Dural Sinclair closed the front door after him and locked it. He shook off his loafers and slid his feet into leather slippers. Looking at them, he tried to remember when he got the things, but the memory did not come. It had been a while, and they seemed to last and last, showing no sign of serious wear apart from some scuff marks.
After a fresh breeze outside, he relished the warmth inside the house, the heating system having automatically switched on at five to make the place toasty. Winter was slowly loosening its grip and leaves were sprouting in earnest, which added pleasant greenery to barren branches. September could still be nasty, but the bitter southerlies had subsided. He looked forward to spring and a chance to take more frequent walks. Going to the gym not the same thing.
He made his way upstairs and changed into black jeans and a loose navy surplus sweater. His footsteps sounded loud as he walked down. Everything sounded loud these days in the hollow rooms. No voices, laughter, banging of doors, cries of pain, or shrieks of joy…empty house. Empty life. He lived in a shell of yesterdays, and he could not break into tomorrow, and did not want to. The yesterdays still held him fast. For now, he preferred his yesterdays to the silent, empty tomorrows. It would take time for the scabs to dry and fall off. Until then, they were a poignant reminder of the wounds they covered. The surface scabs might fall off, and outwardly at least, he would appear whole again, but the gashes inside him would continue to bleed for some time to come.
That is where the negative side of his eidetic memory showed itself. He could not forget. Others could forget as time softened the pain, leaving behind the laughter and the joy, enabling the body to heal, to move on. For him that path was closed because he could not forget. He kept picking at the scabs and they bled. Eventually, he would compartmentalize the hurt and walk into tomorrow, but he could not do that yet. Not yet.
After the divorce, it took a few weeks before he began to feel somewhat comfortable without Lenora being around. He had a routine, and it helped him partition memories he could never forget. Not that he wanted to forget, but the memories did not haunt him anymore. Life went on, and it carried him with it.
In the kitchen, he opened the fridge and took out a pot of veal stew he made yesterday. He ladled a helping into a frypan and placed it on the cooktop. Waiting for the thing to simmer, he started the percolator. He poured the hot stew into a bowl and carried it to the dining table. A crusty roll and coffee at his side, he began to eat, not thinking about anything in particular. Finished, he washed up, poured himself a snifter of cognac, and sprawled onto the couch. He switched on the TV and watched news on the ABC.
A kid and three of his mates had stolen a car and wrapped it around a tree. Two of his mates were killed and the other seriously injured. The kid walked away with a broken arm and a lacerated side. Dural sighed and shook his head, wondering what ghosts would haunt the kid for the rest of time. One careless moment, that is all it took to destroy four families.
When a clip of parliament Question Time came on, Prime Minister Malcolm Turnbull and the Opposition leader Bill Shorten verbally slugging at each other, Dural had enough and switched off, not in the mood for more stupidity.
Silence returned and he sat there nursing his cognac.
What now? Watch a DVD, search Netflix for something, or read a book perhaps? He could work on his new book, Gerard and Leonard had already contributed articles, but his heart was not in it. Right then, reading a book sounded like a good idea. He would pick one of his old favorites, top up his snifter, crawl into bed, and go pleasantly to pieces for the night.
He walked to the bookshelf and browsed through the stacked volumes. Larry Niven’s Protector caught his eye and he pulled out the slim book. Dated by today’s standards, it was one of Niven’s better early works and eminently readable. Book in one hand and cognac in the other, he started for the stairs.
The doorbell chimed and he turned, a frown creasing his forehead. Somebody wanting to sell him a new gas or electricity plan? Mrs. Parker after a cup of sugar? He placed the snifter and book on the coffee table and walked toward the door.
Lenora stood there in a cream turtleneck sweater and black jeans. Her violet eyes regarded him without expression, mouth set in a tight line, glistening black hair draped across her left breast. Shades of red and orange smeared her aura, clinging tight around her like a protective shield. She licked her lips and shifted her feet.
He stood there, his hungry eyes taking her in, wanting desperately to embrace her.
“Can I talk to you for a minute, Du?” Her husky contralto set off a cascade of pleasant memories.
Wondering what brought her, never expecting to see her again, he stepped aside and extended a hand. “Come in.”
She hesitated, walked into the lounge, and swept her eyes around the familiar layout. “You haven’t changed anything.”
“Did you expect me to throw it all away?”
She winced and Dural kicked himself for being an idiot.
“That was thoughtless. I’m sorry. Care to sit down? Coffee or some wine perhaps? I have a bottle of chardonnay in the fridge.”
“Nothing, thank you.” She made her way slowly to the couch and gingerly sat on its edge, hands clasped tight in her lap. He took the soft seat opposite the table, picked up his snifter and sipped.
Looking at her enchanting features, the soft lips, the deep pools of her lavender eyes, he felt a tug of desire. He could not help it. She had captured his heart long ago and he could not shut her out. Not yet. Maybe he never would. One of those things that tomorrow might reveal.
Muddy blue hues clouded her aura. Clearly nervous, she kept shifting her gaze.
“How have you been?” he asked at length before the silence became too awkward.
She gave a small smile. “Not too good. The last couple of months…”
“I know.”
“And you?”
“Day by day.” He searched her face. “I missed you.”
“And I missed you,” she whispered, her eyes misting.
Her answer surprised him. When they met for the last time at Wellard lawyers, she barely looked at him, sitting rigid and cold, cloaked in hate.
“Are you back at work?”
She nodded. “The project goes on…and life goes on.”
“It does, despite everything,” he agreed. “Still at ANZ?”
“Still.”
“You have your own place now?”
“I’m renting a rundown terrace in Richmond. It’s only temporary until I find something I can buy. Being staff, ANZ will give me a good rate on a loan.”
“I’m glad you’re settled now.”
She cleared her throat. “Can I have that chardonnay, please? This is more difficult than I thought it would be.”
“What is it? If you have come to pick up some things, you’ve already taken everything.”
“It’s not that.”
Dural stood and strode into the kitchen. He poured a glass of icy wine and walked back into the lounge. She took the glass, gulped down half the wine, and gave a sheepish smile.
“I needed that.”
“I can see.” Dural crossed his arms. “Why did you come, Lenora?”
Her aura flared in shades of brown agitation.
“Because I missed you, Du,” she whispered, clutching the glass to her belly. “After Daniela…I went crazy for a while and I took it out on you. I hated you with a sick hate, and I hated myself, but I couldn’t change what was happening. I wanted to hurt you, and divorcing you was my revenge. And I did hurt you. I could see it in your eyes during the divorce proceedings, and I was glad you suffered.” She took another gulp of wine. “You had taken everything I valued in life, and I took from you what you valued most…me. I thought my revenge complete and I would move on. For a while, my work kept me busy, kept me from thinking, from remembering, but then the lonely nights came. After a while, the taste of revenge became bitter and I realized I had nothing but silence. By walking away from you, I threw away the last thing that also mattered to me. I had my settlement, but I had nothing.”
“I had those silent nights myself,” Dural said softly, “and they’re still with me.”
She glanced at the book on the table. “Niven?”
A ghost of a smile tugged the corner of his mouth. “Some light reading before I turn in. I didn’t feel like watching TV or a movie.”
She fiddled with the stem of her glass. “Do you miss her?”
The wound inside him ripped and bled, and he clenched his fists. She saw that and winced.
“I shouldn’t—”
“I miss her, Len. I miss her desperately. If I could, I would do anything to give her back to you. I would give my life.”
“I know that…now.”
“You don’t know how sorry I was when you miscarried. I tried to tell you, but you pushed me away.”
“It was my last chance to have something—”
“And I took that from you as well. In my own way, I also pushed you away.” He snorted with painful regret. “And I thought I knew it all.”
She reached across the table and touched his hand, and he felt the old tingle race up his arm. “You didn’t. I did that to myself.”
“Thank you for saying that,” he whispered, but the pain inside him still burned.
“If only we could turn back time,” she moaned and her eyes filled. She sniffed and blinked rapidly.
He sighed and nodded. “If only, but we can’t.” He took another sip. “Why did you come, Len?”
“To turn back time,” she said firmly, her aura flaring bright yellow.
Her words churned his emotions. It would be like before, he told himself. She would be his again, and they would…
They would what? Things could never be the same again. Daniela gone, the baby gone, and Lenora gone as well, at least the one he knew and loved. The Lenora who sat here no longer the woman he loved. A shell from his yesterdays.
“Too many burnt bridges, Len,” he said after an endless time.
“We can rebuild them, Du,” she insisted, eyes boring into him. Eyes he could never resist.
“You had time to think things through before we finalized the divorce. You didn’t have to rush it. I wanted to give you all the time you needed to sort yourself out, but you didn’t want to wait. It’s too late now. The fire has died.”
“Has it, Du? You’re saying the fire has died, but your eyes are telling me something else. You still want me. I can tell.”
“I would be lying if I said I didn’t want you, but the wife I want is gone. I want a memory, but I cannot have what you can no longer give me.”
She grasped his hand with fierce determination. “I can, Du! I’m still the same.”
“You’re not. Neither of us is anymore. Too many burnt bridges.”
“We can start over! I admit it might take some time, but we can work things out. I cannot let you go, Du. I still love you.”
“With Daniela’s ghost and the ghost of your baby in the same room with us?”
Her features broke and fat tears slid down her cheeks. “They’ll always be with us,” she choked, “but that doesn’t mean they have to haunt us.”
Dural’s cold, calculating self surfaced, and he gazed at Lenora with detachment. After years of comfortable, secure marriage, she found life alone tough and wanted the old security back. Being alone not as satisfying as she had imagined. She has the revenge she wanted and all the bitterness that went with it. He didn’t need her. He didn’t need her presence to remind him every day what she had taken away. He had his life…and the silence, and the empty rooms.
Her tears touched something he wanted to bury, but couldn’t, and he could not be so cruel and insensitive to rip her apart with cold rejection. He reached with his finger and brushed her wet cheek.
“It wouldn’t work, Len,” he said gently. “It would be a doomed future. What happened has changed both of us. Pretending otherwise is an exercise in delusion. We cannot turn back time, simple as that.”
“And there is nothing I can do or say to make you want to even try?”
He reached for her hand and held it tight. “It’s too late. You made it too late when you signed the divorce papers. You didn’t have to do that.”
“I made a mistake, Du!” she cried out in desperation. “You want to condemn me for that? You want to condemn yourself?”
“You didn’t make a mistake. You made a choice.”
“And you cannot forgive me, is that it?”
Dural sighed, wanting the pressing weight on his chest to roll off.
“I understand what you did and why, and I wish it were otherwise, but I have nothing to forgive. You did what you thought was right for yourself regardless of consequences. Life is a one-way street, Len, and both of us have crossed the intersection.” He slowly shook his head. “I cannot go back.”
She arched her eyebrows. “Wounded pride?”
He gave a wan smile. “If it were only that simple. When you left, you tore out something deep within me, and the hole is only now beginning to fill. I wish I could say that you can fill it, but I can’t. I cannot love you the way I did before, and I don’t know if I could fall in love with who you are now. The old you would always be between us, and I’m not sure I could handle two of you in my life. If you want, you can blame my cursed eidetic memory for that!” he grated harshly. “I’m sorry, Len. More than you know.”
She searched his eyes. “That’s it, then? You want to doom both of us?”
“I would like to think that I’m giving you a fresh start.”
She pursed her lips and exhaled slowly. “A fresh start…” After a time, she placed the glass on the table and stood. “My revenge was not as sweet as I imagined it would be.”
“It never is,” he said and rose.
A faint smile creased her cheek. “If this is for keeps, can I kiss you one last time?”
He opened his arms and she sobbed as she walked into his embrace. Her soft mouth opened and he crushed her lips with his. Their tongues danced in abandon and flames roared around him. Gods, did he want to walk away from her?
After what seemed like an eternity, he pulled away. He cupped her face between his hands and kissed the tip of her nose.
“If only we could turn back time.”
She sniffed and nodded. “I thought we could, but I was being selfish. If it means anything, I don’t hate you anymore.”
“Walk in peace, Len.”
“Goodbye, Du.”
She turned abruptly and hurried toward the front door. A blast of cold air made him shiver when it closed after her and silence crept into the house.
Lenora!
Not too late, he told himself. He could still run after her, and she would be his again. All he had to do was go after her. To his horror, his feet remained rooted. They could not bring back yesterday, simple as that.
The damn bridges…
Her scent lingering around him, he picked up her glass and took it to the kitchen. He washed it and placed it onto the drying tray. The weight on his chest hung heavy, and he still bled inside after he thought the wounds had scabbed over. What a crock. The gods were laughing at him, but he failed to get the joke.
He refilled his snifter, picked up Protector, and slowly walked up the stairs to yesterday’s echoes.
