To Fall in Love Again Read online

  Text copyright 2014 David Burnett

  All Rights Reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Diana

  Amy

  Flight from Denver

  Arrival

  First Move

  First Date

  Reaction

  Walk on the Battery

  Jennifer

  Birthday Party

  The Ball

  The Cabin

  Holidays

  The Will

  The GPS

  Separation

  Coffee Shop

  Book Club

  The Cabin

  Other Books by David Burnett

  Sample of Those Children Are Ours

  About the Author

  Diana

  Drew opened the door slowly. Its hinge often squeaked, and he did not want it to disturb Di. He walked across the dark room and settled into the chair beside her bed. The small lamp on the table cast a warm glow across her face as she slept. The only sound was her breathing, soft and regular.

  He reached out and took her hand in his. She stirred, but she did not awaken. He studied her face, memorizing each curve. Soon, he would have nothing else left of her.

  His eyes traced down and, just as he’d expected, in her right hand she held a small wooden panel, the size of a photograph. It brought her peace, and when she’d checked in to the nursing home she had insisted on bringing it. On one side was a picture, an icon of the death of Jesus’s mother. In the picture, Mary lay on a bed, her eyes closed, surrounded by the apostles. Jesus, himself, stood beside her, holding a baby wrapped in white cloths.

  The baby is Mary’s soul, Di had told him. Jesus came to take her home.

  Earlier, when Drew had tried to convince Diana she would be coming home soon, she had agreed, but she’d meant it in a different way than he had. She had said she was going home and that Jesus would come to take her, the same way he had taken Mary.

  A tear slid down his cheek.

  Di’s eyes fluttered opened. She saw him and smiled. “Soon,” she murmured. “Maybe tonight.”

  “No. Don’t be silly. You’re going to be fine.” His eyes filled with tears. The man who could look objectively at his patients couldn’t do the same with his wife.

  “You’re the eternal optimist, aren’t you?” She smiled at him. “I’ve always loved that in you. You’ve pulled me through one crisis after another, always sure that things would turn out well in the end.” Her eyes cut back to the icon. “I don’t think it will work this time.”

  Drew gazed at her face. To him, she looked just as she had thirty years earlier. To him, her blue eyes sparkled as they had on the day they’d first met; her blond hair shone as it had on the beach their first summer together; not a single wrinkle creased her face.

  His heart twisted painfully in his chest. Di made a weak effort to squeeze his hand, and he took hers in both of his. She spoke so softly that he could barely hear her, so he leaned closer.

  “Drew, listen to me. When I’m gone, there is something I want you to do for me.”

  “I’ll do whatever you want. You know that.”

  “I want you to remarry.”

  “Let’s not talk about—”

  “I want you to remarry. Drew, I’ve known you for thirty years. You will be miserable alone. Find someone nice, someone pretty.” A smile crossed her face. “Someone sexy.”

  “Like you?” He smiled as he wiped the tears from his eyes.

  “Exactly.” She sighed and closed her eyes.

  “That’s a high standard.”

  She nodded. “You deserve the best. I talked to Jennifer about it. She’ll make sure that you follow through.”

  Drew shook his head. She had talked to their daughter about him remarrying.

  “Promise me, Drew. Please.”

  “I won’t be alone. I promise.”

  She smiled. “Good. Follow your heart. It won’t lead you astray.” She took a deep breath. “You know that love never ends, so I’ll never really leave you, Drew. Look for me. I’ll be around.”

  He patted her arm, not able to speak.

  “I’m tired now, Drew. I think I’ll sleep some more.”

  ***

  It was almost midnight and Di suddenly sat up straight in bed. Drew jumped, startled. He had fallen asleep in the chair beside her, as he had almost every night during the month that she’d been in the nursing home. In fact, he could count on the fingers of one hand the number of nights he had slept at home during that time.

  “Remember your promise,” she murmured.

  Drew reached for her, a smile drifting across her face. Then, she pressed the icon against her chest and slowly sank back into the bed.

  He sensed that it was time—that she was slipping away from him. He grasped her hand, desperate, trying to hold on to her. Drew felt a single, faint squeeze, and then her hand was limp.

  The tightness in his chest turned to a deep, soul-reaching ache, and he sat like that for a few minutes, holding her hand and murmuring a prayer for her—although, he was certain that she did not need his help.

  But what now?

  It was finally over. The woman he had vowed to love forever was gone, and he was alone. She was not supposed to leave him. Not now. Not so soon. Not ever. She had made him promise that he would remarry, but how could he do that? How could he replace her? How could he ever be able to fall in love again?

  Amy

  The sun broke through the clouds as Amy approached the city. She had been driving non-stop for almost six hours and she wanted to pull over and walk for a few minutes, but she kept driving. She slowed to fifty-five as she reached the perimeter highway, even though the other drivers appeared to ignore the posted limit. She recalled the saying that speed limits in Atlanta were suggestions rather than rules.

  She glanced at the directions to the hotel. Just a few more miles. The traffic was heavy—when was Atlanta traffic not heavy?—but at least it was moving.

  Fifteen minutes later, she took the Peachtree exit. The hotel was ahead on the right, so Amy pulled into a parking garage and walked the last block.

  As she entered the lobby, Amy turned around, taking it all in. It was breathtaking—the atrium soaring twenty stories high and flowers hanging from boxes on every floor. Clear lights twinkled on the trees in the lobby, and water splashed in a fountain. A small shop proudly brewed Starbucks, and she could see french pastries displayed in the window. She understood that the hotel boasted a five-star restaurant. It was a wonderful place for the romantic getaway that she had dreamed about so many times.

  People milled around, chatting. A sign above a long table on the right read Convention Registration, and a crowd had gathered in front. Jack must have made the reservation a long time ago, must have planned this, to be able to get a room, she thought.

  Amy walked to the hotel’s desk. It was three o’clock, a large group was checking in, and she waited in line for a clerk. Finally, a young woman looked up.

  “May I help you?”

  “I’m Amy Barrett. My husband checked in yesterday, but I just reached town. I need a key.” The clerk looked at her uncertainly. “Here’s my ID.” Amy smiled.

  The man standing behind Amy gave an exasperated sigh, and the clerk glanced at him with a nervous expression. She quickly checked Amy’s ID, located the room, and handed her a key. “Here you are, Mrs. Barrett. You are in the Richardson Suite. Have a nice stay.”

  Amy took the key and walked
toward the elevator. A suite, she thought. Nice.

  She hesitated outside of the room, hoping Jack was not inside. She wanted to surprise him.

  She inserted the key and quietly opened the door. The curtains were not drawn and sunlight streamed into the living room. As she looked for a place to hide, she heard sounds coming from the bedroom. Now would have to do for her big surprise.

  She wanted to capture the expression on Jack’s face when he saw her. Reaching into the pocket of her parka, she pulled out her camera, powered it on, and switched on the flash. Portraits taken with flash were seldom flattering, she knew, but these would not make it to Facebook. They were for her attorney.

  Amy thrust open the door, flooding the room with light as she stepped into it. Sure enough, there was her husband, Jack, and he was definitely surprised…as was Marci, his secretary.

  He looked over his shoulder and, as Amy raised her camera, he threw himself across Marci, as if perhaps he thought Amy held a pistol. How chivalrous.

  Amy pointed the camera and held the shutter down, firing off several shots, the flash popping repeatedly. She stepped quickly to the side to make sure that she could see Marci’s face and took another series.

  As if finally aware what was going on, Jack jumped from the bed. As he lunged for the camera, Amy took one last shot. He threw his hands to his face, as if blinded by the flash at the close distance.

  “Surprise,” Amy mumbled under her breath as she walked quickly out of the room and left the suite.

  She scurried to her car, then drove uptown, pulling into the parking lot at Lenox Square to call her attorney, to tell him that she had the photographs. After talking with him, she got out and walked into the mall. She needed a distraction, something to think about, other than Jack.

  She felt light-headed and trembled as she passed through the entrance. Red hearts hung on each door, and red-and-white bows were tied to the lights. Valentine’s decorations were everywhere that she looked. She was not in the mood to celebrate love.

  As she joined the crowd of shoppers who were picking through the remains of the after-Christmas sales, she had the sensation that she was all alone, in a tunnel. Although she was surrounded by people, she could not hear what they were saying. She saw them as blurry figures, flashing past her, appearing in her path as she swerved to avoid them.

  Though she tried not to, as she walked through the stores, she replayed the scene from the hotel room, over and over again, still feeling the shock of actually seeing her husband in bed with his secretary. She had known that she would catch them together, but actually seeing them had been much worse than she had expected.

  Not wanting to go home, afraid that she would encounter Jack, she decided to stay in Atlanta. Even though she was expecting to have a sleepless night, she set her alarm for five o’clock, when she would return to Charleston to meet with her attorney.

  ***

  Jack had come and gone before she’d arrived at home. Amy supposed that her appearance with her camera had taken the romance out of his trip. Poor Jack. Some of his clothes were missing from the bedroom closet, his laptop was no longer on the shelf in the office, his desk had been ransacked, and a file drawer was empty.

  Amy called a locksmith to re-key the locks, and changed the passwords on all of her accounts. Then, she sat and stared at the television, paying no attention to the programs, until her attorney called to say that Jack had been served with her petition for a divorce.

  She put her dinner dishes in the sink and walked around the house. She spied a framed photograph of her and Jack, and she took it off the wall, dropping it into a trash can. With tears running down her face, she walked to her bedroom, carried her jewelry box to the bed, and began to sort through it, selecting the items that Jack had given her over their thirty years of marriage, dropping them into a paper bag. Elaine and Cathy could look at them, keep the gifts their father had given her if they wanted.

  She opened a drawer and pulled out her wedding album. As she slowly turned the pages, tears ran down her cheeks as she recalled the day, remembering how excited and happy she had been, picturing the smile on Jack’s face as the priest had pronounced them married. Where did they go wrong? What had she done that was so bad?

  Amy started to throw the album into the garbage with Jack’s photograph, but she changed her mind. Maybe tomorrow. She would go through the house then and collect everything that reminded her of him. Do it all at once.

  She changed clothes and curled up on the bed. As the clock in the hall struck nine, she felt herself drifting off to sleep. It had been a long few days.

  It seemed as if she had only slept for a few minutes when the doorbell rang. Amy jumped, instantly awake. The clock on the bedside table read twelve fifteen. Surely, she thought, Jack would have the decency not to show up at home tonight. Surely, not at this hour.

  She tumbled out of bed, pulling an afghan around her body to ward off the cold.

  It could be Jack. He would have to ring the bell, or knock, since his key would not turn the lock. Surely, though, she thought, he was shacked up across town with Marci.

  The bell rang again as she reached the door. Amy turned on the overhead light on the porch and peered through the door’s thick stained-glass. She could make out the figures of two men. Their gray uniforms and Smokey Bear hats identified them as state troopers.

  One of them called to her through the door. “We are police officers, ma’am. We need to speak with you.”

  Cold air blew into the house as Amy opened the door. She shivered. “Is there a problem?”

  “I’m Corporal Anderson of the State Highway Patrol. Is Jack Barrett your husband, ma’am?”

  “Yes. Is something wrong?”

  “Is Mr. Barrett at home?”

  Amy’s eyes flicked from one face to the other. “No, he’s not here.”

  “Ma’am, an airplane went down this evening, north of Columbia—a six-seat Cessna that flew out of Charleston. The flight plan identified the pilot as Jack Barrett.”

  Amy stared at the trooper, unable to speak.

  “Ms. Barrett, I regret to tell you that no one survived the crash.

  Flight from Denver

  Drew had driven north from Ouray and had checked into a hotel near Grand Junction. Then, the next day, he’d taken photographs at the national parks just across the border, in Utah.

  Now, he was driving across Colorado to Denver, to catch his flight home. He could have flown to Denver, of course, and he would have been home four days earlier, but something had told him that it would be well-worth his time to drive through Colorado.

  His feeling had been right, too. The photography workshop had been terrific, but exhausting. Up each morning by five o’clock to catch sunrise. Returning to the hotel no earlier than nine at night, after a hurried supper. Viewing his photographs until midnight.

  The last four days had been much more relaxed, and the photography had been spectacular—it’s hard to top an image of the moon rising over Delicate Arch.

  He considered detouring through Aspen, just to drive through the town, but he really didn’t have time. He wanted to reach Denver in time to check in, return his rental car, and eat a good dinner. His flight would be a long one, and he dreaded being interrogated by strangers who believed they had a right to know all about him simply because they happened to have seats next to each other. Of course, he had brought work to occupy himself, but sometimes they were so persistent.

  It had been time to get away, he thought as he swerved to miss the remnant of a tire that was lying in the road. The past six months since Di had passed away had been miserable. He missed her terribly. Each afternoon, he expected her to greet him as he walked into their house. In the middle of the night he would roll over and attempt to put his arm around her. Once, he had been reading the newspaper and had actually asked her a question about a friend of hers who was appearing in a play at the Dock Street.

  Drew shook his head. He was a psychologist. He knew tha
t his behavior was completely normal. Knowing that to be true did not make it any easier each time he realized, again, that she was no longer with him.

  He remembered telling his daughter, Jennifer, about that final night. It was a few days after the funeral, and Jennifer had simply nodded when he’d told her the part about her mother wanting him to remarry.

  “She told me that she would never completely leave me,” he’d told her, “that she would always be around.”

  There had been tears in Jennifer’s eyes when she’d replied. “I’m sure she will be, Dad,” she had said.

  Even at the worst moments, Drew had always been able to tease Jennifer a bit, to help her feel better. He’d tried that then, cocking his head to one side and asking if that meant she would be back as a ghost.

  Jennifer had rolled her eyes and given him a small smile. “Yours wouldn’t be the first house in Charleston to be haunted,” she had said.

  If only it were true.

  Drew needed coffee. Refocusing his attention on the road, he noticed a billboard indicating that he would find a Starbucks in Rifle, so he took the exit.

  ***

  Amy had been on vacation for the past week, visiting her sister, Lucy, a family counselor who lived in Aspen. They had hiked in the mountains, shopped in the cute boutiques, lunched in the tearooms in town, and they had talked into the night after Lucy’s husband had fallen asleep.

  Amy had always been able to talk with her sister. That was not unusual. Everyone—family, friends, acquaintances, complete strangers—would tell Lucy anything. She was good at her job.

  “How did you find out about Jack?” Lucy asked as they sat on the deck. It was the last night before Amy had to leave and she and her sister were enjoying one last quiet evening talking.

  “You know that he traveled a lot,” Amy replied. “Last November, he left town and didn’t tell me where he was staying. That was not really unusual, and it didn’t matter. If I needed him, I called his cell.”