the horses move in rhythm, makes me glad I accepted Uncle Max’s offer to provide us with this horse-drawn carriage.

  I snuggle into Graham, delighting in the day and the dappled light through the arch of trees. We reach the end of the lane and begin to turn right onto the narrow country road when, out of the corner of my eye, I see Mrs. Barnaby’s pet terrier leaping and bobbing across the field of clover straight toward the team of horses.

  I love animals, all animals—except that yapping excuse for a dog. He’s a biter and a barker, and he’s headed straight for us. “Barry, look out!”

  Too late. The dog runs into the path of the horses. They rear up in unison, their front legs flailing the air. Then their hooves hit the ground with a bone-jarring thud, and the horses speed down the road toward the ditch, with us bouncing along behind them in the carriage.

  “Graham!” I scream.

  “Barry!” Graham yells.

  “Slow down, easy now," Barry calls out over the wind and the reins flying loose around him as he clings to the side of the carriage.

  “Barry, stop them!” Graham and I yell in unison as the carriage does a dip and dive through the rain-filled ditch, and up onto the other side with a rattling thump that tosses me up and over the seat.

  “Susan!” Graham grabs me around the waist to pull me back just as the horses swerve, throwing Barry onto the ground.

  Within seconds Barry’s a lump on the earth behind us as we gather speed and sail past a line of poplar trees. “Graham, stop these horses!” I shout, my nails digging into the back of the front seat.

  “I don’t know how,” he yells back, his words jerked from his lips like scraps of paper scattered to the wind.

  I can see that we aren’t far from the bank of the river...and I can’t swim. The ground is rushing past us; my bouquet flies away and in that terrifying moment I realize that only one action can save us.

  One of us has to rescue the reins.

  I dive forward into the driver's seat. But the metal hoop of my wedding dress catches on the back and I land headfirst on the floor. My shoulders are jammed against the seat, my rear end is in the air, and the skirt hoop of my wedding dress fans out to show the whole world my behind.

  “Graham!” I scream at the top of my lungs, bracing my hands on the floor.

  “Whoa, boys!” Graham yells above the wind and the racket of hooves and jangling harness.

  The horses come to an abrupt halt. Graham slams over the back of the seat, landing on his knees on the floor beside me.

  Our shock hangs like icicles over the sudden silence. Afraid that any move could send the horses on their merry way once more, we stare at each other upside down and wait anxiously.

  “What are they doing?” whisper as I wrestle my hands free of my skirt and try to turn myself upright in the narrow space.

  “Who?” Graham looks at me as if I'm speaking another language.

  “The horses,” I hiss at him.

  He peeks over the front of the carriage. “They're looking back at us.” Graham tilts his head, bird-like. “Your nose is really cute from this angle,” he says.

  “My nose?” Thinking he’s suffered a concussion, I peer at him from my upside-down position. “My nose?”

  “Never mind.” He reaches for me. “Here, let me help you.”

  “Forget about me. Get those reins in your hands and hold them. I don’t want those two taking off again. They're headed for the river.”

  “Yeah, you're right.” Cautiously Graham works his fingers through the reins dangling over the front of the carriage.

  I do a handstand that brings me back up on the seat, where I pull the hoop of my skirt into position. I arrange my wedding dress around me as carefully as I can—a difficult task in a seat meant for one scrawny driver. All this under the watchful eyes of a pair of skittish horses who seem to be waiting for some sort of signal from us.

  “What do we do now?” Graham asks softly, helping me arrange my floppy skirt and disheveled veil.

  “Have you ever driven a team of horses?” I ask quietly.

  “No, have you?”

  “No. Any ideas?” I ask.

  “Not at the moment.”

  Loath to let the horses know just how desperate we are, I glance behind us and see Barry limping across the field toward the carriage.

  “Maybe we don’t have to worry. Hold those reins absolutely steady,” I whisper. “I'll make a dash for reinforcements.”

  “No, I'll do it. You'll ruin your dress.”

  I look at the horses, the proximity of the river and back at Graham. “Honey, I can’t swim, and there’s no place to tether the horses.”

  Gathering my skirts and forcing the badly bent hoop into an irregular oval shape, I ease myself out of the carriage and start back toward Barry. The breeze catches the edge of my bent hoop and I feel my feet begin to lift from under me...

  * * *

  Remembering that day as if it were yesterday, I leaned my elbows on the table and ran my fingers over the miniature horse and carriage. “Yeah, that was quite a ride. I'll never forget the look on your father’s face when I told him I couldn’t swim.”

  “Continue the story. Did you make it to the hall, and how did your reception go?” Connor asked, laughing gently.

  “It went fine—once we managed to get the horses and the carriage out of the field and back on the road. Not trusting Uncle Max’s mode of transport anymore, we got a ride to the reception with one of the guests. I had a bump on my temple as big as a goose egg, and I spent the next little while in the ladies’ room with Sheila, my maid of honor, trying to comb my hair and fix my makeup.”

  “Was your dress all right?” Amy asked.

  “It was a disaster since part of the hem was torn out when I caught my heel in it. Sheila had a set of nail scissors with her and we snipped the hoop out of my skirt.”

  “Tell them what happened next,” Jonathan prompted as he toyed with the ornament, a wide smile on his face.

  “All the guests were staring at us when we got into the reception hall. I suppose they were wondering what went wrong after they saw us go flying down the road and across the fields. During the toast to the groom, Barry stood up in front of everyone with the knees torn out of his pants and his tie muddied, and wanted to know why Graham hadn't learned to drive a team of horses.”

  “What did Dad say?” Amy asked.

  “He said it didn’t matter whether he could drive a team of horses or not. He wouldn’t have missed that ride for the world. I can still see his smile when he leaned over and kissed me, pulling me up next to him. He said that racing over the fields with me at his side would be one of his fondest memories.”

  “And what did you say?” asked Connor.

  I had a sudden flash of insight, or was it memory? It had been a slow, winding road, our marriage, with its share of ups and downs.

  Those last days of Graham's illness had destroyed any illusions I had about the fairness of life, leaving me unable to trust in the future. And now I was about to give up my daughter to a life I’d have no part in, and I might also lose my daughter-in-law to a web of marital discord.

  Yet with my memories of Graham to guide me, I held to the hope that there were better days ahead.

  I returned to Connor’s question. “What did I say?” I glanced around the table at Jonathan, my oldest son, at A
my, the daughter of my dreams, at Thomas, who made Amy so happy, and finally at Connor, the son whose bravery and courage after his hockey accident taught us all a lesson about life.

  “I told your father and our wedding guests that I wouldn’t change places with anyone.”

  “Oh, Mom, that’s so sweet.” Amy sighed “I wish Dad was here for this.”

  “I do, too, but he’s not, and that’s what I wanted to say to all of you. This has been the hardest time of my life, and I would never have made it through without your love and support. But I’m ready to move forward. I’m not saying there won’t be more bad moments. However, I’m going to find a life that will satisfy me. Your father's letters made it clear that he wants me to be happy.”

  The room was silent except for the ticking of Uncle Max’s grandfather clock. Had I made a mistake? Maybe my children really weren't ready so hear me say those words.

  “This is wonderful news" Amy said a few seconds later, and the boys chimed in.

  * * *

  After the dishes were washed and put away, Jonathan entered the back porch where I was sitting alone with my thoughts, and sat down beside me.

  In the muted light, I studied his face, the familiar planes and angles, a poignant reminder of Graham. Yet as I looked at him, I could see that his face was different from his father’s. His lips were fuller, his cheekbones a little more prominent. And when he turned toward me, it struck me that Jonathan’s resemblance to his father was a genetic fact of life, but my son was his own person, and it was up to me to play down the resemblance and to see Jonathan as the man he was.

  “That was a great dinner, Mom,” he said.

  “Yes, and it was so nice having everyone together before Amy has to move to Atlanta. I imagine Connor is enjoying his time at Amy’s place, since he has to fly out tomorrow."

  “I'm on my way to the airport to pick up Linda. Are you going to be all right by yourself?”

  “More importantly, are you all right?”

  He sat back in his chair. “Yeah, Mom. I'Il be fine,” he said, linking his hands behind his head and staring up at the ceiling.

  Seeing my son twice in the past weeks had shown me how tired he was, how hard he worked. The fact that he and Linda had so little time for each other increased my concern about their future happiness.

  “Jonathan, whatever happens in the next few days with Linda, I want you to take it slow. You both need the chance to reconnect and give each other your undivided attention.”

  “We will. And thanks for what you said earlier.”

  “What's that?”

  “About telling her how much I love her. At first I didn’t think I could get the words out. Somehow, saying something like that made me feel vulnerable and afraid that if Linda didn’t feel the same way, I'd be making a complete fool of myself.”

  Oh, how I remember the fear of making a fool of myself for love, especially the day the lawyer's papers arrived.

  “And you made a hotel reservation for you and Linda?”

  “I did, Mom, but are you sure. you want to do this? I’ve explained to Megan that I’m going to pick up Mommy at the airport. She wanted to wait up for her mother. I read to her until she fell asleep, but she might fuss when she wakes up and we aren’t here.”

  “Hey, you’re talking to a professional mom. I can handle it. Go on. Spend the night with your wife. Or a few days if you need more time, I'll look after Megan.”

  He rose, kissed me on the cheek and crossed the porch in two easy strides. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “You're more than welcome.”

  Standing in the door, I watched him pull out of the driveway into the street. It had been a perfect day with a nearly perfect ending, I mused to myself. All that was needed to make it complete was for Jonathan and Linda to find their way back to each other.

  From across the lawn I heard Sam whistling. I hadn’t talked to him since the night he told me he loved me, I wasn’t sure how I felt or what to say, and Sam had been considerate enough not to press the issue. After the emotion of today, and the realization that in a few months I’d have no family living near me, I felt the need to connect with someone. “You can stop hiding in the bushes and have a glass of wine with me, if you like.”

  “Thought you’d never ask,” he said, vaulting across the dug-up area where the hedge had been. “Did I tell you they’re coming tomorrow to put in the new fence?”

  “No, you didn’t, but if you'll help me with the wine glasses and the bottle, we can sit on the porch and you can tell me the whole story.”

  “Oh, I have a lifetime of stories to tell you.”

  We settled on the porch with a bottle of Merlot on the table between us, a magical night surrounded by neighborhood sounds: Bernie French playing his piano two houses away, a sprinkler wheezing next door and laughter emanating from across the street.

  “Did you have a good dinner?” Sam asked, taking a sip of his wine.

  “Yes. And I’m babysitting Megan for a day or two. Jonathan has gone to the airport to pick up Linda. She’s arriving on a red-eye flight from Seattle.”

  “So this would have been your fortieth anniversary.”

  “Yeah, and we had a great time tonight. But it was sort of bittersweet, since this will probably be one of the last meals I’ll have with Amy and Thomas for a while. They’re moving to Atlanta.”

  “Oh, dear.” Sam reached out and squeezed my hand. “Are you all right with that?”

  “I have to be. It’s her life.” I glanced over, waiting for him to remove his hand from mine.

  He didn't. Instead he moved his chair closer. “Susan Ellison, you don’t always have to be strong. In fact, I'm willing and able to be strong for you.”

  His eyes connected with mine, and in the shadowed light of the porch, I saw such warmth and concern in them, I wanted to cry out. “Sometimes I wish I could wave a magic wand and make everything okay for my family,” I said, all the pent-up worry over any children suddenly rushing forward.

  “What’s wrong, Susan?”

  My heart twisted at the sight of this man sitting so close to me, a man willing to show he cared by listening to my concerns. “I can’t let Amy know it, but I’m devastated at the thought of her leaving. I’m panicked by the possibility that Linda and Jonathan may get a divorce. I’m not sure I can cope alone.”

  “Susan, you’re not alone. You haven't been since the day you moved in here. When I saw you that first day with your blond hair pulled up off your face, the look of excitement in your blue eyes as you strolled around the property I was hooked.”

  “Sam, I wish I could tell you I—“

  “Don't. You don't have to say anything. Just listen. I’ve waited years for you. And I'll wait years more if have to.”

  Overwhelmed by his words and the love I saw in his eyes, I leaned closer and kissed him. But what started out as a kiss of appreciation changed instantly as he took my head in his hands, angling my lips to his. With a groan, he pulled me to my feet and held me against him.

  Clinging to him, I pressed my body to his, savoring the moment. He kissed my lips, my face, running his fingers over my back...

  “Sam,” I gasped, my body quivering in anticipation, “We can’t do this. I have a child asleep upstairs, and Connor’s coming home...”

  Slowly he smoothed the hair from my face, his breathing erratic, his eyes dark. “Susan, I want you, but not unless the time is right.”

  “I want you. I do.” I said, pressing my body to his.

  Sam leaned his head back, his chest heaving beneath my fingers. “I’ve waited too long to settle for casual sex. For me, making love is just that—making love to someone I care about, someone who cares about me. Are you all right with that?”

  “Of course.” Not knowing what else to say, I sat back down in the chair and waited for my pulse to slow.

  Silence filled the space between us, and somehow the night seemed less magical.

  Sam left shortly after that, and I went into the
house to wait for Connor to return from Amy’s. I rattled around my empty house, putting the place mats back in the drawer, feeding Fergus and making myself a solitary cup of tea. And all I could think about was Sam.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Two days later, after I’d driven Connor to the airport and dropped Megan off at Amy’s, I arrived back home to find workmen putting the finishing touches on the new wrought-iron fence.

  “What do you think, Mrs. Ellison?” asked Darnell Sparks, a young man who'd been a student of mine, as he closed the tailgate of his Ford half ton. He’d had only passing interest in history and geography, but he was a whiz at anything mathematical.

  “Lovely,” I announced, searching Sam’s property for some sign of him.

  As the truck pulled away from the curb, I heard Sam whistling tunelessly somewhere near the back of his house. After the other night I wasn’t sure how to behave around him. I wanted to see him again, of that much I was certain, but after that... I fiddled with the branches of a wisteria as I waited to see if he'd come over.

  I didn’t have long to wait.

  “What do you say we celebrate?” he asked, coming across the lawn and around the new fence with a bottle of champagne and two tapered flutes in his hands.

  I had to acknowledge, at least to myself, that the sight of Sam walking toward me made my day. “A celebration is definitely in order.”

  I followed him up the steps to the back porch and settled into what had become my wicker chair while Sam tucked his long body into his.

  With the skill of a barman, he popped the cork on the champagne and poured. “Here you are,” he said, his voice filled with pleasure.

  “A toast,” I said. “To our new fence.”

  “And to good times ahead for both of us.”

  “I believe you're right.”

  “I am. You and I have become friends, and we’ve got lots of opportunities to explore the possibility of more. In the meantime, we can simply enjoy each other’s company,” Sam said.

  "I'm feeling really lucky.”

  “Do I have that effect on you?” he asked, hope shining in his eyes.