by Kim Cano
I hadn’t planned on there being a next time, but now I thought maybe it was a good idea. Find out what she was all about, do some snooping. If she had lied to me, I’d eventually discover the truth. But, if she suggested seeing each other again, maybe she had nothing to hide?
I shook my head in confusion. None of it made sense.
I threw my pencil down and reached for my purse, then I pulled out the sticky note with her name, address, and phone number out of my wallet.
Should I call her?
On my way home from work I tossed the idea of contacting her around a bit more. I really didn’t want to see her again. I just wanted to let the whole thing go, to believe her explanation, but there was that bothersome little voice in my head whispering, “You never know.”
I reached for my cell phone and dialed her number.
“Bergman residence,” an older male voice answered, no doubt the same guy who drove her car and answered her front door.
“Um—may I speak to Sabrina please?”
“May I ask who is calling?”
“This is Amy White,” I responded, now unsure of myself and wanting to hang up the phone.
“One moment.”
My mind raced back and forth—should I hang up? Should I stay on the line? Before I could decide, she answered.
“Amy. How lovely to hear from you,” Sabrina said in an enthusiastic tone.
Dumbfounded, I didn’t know what to say. “Oh, sure. Um—the reason I’m calling is, I was wondering what you meant when you said ‘see you next time?’”
“I meant exactly that. You’re welcome to stop by anytime.”
This was getting weird. I didn’t know why she would make that comment. Perhaps there really was more to this story than she’d led me to believe. Gripped by curiosity, I asked, “What are you doing Sunday afternoon?”
“Nothing. I’ve got the day free. It would be fabulous if you dropped by. How about lunchtime?”
I felt foolish, then replied, “Yeah, that sounds good.”
“I’ll see you then,” she said, then promptly hung up.
How odd it was of her to end the call so abruptly. I mean, what if I had wanted to say more? I guessed she didn’t want to give me the opportunity. It would have to wait until Sunday—in person.
As I pulled up to my house and turned off the car, a familiar uneasy mood crept over me. It was just like when I had seen the daffodils for the first time at Justin’s grave. The feeling of closure from last week’s meeting was gone. Instead, I entered a new portal of disquiet.
•••••
Friday and Saturday passed without incident. Tyler was on his “let’s get a dog” kick, which I had to admit wasn’t a bad idea, but I still wasn’t entirely convinced. I told him I’d think about it.
We all watched a movie Saturday night, but I barely took notice because I was too busy worrying about my upcoming meeting with Sabrina.
Sunday morning I woke up feeling great. A good sign, I thought. After eating breakfast and showering, I got as fixed up as I could without looking like I was going somewhere other than the gym. While applying make-up, I studied myself with a critical eye. I was cute—not beautiful. Blonde hair, blue eyes… yes, but more girl next door type, not blonde bombshell.
I wished I were beautiful.
I let go of that thought and checked my outfit once more in the mirror. I wore purple yoga pants and a white t-shirt, topped with a black sporty jacket. I grabbed my gym bag.
“Mom. You want me to take Tyler to his friend’s? I can take him on my way if you want?”
“No,” she replied. “I have to run an errand nearby. I’ll take him. After that, since no one will be home, I’m going to vegetate.”
“Sounds good,” I replied. “See you later then.”
Before leaving I checked in on Tyler. He was in his room, reading a book.
“Hey honey. Have fun at your friend’s today, okay.”
“I will,” he said. I leaned down and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
Tyler looked up at me and beamed. “I think it’s cool you’re putting in even more exercise time,” he said.
My heart sank. I couldn’t even form a response. All I could do was fake a smile and wave goodbye.
The journey to Sabrina’s house was nerve-wracking. I tried to rehearse some phrases I might say, but felt stupid talking out loud while alone in the car. In the end, I decided not to worry about it and trust that things would unfold as they should.
While driving I recognized some of the places Justin and I used to visit on our trips north. We used to take this route sometimes to admire the beautiful homes. We’d eat at a new restaurant here or there—a romantic lunch while daydreaming about owning one of these mansions. “Not a problem,” Justin would say with a smirk. “Just give me a chance to expand the business a bit more.”
Within a short time, I was at the base of Sabrina’s driveway. I turned in and drove all the way down to the end. Then I froze. It took more effort than I thought I had to climb out of the car, walk forward and ring the bell.
A moment later the door opened. It was Sabrina.
“Hello Amy. I’m so glad you could make it. I hope you’re hungry?” she asked, “Because lunch is being served.”
“I could eat something,” I mumbled awkwardly.
The way she spoke–far too precise and formal–added another layer of discomfort to the already bizarre situation.
While following her down the expansive foyer, I noticed she was wearing a floor-length burgundy chiffon gown.
“Excuse me,” I said.
Sabrina stopped and turned to face me, giving me her full attention.
“Are you sure you were expecting me? I mean, it looks like you’re going somewhere. I don’t want to keep you… “
She gave me a confused look. “No. I’m not going anywhere. I was expecting you for lunch. We spoke last week.”
“Oh, okay,” I replied. “I was just double-checking.”
She turned and started walking again. I didn’t know many people who spent a lazy Sunday dining in formalwear, but I kept that thought to myself and continued following her.
We ended up in an amazing living room that seemed the size of my whole house. An enormous fireplace dominated the center of the room, which was surrounded by plush velvet sofas and chairs. The walls were adorned with artwork. As I glanced at the paintings, I noticed they were all very similar. The same woman was featured in each one. My gaze was interrupted by a man entering the room.
“Amy, this is Henry,” Sabrina said.
It was the man from the cemetery. An employee, I guessed.
“Hello,” he said. “Pleased to meet you again.”
I immediately thought of how nice it would be to employ someone like him to drive me around, answer my calls and wait on me. Then I changed my mind and decided it would be pretty creepy. It was only good in theory.
“Please,” Sabrina said, motioning to an overstuffed chair, “Have a seat.”
I sat down and tried to appear relaxed. I wasn’t sure if I should fold my hands over each other or sit cross-legged. I had never felt more out of place in my life. Luckily, within a few moments, Henry reappeared holding a tray of food. Then he set it on the table between the two of us.
“I hope you like Orangina,” Sabrina said, breaking the awkward silence.
I looked at the genie-shaped bottle. “I’ve never had it before.”
She reached for hers and took a sip. “I think you’ll like it. It’s a carbonated fruit beverage popular in Europe. When I’m in Paris, it’s all I drink.”
“Paris,” I blurted out. “Justin and I hoped to make it there someday.”
“Yes,” she replied. “I know.”
Her response made my neck muscles tighten. I wondered what else she knew.
Picking up on the tension, Sabrina added, “I mean Justin had mentioned his plans to take you there after I told him I’d gone.”
The comment put me more a
t ease, but I was still at a loss for what to say next.
“You mentioned every time you’re in Paris this is all you drink—which is delicious, by the way—but what brings you over there? If you don’t mind me asking?”
“Of course I don’t mind,” she said. Then she set down her drink. “I go there a few times a year on business. My parents were fashion designers. They’re both dead now—plane crash while vacationing in Indonesia–”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I interjected.
“Thank you,” she said, then continued. “They left the business to me, and I’m involved with approving what the designers put together for each collection. So I get to travel a bit for work.”
I sat in complete awe of what she had just said. It was like I was watching a movie.
“That sounds so glamorous and exciting.”
Her expression quietly disagreed. “I guess so,” she said in a somber tone. “Paris is the most romantic city in the world, but that fact is amplified when you’re there by yourself.”
I nibbled at my food, waiting for her to say more.
Reacting to the cue, she continued. “I guess I can be a bit jaded about that, though.”
“About what?” I asked.
Sabrina gazed off into her own private space. “About romance, about Paris.” Then she looked back at me and said, “I spent my honeymoon there, but we’ve been divorced for years now.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”
Sabrina shrugged. “Don’t be. It was a silly marriage anyway. His family knew my family. It seemed like a good match.”
She took a sip of her drink and said, “In the end, it was nothing but a huge disappointment.”
“How so?”
Sabrina looked me right in the eyes this time, with intensity. “Because it wasn’t true love.”
In that moment, I noticed a certain sadness that I hadn’t seen before. And it wasn’t because of the subject matter, either. The sadness I saw in her eyes ran deep, like a vast ocean, bottomless, endless.
“I mean he loved me,” she said. “But he loved every other pretty thing that caught his fancy, too, which was often.” She smirked.
I thought my next comment through carefully before speaking.
“I would think someone like you; someone who gets to travel and be involved with the fashion world would be able to meet all kinds of amazing men.”
“You’d think that,” she joked. “But it’s not that way. None of them are really—real.”
“I’m confused.”
“Well, they’re drop-dead gorgeous, that’s true, but too many of them are fake. They have nothing more to them than what’s on the outside.”
“I see what you mean,” I said.
And I did. I saw exactly what she meant. Justin wasn’t only handsome, he was a regular guy—he was “real.” I agreed with her, and that agreement caused my stomach to twist in concern.
Just then Sabrina asked, “Would you like to see the rest of the house?”
“Sure.”
Of course I’d want to see it. I wanted to see all that Justin had done, all he had accomplished. All the things that Sabrina had paid him for. It was all part of the mystery.
Sabrina got up and I followed her from room to room.
“This was a great house, but it was dated, so I had Justin make it perfect.” Her voice was practically giddy as she spoke.
She took me to a gourmet kitchen, with Viking appliances, granite counters, and dark wood cabinets with glass inserts. Dishes were lined neatly inside. There was a large dining room with a beautiful chandelier, and more portrait artwork adorning the walls. There was a good-sized library filled with books from top to bottom, several guest bedrooms and baths, and an over-the-top romantic master bedroom. It had its own matching bath, complete with Jacuzzi claw-foot tub.
As if that weren’t enough, Sabrina took me to a sprawling room with an indoor swimming pool. French doors opened to a beautifully furnished patio, with nothing but flowers and trees and land behind it, all impeccably landscaped. It took my breath away. It was enchanting.
“Wow! I’m speechless,” I said. “This is such an amazing place. You must love living here.”
She offered a polite smile.
“When I first moved here I didn’t like it much. But now that it’s been redone, I’m very happy with the results.”
I took this as my cue to be more probing.
“Yeah. I looked through Justin’s old invoices. It seems like he was here a lot for two years straight.”
“He was here often,” Sabrina replied with a smile.
It wasn’t just a smile, though, it was a glow.
“So were you here the majority of the time? Or were you busy travelling?” I asked.
“No. I was here while the projects were being done. I wanted to oversee everything.”
I’ll bet you did. Probably got your money’s worth of watching Justin’s muscles flex while he worked and broke a sweat. Apparently, the blue-collar guy gets all women, no matter their status.
Just then Henry walked in the room. “Will you ladies be needing any refreshments, dessert?”
“I’m good. Thanks.”
Sabrina shook her head no, then we headed to the living room and sat down. The uncomfortable silence returned for a long moment, until she finally spoke.
“That’s how we became friends,” she blurted out. “Justin was here so often… well, we talked a lot.”
I shifted uncomfortably in my chair and raised an eyebrow.
“We talked about a lot of things,” she continued, then, after a long pause, added, “but most of the time I listened to him talk about you.”
My jaw almost dropped. “He talked about me?”
“Yes,” she replied, obviously happy with the effect her words had on me.
“Wow. That must’ve been really boring.”
“No. Not at all. I actually found it fascinating.”
There’s no way she could’ve found it fascinating to hear about the wife of someone she was so obviously interested in. I decided she must be insulting me in a polite way, like how British people tell each other off—no swear words, just a condescending tone.
“I can’t possibly imagine what would be fascinating to hear about me.”
Sabrina gave me a confused expression. She looked like she was gathering her thoughts. “I guess it wasn’t the details of what he said. It was more the way he lit up when he told the stories.”
My heart skipped.
“Like how you two first met in high school, or how you planned the best wedding for less than five thousand dollars.” Sabrina paused, then added, “Or how happy he was when he discovered you were pregnant.”
Oh my God. Justin was a talker. I’d imagine if the client kept hanging around all the time, he’d eventually hit every topic.
I was mortified.
“Did you ever talk about anything else? Like maybe your life, for example? I mean, I’m sure that came up.”
Sabrina gave it some thought, then said, “Yes. I told him what I did for a living and that I travelled for work.” She laughed then added, “He said it seemed like I was from another world.”
It was true. She was someone from another world. The kind of person you read about but don’t actually know in real life.
“I mentioned the trips to Paris, and he asked me all about it. That’s when he said he hoped to take you there.”
It made me feel so good when she said that, but I didn’t let it show on my face. I was still fishing for information.
“Did you ever mention your honeymoon? Or the divorce?”
I wondered for a moment if I was being rude, but then I remembered this woman was the person who left flowers on my husband’s grave. I had a right to be nosy.
“I did,” she replied. “In fact, his response was I just hadn’t met the right man yet. And not to worry, it would happen.”
I could see it in her eyes then–that she’d wished Justin wer
e that man. And who could blame her? He was the best…
“Excuse me,” she said. “I need to use the restroom.”
While she was gone I looked around and noticed a book on the coffee table. It was an art book containing the works of John William Waterhouse. After picking it up and flipping through it, I realized these were the paintings on the walls. Then I checked my watch. I needed to get going soon. Just then, Sabrina returned.
“I see you found one of my favorite books,” she said.
“Yeah. I noticed it had the paintings from the walls.”
She let out a laugh. “I wish these were the paintings. They’re replicas.”
“Oh—they look like the real thing,” I said, embarrassed by my stupidity.
“Thanks,” she replied. “The real ones, well, the majority of them, at least, are in the hands of Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber.”
“The man who composed The Phantom of the Opera?”
“Exactly. And almost every other successful musical I can think of.”
“I guess that’s the career to have—if I’d only known,” I joked.
In that moment we giggled with each other like we were old friends, but we definitely were not.
I glanced at my watch again. “I have to get going soon and pick up my son,” I said. “It was nice to see you.”
I got up and set the book back on top the coffee table. Sabrina stepped forward, picked it back up, and handed it to me.
“Why don’t you take this with you,” she suggested. “You can return it next time.”
I accepted her book. And I knew that by doing so, that I would visit Sabrina again.
It was madness.
Chapter 7
Driving back home, I listened to classical music, something I never do, while I thought about our conversation. I had gotten information I was looking for, and a whole lot I hadn’t expected. It was as if I’d opened Pandora’s Box.
I wasn’t sure what to make of it all or how I felt. I was momentarily distracted from these thoughts the moment I walked in the front door and smelled pizza, the good kind—delivery. My mom must’ve had a very relaxing day.