by Unknown
“Sure, um, that’d be nice.”
She paused.
“Do you remember when you met me?” she asked.
“Of course.”
“What made you fall in love with me?”
Harry didn’t even have to think about his answer.
“Your eyes,” he said. “I knew I could trust you by looking in your big, blue eyes. I could’ve gazed into those eyes forever.”
“Aww, I love when you’re romantic. It’s so—”
The call ended, the phone beeping once then going dead in his hand. He held it away from his face and stared at it. He pushed the power button, but nothing happened. Even removing and reattaching the battery didn’t help.
“Weird,” he said. He dropped the phone back in the box. He couldn’t explain why the phone had worked, or why the call had gone to it at all. They hadn’t had the same number or even the same provider back then.
With a sigh, he slipped the box back on the shelf just as Celeste opened the door upstairs.
oOo
“What the hell are you talking about?” Celeste glared at him, her blue eyes frosted over.
She’d come home grumpy, and Harry should’ve known better than to bring this up, but he’d been so sure of their talk on the old cell phone.
Now she stood in their dining room, hip thrust to one side, arms crossed—a posture that said she was open to nothing, especially not to him.
“You called me earlier,” he said. He raised his hand as if holding a phone. “On the cell phone. You talked about the day we met, and told me to open champagne.”
“Have you been drinking?” She placed her hands on her hips, and thrust her chin out like she always did when irritated.
“No, not even a drop. In fact, you didn’t even call me on my smart phone. You called me on the old cell phone, the very first one I had. How did you do that?”
She stepped closer, bending forward so she could look into his eyes, like his mother used to do when he was sick. He half expected Celeste to touch his forehead. Instead, she shook her head and turned away. He caught the scent of her shampoo—vanilla and almond and a subtle hint of coconut. It’d been months since he’d been close enough to smell her. Now it made his heart ache.
“That thing’s been dead for years,” she said. “There’s no way it’s still working.”
Harry dropped into a chair at the kitchen table, putting his hands in his lap. She was right, of course, she always was. The cell phone couldn’t have worked. Yet, he recalled every word of their conversation, still felt the rush of adrenaline as he heard the music back in her voice.
“I’m telling you, Celeste,” he said, “I had a conversation with you on that phone today.”
“No. You didn’t.”
Two possibilities occurred to him: either she was lying or he was losing his mind. Celeste valued honesty in all things—she hated liars. So that left crazy, and he didn’t feel crazy. Just confused.
No, he’d talked with Celeste—or someone—on the old cell phone. He knew it.
He ran to the basement and brought the shoebox upstairs. He threw off the lid, withdrew the old cell phone, and held down the power button for a count of three.
Nothing happened. Celeste sighed.
He held the button down again, this time counting to five.
Still nothing.
“I’ve seen enough.” Celeste started for the stairs. “Get some sleep. You’ll think straighter in the morning.”
She left the room, not even waiting for his response.
He hefted the worthless phone in his palm, then dropped it back in the box and shuffled to the guest bedroom.
oOo
Harry trudged up the basement stairs, and across the linoleum that led to the front door. In one hand he carried a trash bag full of junk, in the other the box of cell phones. He managed to open the door and made it to the dumpster in the driveway when a cell phone rang.
It startled him so much he dropped the trash bag, shattering glass inside. He almost dropped the box of cell phones too, but caught it at knee level. He tore the top off and searched for the ringing phone.
He found it quick enough, as the old flip phone vibrated and skittered across the bottom of the box. He flipped it open and looked at the tiny LCD screen. All zeroes scrolled across the window, the words “unknown caller” underneath. He hesitated, again knowing how impossible this was. He pressed talk anyway.
“Celeste?” he asked.
“Harry, do you remember the bridesmaids’ dresses I picked out? Oh my God, they were so incredible. They were that periwinkle color, which normally I wouldn’t have chosen, but Beth and Connie both had light blue eyes and those dresses made them pop. And they went perfectly with the bouquets, and invitations, and … why aren’t you saying anything?”
Harry’s throat tightened. Their wedding had been eight years ago, when they’d used this cell phone, so why was she talking about it now? Still, the excitement in her voice—excitement about their marriage—wrapped him in a spell that held him fast.
“I like hearing your voice.” It wasn’t a lie. Hearing the light, musical quality return to her voice was like finding a diamond lost years ago. “I could listen to it forever.”
“Well, that’s good, since marriage is forever.”
“You’re not mad at me anymore?”
“Mad at you? No, I’m not mad. In fact, why don’t you get out the video of our wedding. It’s not quite our anniversary, but we can sit back and watch it and remember how much fun we had.”
The part of his mind that solved problems and graded papers screamed at him, but Harry didn’t listen. He’d missed this so much, the feeling that they were one mind in two bodies. It was the emotional intimacy their current marriage lacked. He couldn’t let it go.
He nodded as if she could see him through the phone.
“Of course. We can watch as soon as you get home.”
“Okay, I’ll see you in a few.”
He flipped the phone closed, placed it back in the box, and put the lid on as if he were wrapping a Christmas present. He carried the trash bag to the dumpster, dropped it inside, then paused. Shaking his head, he closed the dumpster and carried the shoebox back indoors.
oOo
Harry stepped back from the big screen TV, admiring the picture paused there. Celeste stood in her wedding dress, her hand looped through her father’s arm, preparing to walk down the aisle. Her golden hair fell like waves of sunlight past her shoulders, and her eyes sparkled at the camera, lakes of blue.
Her dress had been magnificent, a hand-me-down from her mother, low-cut in the front and even lower in the back. The train was easily six feet long and had to be held up by the flower girl. The image still took his breath away.
He’d had to search for their wedding DVD, and had found it stuffed in the bottom of a drawer between a dusty photo album and some wrinkled napkins bearing their names. Seeing the old video brought back a nostalgic feeling the same way looking at black-and-white photos of his childhood did.
He lowered the lights in the entertainment room, and thought about lighting candles, but decided that was too obvious. He had to take things slow, baby steps, or he might scare Celeste away. So he set the volume at a level that would allow them to talk, and pulled down the blinds on the two basement windows. The scent of buttered popcorn swirled around the room from a bowl he’d put on the couch.
Upstairs, the front door clicked open and Celeste banged inside. Judging by the heaviness of her steps, she carried something, so Harry jogged up the steps to help her.
When he took the shopping bag from her, she stopped in her tracks and stared at him like he was a stranger. When he took her coat to hang it up, she stepped back, put her hands on her hips, and tilted her head to one side.
“Who are you and what did you do with Harry?”
Harry laughed, which seemed to make her even more nervous, as she rolled her eyes and moved to the kitchen. Harry followed her, and leaned
against the counter so the sun streaming through the skylight warmed his face.
“I got it ready.”
She opened the fridge and stuck her head inside.
“Got what ready?”
“We talked about it on the phone.” She pulled her head out of the refrigerator and raised her eyebrows. He sighed. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
She followed him down to the darkened media room, but as soon as she saw the TV she froze.
“What is this?”
“It’s our wedding video,” he explained. “You called and told me to set it up.”
“We didn’t talk on the phone, Harry. But even if we did, I wouldn’t ask you to run the video of the biggest mistake I ever made.”
Harry had to fight to keep from doubling over like she’d punched him in the gut. He wanted to speak, but the air had left him. Across the room, Celeste still stood, glaring.
“I see what you’re doing. This is hard for me too, but reliving old times won’t make me fall back in love with you.”
“I’m not … I mean, you said …”
“Oh Christ, Harry, are you losing your mind? We did not talk on the phone today.”
Harry put his hand on the entertainment center to hold himself up.
“But you called me. On the old flip phone this time.”
He thought about showing her the caller ID, but remembered it had come up all zeroes. Was he losing his mind? No, even though his mind called it impossible, his heart knew they’d spoken.
“Don’t you have any doubts?” he asked her. “We were good once, Celeste. Better than good, we were great. Don’t you think—”
“No, I don’t think we should keep trying. I don’t think we should try to remember, I don’t think we should stay together, and I don’t think we should try to fall back in love. If you have to try to fall in love, you’re doing it wrong.”
Harry dropped onto the sofa, spilling the popcorn. He slouched, as if all the substance had rushed from his body, leaving nothing but a sack of skin draped over the cushions.
Celeste stood, and for a moment he thought he saw something in her eyes. A softening maybe, a moment when the ice chipped away and he saw the oceans of possibilities in her eyes again. And then it fled.
“Pull your head out of your ass, Harry,” she said. “You can’t change the past.”
oOo
Harry leaned back in his office chair, hands behind his head, and propped his feet up on the desk. How many hours had they spent in here together, her balancing the checkbook while he worked on proposals or graded papers?
He dropped his feet to the floor, put his hands on the desk, and resolved to start cleaning out the drawers. In the living room, the TV news continued ranting about the potential damage from the solar flares. He rolled his eyes—everything was a disaster if it meant ratings.
He opened the first desk drawer, a deep one on the left side, just as a cell phone rang. Inside the drawer sat the box of old cell phones, right where he’d put it. He lifted the lid and saw light coming from the slider phone he’d had five years ago. Sighing, he reached inside.
“Celeste, is that you?”
“Of course it’s me, silly. Who else would call you on this phone?”
He paused. “What do you mean?”
“Boy you’re flaky today, Mr. Chambers.” She giggled and Harry’s stomach did a flip. “You just got this phone. No one else knows the number yet, so I’m the only one who can call you.”
“Oh yeah.”
She laughed again, the sound echoing in his mind like a church bell. “As long as you have your wits about you tonight.”
“What’s tonight?” This time she said nothing, and tension radiated through the phone. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No, not really,” she replied. “It’s not important.”
He hated feeling like he’d hurt her, like he had crushed her laughter.
“It is to you, so I should move it up on my priority list.”
Her voice carried a dull edge of sadness this time, making Harry flinch.
“It’s not something you just move up your list. We were supposed to start trying tonight. You know … to get pregnant.”
Harry’s heart stopped in his chest, and he forced himself to breathe. He remembered this conversation now, recalled the day they’d had it in real life over this phone. And he remembered their unsuccessful efforts to get pregnant, ending in the discovery that he was sterile. Having children would never be in their future.
He didn’t know what to say to her now. None of his options made sense. This talk had planted the seeds that eventually grew into the massive, thorny hedge that stood between them. But it had happened five years ago.
In the background, the news anchor droned on.
“Solar flares of this magnitude can disrupt electrical grids, radio transmissions, navigational aids, and cell phone networks. There may be other effects scientists aren’t aware of yet, as storms of this magnitude are rare.”
“Harry? Harry did you hear me?”
He stood frozen, unable to move, speak, or even lower the phone. He stared straight ahead as it all set in.
He was talking to the past. The solar storm must have caused … something to make it possible. There was only one way to find out. He would ask Celeste what date it was.
Yet when he opened his mouth, the wrong words came out.
“Sorry, just thinking.”
“About what?”
“About making a baby,” he lied. “About what great parents we’re going to be.”
“See?” she said. “It is important to you! We’ll make an amazing family.”
Before he could say anything else, the front door opened and Celeste clattered in. Harry punched the stop button and dropped the phone back in the shoebox, slamming the drawer.
He got to the kitchen as Celeste set a box of chardonnay on the counter. He leaned there with his arms crossed and watched her open the box, readying the spout. When she reached for a cup, he grabbed her hand and pulled her to him.
“I still love you,” he said. “I always will.”
She eased herself away, avoiding eye contact, and moved to a chair at the table. She sat with her head in her hands, rubbing her temples, and looked up at him through red-lined eyes.
“I don’t know what to say,” she said. “I loved you once, when we met, even when we got married. But somewhere along the line you changed and I fell out of love with you.”
Harry took the chair opposite her.
“When we decided to get divorced,” she went on, “I knew what I was doing, what I needed. You were who you were, and I didn’t love who you were. But now I’m confused. The last few days you’ve been different. No … not different, the same. A little bit of the Harry I fell in love with is peeking through, and I don’t know what to think.”
“Are you saying you’re having second thoughts?”
She looked at the ceiling and let out a deep sigh.
“I don’t know what I’m saying. Starting with that misunderstanding about the phone call, it’s like you’ve gone back in time. Like the old Harry is fighting to come out, but he keeps running into a wall and hiding again. Throw in your erratic behavior of late, and I just don’t know if this is real.”
Harry felt a tickle in his chest, the slightest twinge in his heart. Fearing a heart attack, he grasped at his chest. It took him a moment to realize the unfamiliar feeling was hope.
“Maybe we’re rushing into the divorce,” he suggested. “We’ve been together for ten years, what are a few more months gonna hurt?”
Her brow knitted down as she studied his face, cocking her head to the side.
“I guess we could slow things down. I still think we should do it, but maybe we don’t need to rush. We could start going out on dates. Maybe, if the old Harry shows up consistently, there’s a chance.”
This time his heart soared, as if tied to a kite in a strong wind, completely out of his control. An unexp
ected grin stretched his lips.
She winced. “Don’t get your hopes up. This is just a slow-down, not a cancellation.”
Still, as she poured herself some wine, Harry felt like he hadn’t in years: alive.
oOo
Harry stood in the kitchen, his back to the window, the sun warming his shoulders as he smiled at the picture of Celeste he held before him. The picture had been taken five years ago, before things went south. Her smile radiated, even from the picture, as warm as the sun on his back.
He had the TV on again, the news echoing in the living room. Another anchor talked about the solar storm. It was dying off, he said. Experts predicted less interference, and said things should start working right again.
Harry hoped not.
He’d left the next cell phone, the two-year-old first generation smart phone, on the desk so he’d be sure to hear it ring. Sure enough, as he stood staring at the picture, it rang, an electronic rendering of the song played at their wedding. Harry jogged through the office door, snatched up the phone, and answered it on the second ring.
“Hi Celeste.”
“Harry, I’m meeting Carrie for dinner tonight. I’ll be home late.” Tension vibrated in her voice, as if she were a guitar string plucked in anger. He remembered Carrie, the willowy brunette who’d whisked Celeste away in a torrent of whispers and gossip about him.
“Is everything okay, babe?”
Silence on the other end told him it was not.
“Come on, Celeste. I feel like you’re mad at me.”
“Is there something to be mad about?”
He hated it when she turned things around on him, made him incriminate himself even when he had no idea what he’d done. What bothered him even more was the sudden shift in mood for this wife from the past. Every other call had been pleasant, flirtatious even. But never irritated, never angry.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “We haven’t spoken all day, so I couldn’t have said something to tick you off.”