Remember the Time

by Annette Reynolds

  “He didn’t have to, did he?” Mike remarked.

  “No, I guess not … Do you do everything?”

  “Sheryl helps me out sometimes, but yeah. Basically, I do it all. I used to have someone come in a couple of times a month, but I’m gone so much it didn’t work out.” He gathered up the stack of jeans in his arms. “Make yourself useful. Turn out the light on the way up.” He paused at the top of the basement stairs. “And why are you acting like you didn’t know all this already?”

  “I guess I never thought about it.” She trailed after him as he passed through the kitchen and entered the hallway.

  “I learned how to survive on my own a long time ago, Kate.” He paused at the foot of the staircase that led to the second floor. “I’ll be back down in a minute. Why don’t you wait in the living room?”

  Kate entered the room and was transported back in time. The strategically placed lamps gave off warm amber pools of light, reflecting off the oak and maple and walnut. She was drawn to the inglenook, where a fire crackled in the hearth, sending flickers of light across the tiles that surrounded the fireplace. A book lay facedown on the bench, and she sat and picked it up. It was a well-read volume of poetry by John Donne. As Kate paged through the book, she stopped to read the notations Mike had made in his precise hand.

  She heard him walk into the room. “I’m impressed,” she said without turning. “Donne was an astonishing man.”

  He sat on the step that led up to the inglenook and leaned against the bench, his back to her.

  “Do you have a favorite?” she asked.

  “A sonnet called ‘The Broken Heart.’ Do you know it?”

  She thought for a moment. “Is there a line in it that goes something like, ‘what a trifle is a heart, if once it comes into love’s hands’?”

  “Yes, that’s it.”

  They sat in silence. Then Mike softly began the third verse. Kate closed her eyes and listened.

  “ ‘What did become of my heart, when I first saw thee? I brought a heart into the room, but from the room, I carried none with me. If it had gone to thee, I know mine would have taught thine heart to show more pity unto me: but Love, alas, at one first blow did shiver it as glass.’ ”

  The intimacy in his voice and the words he spoke were lovemaking in its purest form. A tiny spark in Kate’s belly was kindled into a flame that spread to her groin, taking her breath away. Unfair. It had been so long since she’d felt anything like this. Layers of emotion were piling up, one on top of the other, like the snow outside. Footprints that had been visible a few moments ago were now being blanketed with a soft cocoon. And Paul’s memory would soon be covered.

  Mike heard the small gasp that escaped her lips. He felt himself grow hard and he stifled the moan that threatened to lay bare his feelings. He squeezed his eyes shut and let his head fall back against the pad on the bench.

  Kate’s eyes opened and she gazed at the back of his head. She reached out. Her warm fingers traced the furrow that appeared in his forehead, then stroked his thick hair.

  His voice was a strained whisper. “Kate, for God’s sake … This is torture for me. If this isn’t going anywhere, stop it now and give me back my heart.”

  But she didn’t stop. Instead, she moved closer, her fingers lightly moving across the bridge of his nose, his eyebrows, down his jawline, until he couldn’t take it anymore. He reached up to end it. To push her hand away. But he opened his eyes and saw her looking down at him. Sad, smoky blue eyes.

  His hand closed around hers, pulling her down to him. Their lips met and butterflies swooped and whirled in his stomach. Had he ever felt like this before? Her hands held his face, the tip of her tongue tentatively fluttered between his lips—investigating, testing—before slipping inside him. God, this was sweet. Years of waiting for this. Years of telling himself it would never happen. He didn’t dare move, knowing it all had to come from her.

  Kate felt herself falling headlong into a deep pit, unable to stop. This familiar ache, too strong to control anymore, made her whimper his name. She was terrified to go on, but afraid to stop. Her hands slid down his chest, resting momentarily on his belly, and then slipped down further, pressing against the denim bulge of his sex.

  The fuse was lit. How could he hold off the explosion? It would be like trying to run away from a tornado. Impossible. Hot tears were dripping from her eyes onto his cheeks. They mingled with her fervent kisses as she drew him in deeper. He was barely aware of what he was doing, when he finally turned and grasped her wrists, pulling her off the bench, pulling her onto his lap. Her arms went around his neck, and her mouth found his again with a sob. He heard it somewhere in the furthest reaches of his brain, and it left its mark.

  Cradling her head between his hands, he drew her away from him, kissing her closed eyes. “Kate, listen to me.” Her lashes parted, and he was staring at Fear. A fresh tear trickled down her cheek and he brushed it away with his thumb. “I’ve never had to force myself on a woman. I’m not going to start with you.” She was ashamed of her tears. Ashamed at what she’d done to him. He could see it in the cast of her eyes, and he said, “Dinner’s probably ready. Why don’t we eat.”

  Kate contemplated him from across the kitchen table. She watched his lips as he talked; his eyes, now laughing, as he related a story Sheryl had told him about one of their former classmates; his hands—calm—only moving to punctuate a comment. They were strong, capable hands. Work-hardened. The veins stood out prominently through the dark hair.

  Had she not noticed the confident maleness of him in all these years? Had she simply been blinded by her adoration of Paul? Or had she just not wanted to acknowledge the fact that Mike was a sexual being? He had always been so much a part of her landscape. Always there—always loyal—no matter what she said or did to him. She remembered her teasing through the years and felt a blush rising to her cheeks.

  “Why did you put up with it?”

  The question came out of thin air, and Mike was nonplussed. He looked over his shoulder, then back at her. “You talking to me?” She nodded. “What exactly is the ‘it’ we’re talking about?”

  “My flirting.”

  “You mean, your prick-teasing,” he said dryly.

  Kate gave him a dirty look. “Well, I guess that’s another way of putting it, if you want to be crude.”

  “It’s the only way of putting it … and it was crude. You were shameless. The worst part about it was you never knew what you were doing to me.” Mike toyed with his fork. “I guess I was shameless, too. I put up with it because it was the only time I really felt alive.” The fork’s tines made four tiny dents in his napkin. “Your sass and Paul’s arrogance … I don’t know why, but I loved you both.” He leaned back in his chair, contemplating her. “Y’know, Paul once told me I didn’t stand a chance with you.” He grimaced. “It wasn’t one of our better moments.”

  “When was that?” she asked.

  “Doesn’t matter. Sometimes I still believe he was right. And I wonder if you’ll ever be able to look at me and not see Paul.” His eyes held hers. “If you’ll ever remember the good times and maybe see me.”

  He searched her face for an answer, saw a wistful smile flicker across her lips, and sadly thought that her response would be a resounding no.

  They sat in silence, until Kate said, “Let’s go for a walk.”

  “It’s still snowing.”

  “I know.”

  They bundled themselves against the elements and went out into the cold night. The street was deserted—pristine. The last car had left its tracks an hour ago, and the ruts had all but filled with sparkling white powder. They set off up the road, toward Gypsy Hill Park, in companionable silence. The wind had stopped, and the snow fell softly, deadening all sounds. When they came to the corner, and the streetlamp, Kate stopped and watched the flakes tumbling through the amber light. Mike watched her.

  His voice broke the stillness. “Are you warm enough? Do you want to go on?”<
br />
  “Yes,” she whispered.

  The park gate was closed, but they simply ducked under the steel bars and made their way to the bandstand and shelter. The ornate lampposts, with their flickering replicas of gaslights, transported them to the turn of the century.

  “I’ve never seen anything more beautiful,” Kate said in wonder, leaning against the trunk of a maple tree.

  Mike turned to Kate. Her heart-shaped face was framed by the knit scarf she wore. A few errant strands of hair, wet from the snow, curled around her forehead.

  A beat passed, and then he said, “Neither have I.” Leaning his body close, but not touching her, he bent to kiss her lips. To his astonishment, she lifted her mouth to accept him, as if she’d been waiting. As if this were the most natural thing in the world. “Katie—I’m going away for a few days. I have a consultation in Williamsburg.” He ran a gloved finger across her cheekbone.

  “I thought you were staying home till the new year.” The slight accusatory tone in her voice betrayed her. She didn’t want him going anywhere. Not now.

  “It just came up. I can’t say no. Do you want to come along?”

  His thoughts had been on the trip all evening. He’d tossed the idea of asking her back and forth in his mind, but after her small acceptance of him, he’d made the decision, hoping she would say yes. Hoping that getting away from Staunton, and the house, and Paul’s ghost, she could truly see him apart from the threesome they’d once been.

  “Maybe we’d better go back,” she said tonelessly.

  “Katie—I didn’t mean to offend you.” She was already starting for the park’s exit. “I just thought you might like to get away for a few days. Have you ever seen Williamsburg in December?” He ran to catch up to her. Taking her arm, he pulled her to a stop. “The offer didn’t include one room and one bed. I told you before—it’s your decision.”

  “Stop it, Mike. Please.” She continued walking.

  His response was suicidal, and he knew it. “What is it really, Kate? Is Saint Paul standing here between us again?”

  Another snowy night had come back to Kate. Another walk to the park and the bandstand. And another kiss under a leafless maple tree. Why had she wanted to do this? It had been masochistic, thinking she could come here and not have to deal with the memory of Paul’s kiss, Paul’s arms.

  Paul. He had walked with her to the dark, sheltered side of the Victorian bandstand and leaned her against the white boards. He had opened her coat and his. He’d pushed up the wool skirt she wore, and undone his zipper. His fingers pulled her panties aside and stayed there until he’d found her warmth. And, wrapped in each other’s coats, he had fitted himself against her and taken her.

  Mike now followed her, shouting, “Doesn’t your back ache from carrying his weight around all the time? Don’t your knees ever get weak from such a heavy load?” He went on—relentless. “Don’t your arms shake from holding that halo over his head? Christ, Kate! You must be exhausted after all this time. Why don’t you give it a rest?”

  How could she tell him the truth? That Paul was everywhere—and nowhere. That was the problem. She felt a spurt of anger with herself, and with Paul. Paul, who had desired her, won her, made her his. So much so that if he’d physically branded her with his initials it couldn’t have been more binding. Paul’s girl. Paul, with his own particular physicality and charisma that when she was with him, it was as if there was no one else living in the world. It had never occurred to her that he used others in the same way, because somehow, she never felt used. Just as others hadn’t. It was one of Paul’s many gifts … He got what he wanted, but the people on the receiving end never knew they were sacrificing themselves on the altar of Paul. It was always a privilege to do for him. Always an honor.

  A sadness—heavier than any she’d felt up till now—overwhelmed her. Kate had come to an understanding with herself. She was mourning the years she’d wasted on her faulty memories of Paul. And she needed time to grieve. There was no way to explain this to Mike.

  He watched her disappear into the darkness of the street beyond the park. God, she was infuriating. And, oh God, that kiss just wasn’t enough. Her mouth had tasted of bay leaf and promise. Her breath had been hot in the frigid air. It warmed his entire body. This was not the way he wanted the night to end. He’d had a hint of her and now wanted to savor it all.

  She had come to him. He hadn’t imagined that. Trudging homeward, he realized she hadn’t had a drink that night. There had been no outside influences. She’d received no false courage. So why this pulling away now?

  The blackness of the night surrounded him. The snow, just a few moments ago so soft and sensual, choked him. It stuck to his eyelashes, stung his eyes, filled his nose.

  Kate slipped and fell just before she reached her front door. The pain was tremendous and she could already feel her ankle swelling inside the nylon snow boot. Fifteen more feet and she’d have been inside and safe. Swearing in pain and frustration, she picked herself up and limped up the last of the steps. Kate didn’t look back as she let herself inside.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-THREE

  Kate sat propped up on the couch, her ankle wrapped in an ice pack. Pulling off her boot had been a test of fortitude, but she’d yanked it off and was proud she’d only screamed once. The ankle seemed to work, and was only a little purple and a lot swollen.

  She’d downed a Percocet left over from a dental visit, with half a glass of wine, and waited for the drug to take effect. Homer, who had watched curiously as she hopped from point to point, now lay on the hearth rug halfheartedly gnawing on a rawhide bone. The only sounds in the house were the steady ticking of the banjo clock on the wall and Homer’s squeaky chewing.

  Finishing off the glass of wine, her eyes began to feel lazy, and she let her head fall back into the pillow. Something was pinching her back, and she stuck her hand behind her. It was her bra and she unhooked it. Pulling her arms out of the sweater she wore, she took off the bra and let it fall to the floor. Kate was back in the sweater in seconds, and she sighed in relief. And then she sleepily smiled, surrendering to the pull of a memory long forgotten.

  • • •

  He passes her on the two-lane road doing about fifty. Mike holds his arm up and out the window of his old Mustang, and she sees him twirling something above the roof. It’s his tie. Kate grins and waits for his car to pull back in front of her rented Buick.

  Mike’s graduation from the University of Virginia earlier that day had been a splendidly pompous affair. Paul, his career always in control of his life, managed the ceremony but had to fly back to Cincinnati for a night game. But Kate had decided to stay on a few days to help Mike with his move to Richmond and his new job with the architectural firm of Rodes, Thompson.

  It takes Kate but a second to decide on a plan, and she lifts her rear off the seat and pulls her panty hose down to her knees with one hand, steering with the other. Kicking off first her left shoe, and then her right, she pulls the nylons off. Putting her bare foot down on the gas pedal, Kate signals to pass him, and as she does, lets the panty hose flutter from her fingertips in the warm, June breeze—a beige flag of challenge.

  Slowing down to a more sedate forty-five, she glances in the rearview mirror and sees Mike’s head duck down. She waits.

  A few minutes later he passes her again, his socks flying from his fingers. She can’t see his eyes—they’re hidden by the sunglasses he wears—but she sees his broad smile. Suddenly, one of the socks is torn from his hand by the fifty-five-mile-per-hour wind he’s generating. Kate watches it whiz by and begins to laugh.

  It takes some doing, but she slips out of her pale green lace panties, and with a wicked grin on her face, she floors it. The expression on Mike’s face is priceless, as he does a double take and leans out the car window to get a better look.

  Kate laughs harder. She feels carefree and alive on this beautiful summer day. No worries, no pain, no obligations but to have fun. “Thank yo
u, Mike!” she shouts at the canopy of newly leafed trees and blue sky that floods her windshield.

  He’s passing her again, naked from the waist up, his pale blue shirt bobbing and weaving above the Mustang’s roof. The look he gives her through the passenger window says, “Let’s see you top this.”

  So she does. The sleeveless white, nubby silk dress she wears buttons up the front and Kate quickly undoes a few buttons near her waist, slips her hand behind her, and unsnaps her bra. Pulling her arm out of one hole, she drops a bra strap and wiggles out of it. The other, she simply pulls through the dress’s remaining armhole. Refastening buttons, she makes the final pass by Mike. She can tell he’s stunned to see the wispy undergarment, and when she loses it to fumbling fingers and the wind, and it lands across his windscreen, he is laughing so hard he can barely keep the car under control.

  Kate completely falls apart with laughter, tears running down her cheeks. She slows the car and pulls off the back road they’ve been driving. She sits in the dappled shade of an old sycamore tree, wiping her eyes. Mike pulls up in front of her and stops, a small cloud of dust flying into the air behind them.

  She’s still giggling as she steps, barefoot, out of the car. Mike’s door opens and she sees his foot, and then a bare ankle and calf. And as he stands, she can see the white band of his Jockey shorts.

  Kate doubles over with laughter as Mike grins at her and then winks. “Ready for that picnic, darlin’?”

  “Oh, Christ, Mike,” she gasps. “Tell me you didn’t!”

  She holds her breath as he steps out from the screen the door provides. A fresh spate of giggles overtakes her as he says, “I didn’t.”

  Mike is leaning against the car, pant legs rolled up, waistband rolled down.

  Despite the Percocet and the alcohol, Kate felt a laugh welling up from deep inside. With a hand that seemed to be moving at half-speed, she picked up the old-fashioned telephone, stuck her index finger in the appropriate hole, and slowly dialed his number.