St. Thomas?"
Her voice was falsely bright. "Oh, lovely. Lovely! March is their dryest month. No rain, and highs in the eighties." But once the weather report was finished she fell silent, that silence greeted by a matching one from the other end of the line. The strain grew between them until Rachel felt it between her shoulderblades. When her voice came again it was low and subdued. "I didn't expect to see you at the funeral."
Again there followed a long pause, as if he was measuring his reply. When it came, it was as tightly controlled as hers. "I didn't
expect to be there."
"You shouldn't have come, Tommy Lee."
"I know that now."
"I don't mean to sound ungrateful." She swallowed, eyes closed, both hands gripping the phone. "It did mean a lot to me to see you there."
A full fifteen seconds of silence followed, then, "Rachel, I want to talk to you." His voice sounded tightly controlled, and she could hear his raspy breathing now.
"I'm here."
"No, not on the phone. I want to see you."
The very idea brought fresh pain to Rachel, laced with a hint of panic. "What good would it do?"
"I don't know. I ..." He sighed deeply. "Don't you think it's time?"
She hugged her ribs tightly with one hand, bending forward slightly. "Tommy Lee, listen to me. It would be a mistake. What's done is done and there's no use reviving old regrets. We're different now. You ... I don't ..." But she was stammering, voicing hollow words, unable to reason very well. "Please, Tommy Lee, don't call me anymore. I have enough to deal with as
it is right now." She hadn't realized 59 tears had been welling in her eyes until they slipped over and darkened two spots on her skirt. Staring at them, she wasn't sure if they were for Owen or Tommy Lee.
"Rachel, I'm sorry." He sounded as if his lips were touching the mouthpiece of the phone. "Look, I didn't mean to upset you. I just called to see how you're doing and let you know I've been thinking about you ... and ..."
"Tommy Lee, I ... I have to go now."
They listened to each other breathe for endless seconds.
"Sure," he said at last, but it came out so softly she could scarcely hear the word.
"Good-bye, Tommy Lee." She waited, but he neither said good-bye nor hung up. Finally she replaced the receiver with utmost care, as if not to disturb it again. Huddled on the edge of the bed, she hugged herself harder, squeezing her eyes closed, rocking forward and back, seeking to blot out the loneliness that always stemmed from thoughts of what could have been. She saw Tommy Lee again as he'd looked at the cemetery. Older, so much older, just as she was. She fought against recalling the
facts she'd gleaned about him over the years, the events of his life that had aged him, those that had brought him happiness, wealth, sadness, hope.
You've got to stop thinking about him. Think of anything else ... anything at all. The bedroom! If the bedroom is difficult for you to face, have it redecorated. Think of colors, textures, furniture ... anything but Tommy Lee Gentry.
But in the end, as she wandered off to sleep in a guest bedroom again, the memory of his face and his voice on the phone was her lullaby.
It was busy at Panache the following day. Spring had arrived and the seasonal fashion change brought a flurry of shoppers. Verda had managed beautifully while Rachel was gone. Sales had been good. New stock had come in. Rachel was tagging a shipment of swimwear when Verda remembered, "Oh! Some man kept calling for you while you were gone."
Rachel's head snapped up. "Who?"
"I don't know. He wouldn't give his name, but I'd recognize his voice if he called again."
A premonition of dread struck 61 Rachel. Could it have been Tommy Lee? The last thing she needed was to have Verda aware that he had called. With his reputation, eyebrows would rise in no time.
"Did he say what he wanted?"
"No, just kept saying he'd call back, and I finally told him you'd
Her voice was falsely bright. "Oh, lovely. Lovely! March is their dryest month. No rain, and highs in the eighties." But once the weather report was finished she fell silent, that silence greeted by a matching one from the other end of the line. The strain grew between them until Rachel felt it between her shoulderblades. When her voice came again it was low and subdued. "I didn't expect to see you at the funeral."
Again there followed a long pause, as if he was measuring his reply. When it came, it was as tightly controlled as hers. "I didn't
expect to be there."
"You shouldn't have come, Tommy Lee."
"I know that now."
"I don't mean to sound ungrateful." She swallowed, eyes closed, both hands gripping the phone. "It did mean a lot to me to see you there."
A full fifteen seconds of silence followed, then, "Rachel, I want to talk to you." His voice sounded tightly controlled, and she could hear his raspy breathing now.
"I'm here."
"No, not on the phone. I want to see you."
The very idea brought fresh pain to Rachel, laced with a hint of panic. "What good would it do?"
"I don't know. I ..." He sighed deeply. "Don't you think it's time?"
She hugged her ribs tightly with one hand, bending forward slightly. "Tommy Lee, listen to me. It would be a mistake. What's done is done and there's no use reviving old regrets. We're different now. You ... I don't ..." But she was stammering, voicing hollow words, unable to reason very well. "Please, Tommy Lee, don't call me anymore. I have enough to deal with as
it is right now." She hadn't realized 59 tears had been welling in her eyes until they slipped over and darkened two spots on her skirt. Staring at them, she wasn't sure if they were for Owen or Tommy Lee.
"Rachel, I'm sorry." He sounded as if his lips were touching the mouthpiece of the phone. "Look, I didn't mean to upset you. I just called to see how you're doing and let you know I've been thinking about you ... and ..."
"Tommy Lee, I ... I have to go now."
They listened to each other breathe for endless seconds.
"Sure," he said at last, but it came out so softly she could scarcely hear the word.
"Good-bye, Tommy Lee." She waited, but he neither said good-bye nor hung up. Finally she replaced the receiver with utmost care, as if not to disturb it again. Huddled on the edge of the bed, she hugged herself harder, squeezing her eyes closed, rocking forward and back, seeking to blot out the loneliness that always stemmed from thoughts of what could have been. She saw Tommy Lee again as he'd looked at the cemetery. Older, so much older, just as she was. She fought against recalling the
facts she'd gleaned about him over the years, the events of his life that had aged him, those that had brought him happiness, wealth, sadness, hope.
You've got to stop thinking about him. Think of anything else ... anything at all. The bedroom! If the bedroom is difficult for you to face, have it redecorated. Think of colors, textures, furniture ... anything but Tommy Lee Gentry.
But in the end, as she wandered off to sleep in a guest bedroom again, the memory of his face and his voice on the phone was her lullaby.
It was busy at Panache the following day. Spring had arrived and the seasonal fashion change brought a flurry of shoppers. Verda had managed beautifully while Rachel was gone. Sales had been good. New stock had come in. Rachel was tagging a shipment of swimwear when Verda remembered, "Oh! Some man kept calling for you while you were gone."
Rachel's head snapped up. "Who?"
"I don't know. He wouldn't give his name, but I'd recognize his voice if he called again."
A premonition of dread struck 61 Rachel. Could it have been Tommy Lee? The last thing she needed was to have Verda aware that he had called. With his reputation, eyebrows would rise in no time.
"Did he say what he wanted?"
"No, just kept saying he'd call back, and I finally told him you'd
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