Escape for New Year. Shirley Jump
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Not his cell phone this time. Which meant there was a good chance the call wasn’t about business. Maybe Kathy from the library. They’d been talking about starting a literacy program for over-fifties.
Trying to recall what their last discussion had outlined, Laura pushed back her chair but Bishop was already up.
The bbbbrrr-ring of the phone ripped through to his bones, as unsettling as a bank alarm. Moving quick, his hand landed on the extension.
During his drive to the shops earlier, he’d considered the phone and the problems surprise calls could cause. If one of Laura’s friends contacted her, it wouldn’t take long for inconsistencies to rise and questions to flare in both parties’ minds. Laura didn’t need to be backed into a corner, faced with a reality that seemed Hitchcock-esque given what she could and could not remember. Prodding was far different to someone knocking you for a complete loop during a phone call.
Driving back, he’d decided to intercept calls, not to keep Laura from her friends and others who cared, but to forewarn of the situation and ask that they tread lightly for now. Eventually, Laura would check emails. Oddities like Swan Lake playing rather than The Nutcracker would become more obvious. Dates wouldn’t mesh, like the dates he worried she might see on the web when trying to book those tickets. Soon there’d be questions. Ultimately, as she needed to know and was ready to hear, there’d be answers.
But for now …
His hand still on the receiver, he said, “I’m expecting a call.” Then to divert her, “Is that scones I smell warming?”
Leaping up, she cursed and sprinted out. “I forgot.”
Waiting until her padding down the hall quieted, he answered the call. He should’ve known who it would be.
“How are things going?”
He exhaled and a measure of his tension dissolved. Grace.
He ran a finger over a tiny crystal clock. “Not as bad as I thought.”
“She hasn’t remembered?”
“Not a thing that I can tell.”
“I should probably come up and see her.”
Or not.
“That’s up to you.”
“But you’d rather I stay away.”
Smirking, he pushed the clock back. “You can read me like a book.” He liked as much distance between himself and Grace as possible.
“But she’s happy?”
He imagined Laura in the kitchen she loved, drawing the scones from the oven then finding those special little spoons she saved for serving jam. She made the best jam.
He surrendered to a smile. “Very happy.”
There was a long pause. Bishop could imagine Grace smoothing her French roll. “I hope she’ll understand when this is all over.”
“Depends on who ends up sticking around. This Laura or the one who couldn’t wait to see the back of me.”
“Did I hear my name mentioned?”
Bishop’s heart squeezed to his throat and he spun around. Laura held a tray with scones, whipped butter, jam and those tiny silver spoons. From the open look on her face, she hadn’t heard too much.
He hoped his smile didn’t look manufactured. “Your sister.”
Her eyes rounded playfully and she stage whispered, “You’re having a conversation with Grace?”
“About your condition.”
“My fall?” He nodded. “If it gets you two talking at last, it was worth it.” Setting the tray down, she accepted the phone. “Hey, Grace. How’re you doing? Oh, I’m fine.” She gave Bishop a wink and angled toward the window view. “Better than fine.”
Unable to pass, he dabbed some homemade jam on a scone and bit into the doughy sweetness. Grace would keep Laura on the phone for a while. He didn’t need to listen in.
He wandered out from her office, his gaze skimming the same surrealist paintings that had frequented the hallway walls when he’d left. Further on, he took stock of the kitchen, its polished granite benches and gleaming utensils that Laura had taken such pride in when making those superb dinners she whipped up seemingly out of thin air.
He stopped beneath the ornate arch that led to the main living room. Same chintz couches, crafted timber furniture and grand fireplace, which they’d spent so many evenings cuddled up in front of, she reading a bestseller, he browsing over papers from work. In the beginning they’d felt so relaxed together and yet the steady thrum of excitement had always been there, too. A buzz that not only connected them, but drew them irreversibly, magnetically near.
Those were the best days of his life.
His gaze inched along the knickknacks on the marble mantelpiece … silver candlesticks, some ballerina figurines, a cup she must have accidentally left there. His eye line drifted higher. Then his heart stopped beating.
Their wedding photo was gone.
And why wouldn’t it be? This was her house. They’d lived separate lives for over a year. His bet was she’d used the photograph as fuel for the fire. But then she’d kept his clothes and wedding ring. Maybe the photo was stored away, too.
More immediately, what would this Laura say when she realized the picture she adored was missing?
He swung an urgent glance around. Should he hunt in some cupboards, try to find and hang it back up before she noticed? Or would seeing the photo missing press a necessary button to jump-start her memory?
Although what had just happened between them should have sent up some flags.
The inevitable had happened. He’d kissed her. Or rather she’d kissed him. And he hadn’t stopped her. But for a brief moment of “what the hell?” he hadn’t even tried.
He’d mulled over how it would feel should he relent. Strange? Pleasant? Knock-your-socks-off fantastic? Check box three. And now, God help him, he couldn’t help thinking about later, because Laura was going to want far more than lip service tonight.
“I was thinking I might come up and see you tomorrow,” Grace said down the line while Laura made herself comfortable in one of the winged armchairs positioned beside a window view in her office.
“I’d like that, Grace, but Bishop and I are going into Sydney. The ballet’s on.”
“You’re going out? Do you think that’s wise?”
“Oh, Gracie, not you, too!” How many times did she need to tell people she was fine? A bit of a foggy memory didn’t count.
“Learn to live with it,” Grace returned. “I care about you.”
Laura laughed softly. “I got that.”
“Will Bishop be staying in town?”
“Tomorrow night? Why do you ask?”
“He’s a busy man. I thought he might want to stay down rather than drive out again Monday morning to the office.”
“I don’t think so.” Laura concentrated on the chess piece, thinking back. No, she was certain. “He didn’t say he would.”
“How is Bishop?”
Laura put on a suspicious tone. “Why this interest in Bishop all of a sudden?”
“Just making sure he’s treating my little sister right.”
“Always and always.”
“Really?”
A prickle of annoyance rolled up Laura’s spine and she held the receiver tighter. “Grace, I know