Four Seasons of Romance

by Rachel Remington

  So, he dialed the number inside the book’s cover. Never mind that it was past midnight. “Hello?” a groggy voice from the other end of the line answered. “Who is this?”

  “Hello, Bruce? This is Leo Ellis Taylor. You lent me the book earlier.”

  Leo Murray was suddenly wide-awake as he slipped his feet into his slippers and crept out of the guest room so as not to wake his wife. “Yes, this is Bruce. Hi there.” He edged toward the back door. It was below freezing outside, but he didn’t want to risk his mother hearing the conversation.

  “Listen,” the older man said. “I’m not sure how you found me, but I’m glad you did. I want to find out whether you know how to get in touch with Catherine.”

  The younger Leo smiled. If only he knew.

  “I take it you like the book?”

  “You kidding? It’s the best thing I’ve read since… since my fourth-grade primer!”

  “You’ll give me an interview, then?”

  “Of course!”

  The younger Leo stomped his feet to keep the blood flowing. “Then, it’s a deal. I’ll come by tomorrow for the interview, and I’ll see what I can do about reuniting you with Catherine.”

  The moment he hung up, a hand fell on his arm. He whirled around to see Susan standing behind him. “I know what you’re up to,” she said. “I heard the whole thing. I knew you didn’t have a headache this morning.”

  He gave her a peck. “You know me too well.”

  “I want to help,” she said. “I think it’s wonderful, what you’re doing.”

  “You don’t think it’s unethical?”

  She smirked. “Moral philosophy was never my strong point. You know that.”

  “Then, don’t say anything just yet. I want to keep it from my mom a little while longer. I want the reunion to be perfect.”

  “You’re a good son,” Susan said. She took him by the hand. “C’mon, Bruce. Let’s go back inside before we freeze our feet off.”

  The next day, Bruce drove to Malvern. His wife covered for him, telling Catherine, “He’s got a whole list of Christmas errands to run.”

  The older Leo invited Bruce inside and made them each a cup of tea, and they spent a long December day together, just the two of them.

  “Don’t you want to use a tape recorder?” Leo asked at one point.

  “I never use one,” Bruce responded. “I have great memory.” Phew, he thought. Dodged that bullet.

  He asked Leo a few questions, but it didn’t take much to get him talking. With wonder and delight, he listened to his father’s stories about his mother and their all-consuming love for each other; Leo’s story could have been a novel in itself.

  “Want to see something she gave me?” the old man asked.

  “Of course!” Bruce made a note to tone down his excitement; he was supposed to be an objective reporter, not a man who had finally found his father after fifty-one years.

  Leo took him to a back room and opened a small clay box.

  “Did you make that?” Bruce asked.

  “I did.” He pulled out a long chain; something small and silver dangled from the end. “Careful,” he said, “it’s fragile.” He laid a delicate, heart-shaped locket on Bruce’s palm.

  “Catherine gave it to me before I left for the war,” he whispered. “Open it.”

  His son pried it gently open and saw the pictures of his mother at ages nine and seventeen. “She’s beautiful,” he said and meant it.

  “The most beautiful woman in the world,” Leo said wistfully.

  Bruce was all smiles as he scribbled notes for his mythical newspaper article. Then, he got his father talking about art. Unaware that the man sitting across from him was an art history professor, Leo delighted in the artistic knowledge this reporter had and the fact that the two of them seemed to have much in common. .

  “I like you,” he told Bruce. “You remind me of someone.”

  In this way, Bruce got to know his father, without Leo ever being the wiser. If Bruce’s identity was to be revealed, he felt his mother should be the one to do it and the time for that drew near.

  The December sun sank low on the horizon when Bruce finally stood to go. “This has truly been my pleasure,” he said, shaking Leo’s hand.

  “Please, come back anytime. You’re a most welcome guest.” He paused, almost afraid to bring up what was really on his mind. “And Catherine?”

  “I promise I’ll do everything in my power to put you two back in touch.”

  Leo looked disappointed. “That’s it? That’s all?”

  Bruce placed his hand on the older man’s shoulders. “I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll see you tomorrow.” The smile that spread across Leo’s face could have lit a concert hall.

  The sun set in a bath of pink and yellow as Bruce drove back from Malvern, but for his parents, the sun was about to rise.

  *

  The next day, Leo and Susan Murray did their best to hide their excitement.

  “I thought I’d go for a drive today,” Leo told his mother casually at breakfast. “Want to come along?”

  “It’s Christmas Eve. Won’t the roads be jammed?”

  “On the contrary, I imagine they’ll be very clear.”

  “What about Susan and the kids?”

  “We’re stringing popcorn and cranberries for the birds,” Susan chimed in. “Don’t worry about us.”

  “C’mon,” Leo prodded. “How about it? Just you and me. Some quality mother and son time!”

  Catherine nodded, although something about the way he asked seemed suspect.

  They talked jollily as Leo drove west. She could tell her son was excited, but didn’t know why, having no idea what scheme he had hatched as they pulled into an apartment complex outside the city. When he led her to a modest unit on the far end of the complex, she was suspicious.

  Leo gave her his arm as they walked toward a large red door as she leaned into him, grateful for the support. “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Just trust me.”

  As they approached, Catherine noticed a vase of fresh flowers in the front window, recognizing them in an instant—lilies and black-eyed Susans.

  Catherine looked at her son, tears standing in his eyes. Her mind would not allow her heart to believe it could be true. Then, her oldest child knocked on the door, the door swung open, and there in the doorway stood a man she knew. It was the second time in her life Catherine saw Leo after believing him to be dead. This time, she did not faint. But she did cry.

  Before either could say a word, Leo pulled Catherine into his grasp and held her as tightly as his arthritic hands would allow. Their cheeks were damp with each other’s tears as Leo gazed deeply into Catherine’s eyes, and she gazed back into his. Despite the lines and creases around their edges, they were still the same eyes they remembered. Leo’s, hazel with flecks of gold. Catherine’s, bright and shining green.

  They kissed politely, the way old people do. Then, they kissed again, this time not so politely.

  Catherine’s son walked back to his car to give his parents their privacy, the scene overwhelming him. In tears himself, he sent his wife a text. “I’ve never seen my mother so in love,” he typed.

  “Cat, I never thought I’d see you again,” Leo said, kissing her neck and trembling lips.

  “Sweetheart,” she cried, “I thought you were dead. I thought the drinking…”

  “I haven’t drunk in years,” he said. “I’ve finally got my life together.”

  “I can’t believe it’s really you,” she whispered, staring into his deep, familiar eyes.

  “Catherine, I prayed and prayed for so many nights hoping that I’d have a chance to say these words to you,” Leo said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” she whispered.

  “I’m sorry for the hurtful things I told you. I was stupid and cynical and hurt, and my addictions were making everything so much worse. It was all my fault; we could have spent so many years together i
f only I…”

  “It wasn’t you, Leo; it was I,” she said. “I thought about it and the things you told me that night… you were right. I was a coward, and I did use you. And you were right—so much of my marriage was built on a lie. Leo, if only we had been younger. If only I could go back to when I still could make the choice; I’d never pick wrong again. Most nights are peaceful, but sometimes, I find myself sobbing away.”

  “I don’t blame you for what you did,” he said. “I was an unstable spoiled brat, an unpredictable kid with neither the mind nor the heart to appreciate you.”

  “I was a coward for not following my heart. I might have had stability and kids and nice things throughout my life, but I want you to know the only truly happy moments in my life were the moments spent with you…,” she said.

  “Don’t say a word… just hold me…,” he whispered, his arms cradling her.

  “We owe our lives to this newspaper reporter,” he said after a moment of silence.

  Catherine glanced over her shoulder toward the parking lot, slowly putting the pieces together. “That’s no reporter,” she said. “That’s our son.”

  *

  Leo spent time with his son and Catherine, and they talked the day away. Then, to give them some privacy, young Leo drove back to Fox Chase to be with his family. He kissed his wife and told his two children how much he loved them, feeling grateful for their special relationship… and now, the relationship he could embark on with his father.

  The four of them set to work preparing a veritable feast for Christmas Eve as the children rolled out dough for bread while Susan basted the turkey. Leo made them laugh by sticking toothpicks in the potatoes and making them do a little dance before he mashed them to smithereens.

  When he returned to Malvern that evening, Catherine and both Leos piled in the car.

  “Where are we going?” the older Leo asked.

  “To our family holiday dinner,” his son replied.

  “Won’t I be out of place?”

  Catherine kissed him gleefully on the lips. “Why would you? You’re family!”

  Together, the six of them shared a magnificent Christmas feast. The older Leo could hardly believe his luck. Suddenly, he was part of a family, which now included grandchildren he never knew he had. Sixty-five years after Catherine sat on a rock by the river and told Leo about the family they would have together, their dream had come true. Through all the trouble, heartache, and difficulty, and against all odds, the vision had finally come to pass, if only for a short time.

  He reached across the mashed potatoes and gravy to find her hand. “After all I’ve done wrong,” he whispered. “I didn’t think I’d find this.”

  “It took us long,” she whispered back. “But it was worth the wait.”

  And she was right. Leo’s health, which had been suspect before his son discovered him, improved greatly in the days that followed. Though his joints still bothered him, there was new pep in his step. Leo Junior, happy to play chauffeur, dutifully drove Catherine to visit him daily or drove Leo to the house in Fox Chase. As the weather allowed, they took long walks outside. To his everlasting delight, Leo found he did not need his cane on many of them, feeling half his age at eighty-one.

  As they sat in Leo’s sunroom or in Catherine’s parlor, they talked, read, laughed, and cried as if they went back to being kids when they fell in love. For the first time in decades, both of them felt complete.

  Now, in the winter of their waning years, so many questions that had always plagued them had been answered. The uncertain future that used to worry them had evolved into the present and the past. The only future they had now was a question of tomorrow’s spare time.

  One day, as they strolled through the park, Catherine lifted Leo’s hand to her lips, kissing it. “It’s lonely at Fox Chase. In a few days, our son will go back to Massachusetts for the winter semester and take his wife and kids with him. That house is far too big for me alone.”

  She squeezed his hand, her eyes twinkling. “I’m not as young as when I made those daily drives to Baltimore. I don’t relish the thought of driving even fifteen miles in the dead of winter.”

  “Fifteen miles?” he asked. “We’ve traveled much farther to look for each other. But I don’t want to live in a mansion. You lived your whole life here apart from me. Besides, a mansion is not really my style. But I know we could get a great condo in the arts district.”

  She stopped walking and touched his cheek. “I don’t want to go a single day without touching you. Without hearing your voice. Without this.” She leaned in and put her lips on his. The kiss was slow and mellow, like an old song so familiar you could hum along to it in your sleep.

  As they pulled apart, their eyes blinked open as if they were waking from a dream. Leo tucked a strand of her white hair behind her ear the way he used to.

  “So what are you saying to the condominium in the arts district?” he whispered.

  “The answer’s yes,” she answered and smiled.

  For the next five years, Leo and Catherine were inseparable. After decades of painful heartbreak and separation, they embraced each other with the unbridled joy of young lovers, tempered with the wisdom and experience of an old sage. Finally, they’d found what they’d been looking for.

  *

  In Christmas of 2011, Catherine’s and Leo’s extended families gathered to celebrate the holidays. The menu was decadent—delicious glazed ham, even though Catherine’s youngest daughter Sarah protested loudly that they should all stop eating meat because it wasn’t ecologically sustainable. Quinoa-stuffed peppers and the butternut squash soup were also prepared to suit Sarah’s taste.

  “Hippie food,” Leo said. By then, they all knew about Leo’s wild years in Chicago. If anyone knew about hippie food, he did.

  Susan and Leo Junior brought the potatoes grand mere and the carrot pineapple salad, over which no one made a fuss.

  For post-dinner entertainment, Lily read a sonnet from her latest book of poems, and the younger grandchildren performed an impromptu play. Susan and Leo had just gained a granddaughter, and they all doted on the baby throughout the evening. As Leo Senior held her, he shook his head. Never did he think he’d live to cradle a great-grandbaby in his arms. Yet, there she was, pink and pretty as a picture.

  “Proud of you, son,” he said, giving the younger Leo a hug.

  “Now, this is the kind of sculpture I should have been making,” the older Leo joked, holding his great-granddaughter up. “What was I doing with granite all those years?”

  Then, Leo Junior raised his mug of eggnog for a toast. The din of talking and laughing died as they all turned to look. “I want to say thank you to Leo Ellis Taylor. I think we can all agree he’s made Mom the happiest she’s ever been.” He set down his mug and clapped, the others joining in, clapping joined by hooting and hollering.

  Leo pulled his sweetheart off her chair and twirled her around, slow-dancing with her across the room and out into the hallway for a private moment as the whole family cheered. Once alone, he clasped her close to his heart and kissed her passionately.

  “My goodness! That was quite a kiss,” Catherine said, the room spinning.

  Leo gestured overhead. “That’s what you get for standing under the mistletoe!”

  “You know what I realized?” she asked. “We’ve spent more time together since 2006 than we have in all the previous years of our lives.”

  Leo thought about it. Even when they were kids, they hadn’t spent every day together. But for the last five years, he had spent nearly every moment by Catherine’s side.

  He nuzzled up close to her again. “Guess that explains why these have been the best five years of my life.”

  One of the grandchildren played “The Christmas Song” on the piano in the other room, and, gracefully, Catherine and Leo began to waltz.

  “Good things come to those who wait,” she whispered in his ear.

  Perhaps they had not been “waiting” all tho
se years. The momentum of their separate lives had carried them along, often at breakneck velocity, in one direction or another. Catherine had married and had the family she’d always wanted, had become an accomplished writer, an artist in her own right. Leo had fought in the war and drifted for so many years in a haze of drugs and alcohol but, too, had finally found his calling in art, making not only a name for himself, but a legacy.

  No, they had not been just waiting, but their hearts had. Now, together at last, they felt wise, happy and free, blessed to be spending their golden years together. The stresses and concerns that once burdened them melted like snow on a cobbled hearth, and the fire that was their love burned bright, as it always had.

  *

  On January 19, 2012, at eighty-six, Leo Ellis Taylor died in his sleep. He dreamed of moving toward a warm yellow light that filled him from head to toe. Catherine followed Leo, reaching out to him with open arms. Calm and peaceful; he never wanted to wake… and never did.

  He died in Catherine’s bed, her body nestled close to his. On the same night, perhaps a few hours later, she went as well. In Catherine’s dream, the Connecticut and Ammonoosuc Rivers gushed beneath her feet. There had been a heavy rainstorm, and the waters were high, but she was not afraid.

  Then, she realized she was standing on the Bath-Haverhill Bridge, Leo beside her. He’d packed a picnic of cucumber sandwiches and cold lemonade, and they held hands, looking down at the teeming water beneath them. She glanced into his eyes.

  “I’m happy,” she said. “But why, why did it have to be this way? We loved each other so much, yet spent most of our lives apart.”

  “If only I had had the courage to face my demons,” Leo whispered.

  “If only I had had the strength to follow my heart,” Catherine said, tears streaming down her face.

  “Let it go now,” Leo answered, “we found each other in the end, had a son together. And even though our victory is bittersweet, we leave the world as one, just like we’re meant to be.”