Requiem

by London Saint James

  “Of course,” I said. “I really was going to call you today.”

  Doctor Carlyle smiled with a low laugh. “I am truly happy to see you. You still look wonderful dear, absolutely beautiful. I cannot believe how long it has been. Please come tonight around six. We will have dinner and catch up.”

  “I will be there,” I said. He hugged me again.

  “Wonderful! I am so pleased. We will see you tonight, dear.” He smiled a gentle smile, touched my cheek tenderly then he turned and walked down the path. I noticed a slight limp as he left.

  I made my way back the hotel. Not only did I need to gather my composure, but I also had much to do in order to prepare for the evening.

  At five-fifteen, I gathered up my coat and headed for the door of my suite. I stopped momentarily to look at myself in the mirror before I left. Anxious would be an understatement, because I was extremely nervous about going to the Carlyles’. I had pulled my hair up. This allowed some strands to curl down in long pieces around my face and neck. I wore a dark green dress, in hope to give my long dead eyes some life. It would be a hard night so I wanted to do all I could to get through the evening, and of course, cause as little pain as possible for the Carlyles. While I knew of the impossibility to fully hide all of my pain from them bordered ridiculousness, I needed to try.

  I headed for the elevator, determined not to panic about my destination. I reached out to press the down button only to notice my hand, already shaking. I made a quick fist then extended out my fingers. Quickly, I pressed the button and stood waiting for the elevator to make its way back up to my floor when I heard a husky, “Hello.”

  I turned around to see the man I met in the elevator last week.

  “We seem to always meet at the elevators.” He chortled. “You clean up nice. The smudges are gone.”

  “Uh yeah, thanks,” I said. I heard the bell ding.

  “This would be us,” the man said then held out his arm. “Please, you first.”

  I entered the elevator, my mind a swirl of thoughts about going to the Carlyles’. “Thank you,” I finally managed to say, remembering the need to be courteous.

  He nodded his head in acknowledgment. “Are you from out of town?” he asked.

  “Yes. I lived here a long time ago, but I am here now on some business.” I really did not have anything further to say, nevertheless it seemed kind of awkward being closed behind the elevators doors not speaking. “And you? Are you from out of town?” I inquired.

  “Yes. I currently live on the West Coast. However, I do a lot of traveling now.”

  I noticed he wore a dove gray suit with a matching shirt, silver tie, and black loafers. An expensive ensemble, not to mention he cleaned up well himself.

  “Traveling is nice,” I commented.

  “Yeah, well….” He shrugged. He stared at me with a rakish tilt to his head. The way he looked at me made me self-conscious. “Are you meeting your husband for dinner tonight?”

  I’m sure I looked confused.

  “Hum?” I muttered as I turned to meet his gaze.

  He glanced at my ring, “Your husband,” he repeated.

  “Oh, um, no. I’m not married.”

  “Ah…so does that work?”

  “I’m sorry, does what work?”

  “The ring. Does it keep the unwanted come-on’s away?”

  “Uh, I don’t know really. I usually fly under the radar.”

  He grinned as though he did not believe me. “Sure you do.”

  The bell dinged.

  “It was nice to see you again. Have a good evening,” I said.

  He smiled once more, but this set me a bit on edge. While I have been out of the game for quite some time, taking a self-imposed timeout, I am, however, not completely oblivious to the players still in the game. His expression was the kind which says I am a very bad boy, so bad in fact you will think I’m oh…so…good when I make you scream my name. Maybe he was good, but just like any other man, he wasn’t Austin.

  “Yes, you too,” he replied as I exited the elevator. “Oh, hey!”

  I turned to look back at him. He actually checked me out. I caught his gaze at my backside. He was subtle, evidently practiced, smooth even, but even though he was handsome, he was without doubt barking up the wrong tree. I remained shattered, not in good working order, broken.

  “We really do need to stop meeting this way.” He chuckled wickedly. “And Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said.

  I stared, what I assumed to be rather oddly, then nodded. Valentine’s Day? Was it really February fourteenth?

  There, standing next to the same bright red Cadillac in which I rode in from LaGuardia, I saw a handsome well-dressed olive-skinned man. He wore a tan sweater under a long tan wool coat. His eyes were dark, warm like hot chocolate. His hair was pitch black and combed in a wave to one side. He stood smiling, his hands straight at his side.

  “Ms. Wells?” he asked. I noticed he spoke in a British brogue.

  I smiled in acknowledgment. “Yes.”

  “Good evening, Ms. Wells. Mr. Harrison asked I assist you this evening.”

  “Please, call me Winter.”

  “Winter,” he said quietly then paused for a brief moment. “Mr. Harrison provided me with a Park Avenue address. Is this still your destination for the evening?”

  “Yes,” I replied. The man opened the car door for me, offering his hand. “Thank you,” I said. I made my way inside, sliding across the warm leather seat.

  “You are very welcome,” he replied.

  I observed as my driver shut my door, walk around the front of the car then enter into the driver’s side. Once he started the ignition, he fiddled with the button which adjusted the side mirrors. He turned on the radio and hummed along with the song before he pulled away from the hotel.

  When I arrived at my destination, I paused with my hand on the door-handle. I sat, staring at the apartment with a sense of remembrance along with anxiety. The butterflies swirled around in my stomach; therefore it would take me a moment to catch them in hope of gaining my breath.

  “Are you all right?” I heard my driver ask. I realized I did not know his name.

  “Yes,” I whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  He glanced at me through the rear-view mirror. His dark eyebrows rose. “Sorry?” he asked.

  “Yes. I have been rude. May I ask what your name is?”

  He turned to face me. “You have not been rude at all. Most people never ask what my name is. I am usually referred to as driver.” He laughed a low throaty sound. “Thank you for asking. My name is Richard.”

  “It is very nice to meet you, Richard.”

  “And it has been nice to meet you as well. What time would you like me to return this evening?”

  “I will be ready by eight if you don’t mind coming back for me.”

  “That shall not be a problem. I shall be assisting you for the entirety of your stay in New York.”

  “Thank you.”

  Richard nodded then noticed my hesitation. “Would you like me to get your door?”

  “No. Thank you though.”

  “You look a little upset,” Richard commented.

  I mustered up a semblance of a smile. A weak ghost of a thing I am sure. “Just a case of the jitters,” I confessed. I finally found my fingers to open up the door.

  “I shall see you at eight o’clock,” Richard assured me.

  I exited the car; I could not procrastinate any longer. With a quick nod of my head for Richard, I turned, took a breath, straightened my coat collar then proceeded to walk forward toward the door of my past.

  Chapter Nine

  IMPOSSIBLE

  I stood in complete silence outside of the Carlyle’s door and stared at the brass doorbell. The feeling of more than surreal hit me after such a long absence. When I left New York it was time to go. I stayed away, in an attempt to find some resemblance of a new life, trying to hide away from all the painful memories. But to be here shook me
, as I knew it would.

  It took every bit of strength in me to lift my hand and move it toward the bell. I watched my hand move forward, quaking intently. I stopped, clinched my fist with purpose only to find I was pressing my nails into the bed of my palm. When I glanced down I had made half-moon impressions upon my skin. You have to do this, Winter.

  I took in a deep breath, still unsure of myself. I pushed the bell. A couple of seconds passed then the door opened wide.

  “Oh! Thank God! It is really you! Winter love, come in, come in.” Austin’s mother pulled me inside by the hand. “Dear, Winter is here!” She called out over her shoulder then twirled. Before I knew it, she was hugging me tightly.

  “It is so great to see you,” I said when she finally let me go.

  “Let me take a good look at you.” Judith took a step back. She scanned me from head to toe. “You have not changed at all. Still our same petite, beautiful Winter.”

  I removed my coat.

  “Mrs. Carlyle, I am quite sure I have changed,” I replied. “You look beautiful as well.” And she really did. She gave a little noise of huffing disagreement while she waived her hand as if to argue with me.

  “Let me take your coat,” she offered.

  I watched while Judith took my coat to the small cedar-lined closet off the entrance. Unable to hide my smile, I noted Austin’s mother still wore her hair the exact same way, twisted up tight in a long roll along the back of her neck. Her dark black hair showed slight shades of silver peeking around the edges of her face. The color of her hair remained the same midnight shade of black as her son’s. Judith’s face had become a bit softer, but she was still beautiful. She had to be the most put together woman I ever met, and tonight she wore a light brown pantsuit with her signature pearls hanging in two long strands around her delicate neck. Pearl earrings were perched onto her perfectly small earlobes, and her fingernails, manicured and painted the ideal shade of deep rich cinnamon. Judith’s dark blue eyes sparkled, nonetheless they held onto the loss of Austin.

  “Welcome!” Doctor Carlyle said as he came over to hug me as well.

  “Thank you for having me this evening.”

  With one last squeeze accompanied by a patting rub on my back, Doctor Carlyle replied, “You are always welcome here.”

  The same high musical intonations of Mrs. Carlyle’s voice rang out as I remembered. “Winter love, come, let us go into the sitting room. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.” She led the way. “I so want to hear everything you have been up to.”

  Leaving the foyer behind, I walked forward. When I came to the base of the large oak staircase I felt my body tremble. In fear that I would fall, I reached out for the newel post and grabbed it for support. Austin descended the stairs then rushed down the last few steps toward me. His face beamed. His strong arms reached out toward me to pull me into to the loving protection of them. I felt the warmth of his body when he picked me up, hugged me, whispered how much he missed me. Chills ran over my being. I closed my eyes for a moment. Gathered my breath. Don’t fall apart, Winter. The memory was so real, so intense, that I found it hard to maintain any type of composure.

  As if his voice came from the distance, Doctor Carlyle spoke softly. At least I thought it was his voice before I decided yes, it was. I heard, “Winter, dear?”

  “I am sorry,” I whispered. My eyes welded shut. “I just need a moment.”

  “Oh, love. We are sorry. We should have considered how coming here may be hard for you,” Mrs. Carlyle said then she placed her arm around my shoulders. Her voice overflowed with regret.

  “Forgive me. I will be fine,” I said, trying hard to open my eyes and move.

  “There is nothing to forgive.” Doctor Carlyle assured in a low soft even tone.

  I tore my hand from the post, opened my eyes, then with concentrated effort of mind over matter I placed one foot in front of the other. I had taken a couple of steps when I realized I didn’t have the strength or the concentration to walk and talk at the same time. I stopped. With one last breath, I turned to see Mrs. Carlyle’s face filled with worry.

  “I am sorry. Let’s go sit and talk,” I said, fighting for the strength to continue.

  Austin’s mother kept her arm around my shoulder as we entered the sitting room. She had changed the décor. All of the pale blue furniture was gone. Replaced with dark art deco furnishings with quite a bit of new artwork. The family portrait which once hung over the fireplace was no longer there. In its place, hung a large abstract watercolor painted in muted shades.

  “I like the painting,” I commented.

  “My wife painted that,” Doctor Carlyle interjected.

  “Really?” I turned my attention to Mrs. Carlyle. “I did not know you were an artist.”

  Judith smiled. She made sure I was seated then she found a seat across from me. She lifted her hand to take hold of Doctor Carlyle’s hand. He stood beside her. The tableau reminded me of an ancient memory frozen in time. Once upon a time, Doctor Carlyle stood beside Judith, holding her hand in the same way while Austin and I sat across from them and announced our engagement.

  “Mom, Dad,” Austin said holding onto my ring encrusted hand. “We have some news,” he continued with his angel’s smile. “Winter and I are going to marry.” A roll of joy along with sadness mingled into one solitary ache which turned over and over within my memory.

  “Painting helps me pass the time,” Mrs. Carlyle said. I snapped myself back into the present. I understood exactly what she meant. “Tell us dear, what have you been up to? I understand you are here to meet with Zander Harrison.”

  “Yes, well, he has a project he wanted to talk with me about. You know I was extremely surprised to hear from him, but he convinced me to come and meet with him. I will be staying here in New York for a few weeks. I promised I would help him with his endeavor.” I paused. “It is collaboration really.”

  “What type of a project? If you don’t mind telling us,” Doctor Carlyle inquired.

  “No, I don’t mind to tell you.” Doctor Carlyle’s gaze met mine. I had to clear my throat and fight back another wave of memory. “Zander tracked me down.” I was spinning my ring around my finger so I stopped. “He asked for my help with a script. You know I had not spoken to him in years. The last time we spoke it was for his advice in finding a literary agent of my own.” I paused for a moment, looking at Austin’s parents. They seemed a little uncomfortable, but I figured I knew why. I am sure they were worried about me.

  “Dear,” Doctor Carlyle said softly. “Are you sure you are all right?”

  I took in a large breath.

  “Yes, I’m sorry, just tired I guess. Anyway…where was I? Oh, the script, yes.” I reminded myself. “In truth I was unsure at first, but after I read the script I felt it had some real potential. Something about the script tugged at me. To be honest, I’m not quite sure why I said yes. You both know how I feel about the spotlight.” Doctor Carlyle nodded. “I have set a lot of ground rules,” I continued. “You know how private I am about my career, so I will only be working with Zander. No one will know I have assisted with his project.”

  “Oh. I see,” Doctor Carlyle said then paused. “So it is a movie script?”

  “Yes. The script is pretty rough right now, but there is something about it. I think once completed, the movie has the potential to be really good.”

  “I am sure if you are the one to work on it, the script will turn out to be something quite excellent. You know I really enjoyed reading your last book. It was to date your best.” Doctor Carlyle gave the compliment with a wide bright grin. His smile reminiscent of a proud father.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Carlyle agreed. “It is so hard not to brag about you to our friends, dear. But we have honored your wishes. We have never spoken of you as the author to some of our favorite books. You know, I loved your last book also, but I have to say one of my all-time favorites has got to be The Whisper of an Angel.”

  I felt a sense of appreci
ation and love.

  “Thank you. I do appreciate your compliments and your understanding,” I replied softly then adjusted myself on the couch. “Enough about me. Tell me, how have you both been? The last time we spoke you had given up your medical practice, Doctor Carlyle.”

  “Yes, yes. I’ve had a bit of trouble with my health,” Doctor Carlyle replied.

  “Are you okay?”

  He chuckled with a wave of his hand. “I will be fine, love. It is old age of which there is no escape.”

  “You are not old.” I disagreed.

  Doctor Carlyle let out a low even laugh so reminiscent of his sons. “Bless you, dear. But the aches in my body along with the snow on the roof would tend to argue with you.”

  “We are both retired,” Mrs. Carlyle interjected. “I stopped seeing clients after the accident.”

  There was a pregnant pause. Mrs. Carlyle looked at me like she had said something wrong. Then her expression seemed to borderline mortification before she smoothed out her face and quickly changed the subject. “I am sure you are hungry, dear. You look like you do not eat enough, you are still so thin.” She laughed quietly. “I hope you like pasta primavera? If I remember right you do.”

  I smiled. “Of course.” Remembering a meal here with Austin and his parents where he ate off my plate. He loved pasta.

  We had a pleasant conversation over dinner. Austin’s favorite cousin, Lana, was expecting her fourth child, so the Carlyle’s told me they were planning a trip to Vermont in the spring to visit. They showed me pictures of her children, two boys and one girl. Her oldest son was named Austin.

  “Her children are beautiful,” I said. I handed the photos back to Mrs. Carlyle. “Please send her my greetings when you see her.”

  I met Lana Carlyle after her engagement to her college sweetheart, and we had become friends. After her marriage to Allen Steward, she moved to Vermont. Austin and I moved in together, his career started to take off and then…. Well, I lost touch with her, but I always liked her.

  Doctor Carlyle still kept tabs on the hospital and commented on how hard it was to truly retire. Feeling the need to still be of “some use” as he put it, he started assisting the other cardiologists in an advisory capacity. This seemed to give him a great sense of pleasure and pride. He has also continued with his golfing endeavors while admitting it wasn’t as easy as it used to be. He explained he hurt himself last week which contributed to a limp and joked about his dream of winning the Masters Tournament was over.