Remembering Me (12 page)

There was only one snag. Two, really. Joe’s mother and sister. They probably would not have approved of any woman Joe chose, their own emotional needs for him were so great, but Sarah was a particular affront to them because of her age and because she was not Catholic. Sarah also feared that they found her too unattractive for their good-looking son and brother. She felt beautiful in Joe’s eyes, yet she knew most of the outside world did not see that beauty in her.

She had not spent any real length of time with his mother and sister, Sarah said to Joe one day, having only spoken with them briefly on a few occasions. Determined to win them over, she suggested they all go out to dinner together.

Joe took charge of planning the outing. They would meet his mother and sister at Seville’s, he told Sarah. It was a cozy little restaurant, he said. Perfect for quiet conversation.

Once seated in the restaurant with Mrs. Tolley and Joe’s sister, Mary Louise, Sarah began to look around her. The dining room was indeed quiet and cozy, as Joe had promised. The lights were dim, and there was an understated elegance about the place. But as she looked further, she noticed that all of the paintings on the dark walls were of nudes. Every single piece. She looked at Joe, knowing instantly that he had brought his family here for the shock value. He was wicked. Yet she found herself stifling a laugh.

His mother and sister had not yet noticed the art on the walls. Mrs. Tolley was too busy complaining about the table they had been given.

“It’s too near the kitchen,” she said, although they were several tables from the swinging kitchen door. “And there’s a spot on my water glass.”

“And lucky us,” Mary Louise said, under her breath. “We get the colored waiter.”

Sarah cringed as the waiter approached their table, hoping he had not heard the comment.

Joe smiled at her across the table as his mother gave the waiter her exacting order, and Sarah wondered how such a warm, fun-loving, tolerant man could belong to this unlikable family.

“Oh, my God.” Mary Louise lowered her head after the waiter had gone. Her cheeks were crimson, and Sarah knew she’d finally noticed the walls. “Mother, don’t dare look at the paintings.”

Mrs. Tolley immediately raised her head to look at the wall to her left and let out a sound of disgust.

“Did you know these paintings were here?” she asked her son, anger in her voice.

“Well, of course,” he said. “I think they’re exceptional. I wrote about them when I reviewed this place last year.”

Mrs. Tolley glared at him, then shifted her angry eyes to her daughter. “We should leave,” she said.

Mary Louise leaned across the table to touch her mother’s hand. “We’ve already ordered, Mother. We’ll simply have to stay.”

Mrs. Tolley closed her eyes as if gathering strength. When she opened them again, she turned to Sarah, and, with strained politeness, inquired as to how she was enjoying her job “treating the insane.”

“It’s fine,” Sarah said. “I love the work I do at Mercy.”

“Could you get a job as a regular nurse?” Mary Louise asked, a touch of hope in her voice.

“I
am
a regular nurse,” Sarah said.

“I mean, taking care of people with, you know,
real
illnesses instead of…you know.”

“The people I take care of definitely have real illnesses,” Sarah said, keeping her voice as even as possible. “You’d only have to spend a day with them to know they can’t help the way they are.”

“Oh, do you really believe that?” Mrs. Tolley asked. “I think anyone who’s been raised properly and who eats well and keeps company among good people will rarely have any sort of mental problem.”

“Mother, that’s ridiculous,” Joe said. “What about your old friend, Mrs. Jackson? What did she do to deserve her transformation into a lunatic?” He turned to Sarah, a look of apology on his face. “Pardon my language,” he said.

“She’s a special case,” Mrs. Tolley said. “If she hadn’t married that lazy drunkard she would have been fine.”

“Did you see her last week at church?” Mary Louise asked. “She had a
handkerchief
on her head instead of a hat.”

“Oh, I know,” Mrs. Tolley said. She turned to Sarah. “You don’t need to wear hats in
your
church, do you?” she asked.

“Well, it’s not necessary,” Sarah said.

Mrs. Tolley nodded. “I didn’t think so. Not the same sort of respect there, I guess.”

“Mother,” Joe said. “Mind your manners.”

“You mind
yours
,” Mrs. Tolley snapped at him. She turned to Sarah again. “He can be so insolent! He’ll probably be
your
age by the time he grows out of it. Hope I live that long.”

“Mother!” Joe was really angry now. Sarah had never seen that flame in his eyes before.

“It’s all right, Joe,” Sarah said. “I’m not that sensitive.” But she was. Inside she ached from the insults, and she longed for dinner to be over. She maintained a polite and friendly demeanor as Joe’s mother and sister asked her patronizing and ignorant questions about the mentally ill, but her mind was no longer on her dining companions. Instead, it was on the artwork, a powerful escape from the reality of the evening.

Directly above Joe’s left shoulder was one of the most beautiful paintings she’d ever seen. The light in the restaurant was dim, but the images in the painting grew clearer to Sarah as the evening wore on. A man stood behind a woman, embracing her, and both of them were nude. Only one of the man’s legs was visible, and his thigh was thick and muscled. Sarah could barely steal her eyes away from the seductive hollow of his hip. One of his hands was on the woman’s rib cage, the length of one finger lying beneath the swell of her breast. His other hand rested on the curve of her hip. The woman was beautiful, her hair long and red. Her nipples were dark and erect. The dark triangle of hair at the base of her belly was just within reach of the man’s fingertips.

Sarah’s own nipples tightened as she studied the painting. The conversation drifted around her until, suddenly, she glanced at Joe and knew he had been watching her. Surely he knew what she was seeing above his shoulder. He smiled at her, raising his eyebrows provocatively, and the gesture felt like an invitation to her. They had not yet made love. Right now, though, she wanted his idiotic sister and mother and the rest of the diners to disappear so that she could strip off her clothes and have her way with Joe right there on the table.

After their meal, she and Joe said good-night to his family and left the restaurant for the walk to her apartment.

“Go on,” Joe said. “Let it out.”

For a moment, she thought he was referring to her feelings of passion. “Let what out?” she asked.

“Everything you want to say about Mother and Mary Louise. Go on. I can take it.”

“Oh.” She laughed. “I can’t. It wouldn’t be right.”

“Better than letting it fester inside you.”

“Well, first of all, you egged them on by taking them to Seville’s.”

“
You
certainly seemed to like it, though,” he said.

“The food was good,” she agreed.

“I wasn’t talking about the food.”

She laughed again. Every line of that painting was etched in her mind. Her body felt hot when she thought about it.

“So,” he said, bringing her back to the moment. “Mother and M.L.”

They turned the corner, the street lined with row houses. “Well, they are hypocritical, bigoted, prissy and rather superficial to boot,” she said.

Joe laughed. “You left out ‘bitchy.’”

Although she was surprised to hear Joe use that word, especially in reference to his own mother and sister, she had to agree. “That, too,” she said.

“You handled them wonderfully,” he said, stopping suddenly on the sidewalk as he turned to face her. His hands on her shoulders, he kissed her. “This was your big test,” he said.

“And I failed miserably.”

“With Mom and Mary Louise, maybe, but you’re a victor in my eyes.” Holding her hand high in the air, he walked her over to the steps of the nearest row house. With a flourish, he took off his jacket and set it on the top step, then motioned her to sit down on it.

Sarah glanced at the windows in the row house and took
her seat, giggling like a young girl. “What are we doing? What if someone comes out of—”

“Sh.” Lowering himself to one knee, he kissed her hand. “Now that I know you can hold your own with mother and Mary Louise,” he said, “I feel confident asking you to marry me. Will you?” he asked. “Marry me?”

She was stunned, not that he would one day ask her this question, but that it would come now, after his mother and sister had made their disdain for her and her religion and her profession so very clear.

“You might lose them,” she said. “Your family.”

“I love them,” he said. “Despite the fact that they are…all those things you said they are. But it’s you I want to spend the rest of my life with, not them. So will you?” In the porch light of the row house, his eyes were bright and hopeful.

“Of course I will,” she said.

Her roommate was away for the weekend, and she and Joe had the apartment to themselves. Sarah made Joe a cup of tea, then disappeared into her bedroom. Her heart beating fast, she undressed and slipped into her robe. Then she called him in.

He stood in the doorway, clearly surprised at finding her in her robe. He said nothing, but leaned against the doorjamb, a smile on his face.

Untying the robe, she let it slip to the floor. The air in the apartment was cool against her skin, and she watched his eyes drift over her body as she walked toward him.

He didn’t touch her when she neared him. He seemed to be letting her take the lead, and that was what she wanted. She unbuttoned his shirt, slipping it from his shoulders. She unbuckled his belt, then lowered the zipper on his trousers, and
she heard his sharp intake of breath as her hand accidentally brushed over the rigid mass beneath his shorts. Then it seemed he could stand it no longer. He tore off the rest of his clothes and began covering her face and throat and shoulders with kisses, at once tender and feverish. As he pulled her tightly against him, she felt the steely heat of his erection.

He drew down the covers on her bed and lowered her gently into it. Then he lay next to her, caressing her, loving her, and she thought there was nothing more she would ever need to make her world complete.

Joe’s mother and sister refused to come to the wedding, which was held in the small Methodist church Sarah had attended over the years. Joe didn’t complain about their absence. The joy he felt in Sarah’s company seemed to make up for whatever loss he might endure.

They went to Florida for their honeymoon, to the wilds of the Everglades, as close to the atmosphere of Africa they could afford. They left by plane immediately after the small reception. It was Sarah’s first time in a plane, and she clung to Joe’s hand nervously, feeling the solid strength in him. For the first time in her adult life, she had someone to lean on. That realization brought tears of joy to her eyes, and she stared out the window so Joe wouldn’t see them and misinterpret them.

The morning after their wedding night, Joe turned to her in bed.

“I have a wedding gift for you,” he said, touching her cheek. He rose from the bed, and she watched his long, beautiful body as he walked toward the dresser. From the top drawer, he removed a small, wrapped box and carried it back to the bed. Sarah waited for him to get under the covers again before opening the package.

Inside was a stunning gold brooch. She turned it around in her fingers.

“It goes this way,” Joe said, taking it from her hands. “It’s our initials, see?” He ran the tip of his finger over the smooth gold. “Here’s a
J
for me, and an
S
for you. Do you see it?”

“Oh, it’s beautiful!” she said. “Oh, thank you, Joe. I’ll always wear it.”

Drawing her to him gently, Joe buried his lips in her hair. “We’re going to have a phenomenal marriage, Sarah,” he said. “We’ll travel and see plays and laugh together. You’ll wear your pin every day. And at least once a week, we’ll go to Seville’s for inspiration.”

Sarah laughed as she reached behind him to set the brooch on the nightstand. Then she pulled her husband into her arms, hoping she could stay in bed with him for hours and hours, on this, the very first day of their phenomenal marriage.

They had reached the entrance of the retirement home when Sarah came to the end of her story. Laura pushed open the front door for her, and Sarah looked surprised.

“Is this it?” she asked. “Is this where I live?”

“Yes,” Laura said. “We walked a long way today.”

“Oh my, yes, we did.” Sarah walked across the threshold into the building, raising her hands over her head in a show of victory that reminded Laura of Sylvester Stallone in the
Rocky
movies. She couldn’t help but laugh.

Inside the foyer, Sarah pointed in the direction of her apartment. “That way?” she asked.

“That’s right.” Laura walked with her down the hall to be certain Sarah found the right apartment. She was feeling a sadness she could not quite label. Hearing the intimate details of Sarah’s relationship with her husband had made her a bit
uncomfortable, although Sarah seemed to have no qualms about sharing them. More than discomfort, she knew she felt some envy. Yes, she’d been married to a fine man, but she had never experienced the sort of intense love, passion and tenderness that Sarah had described so well.