for him to stop. But they didn’t know that the reason he’d been leaving the house was because they’d had a fight, or that the last words they’d spoken to each other had been in anger. They would never understand how insidious guilt was, or that she had tried so hard to die along with them when the three cars had collided and then burst into flames. Watching Daniel and their baby daughter die in that fire had destroyed her spirit. Now, she was just waiting for her body to catch up.
She glanced at her watch. It was a whole hour before she had to be back at work at the dress shop across town and since food was the farthest thought from her mind, she started to wander the streets.
It had been years since she’d been in this part of Savannah, but her friend had been insistent, raving about the renovations that had been done and the new businesses that had sprung up afterward. Mary had to admit that the place looked good. Old cement had been removed from the sidewalks, revealing a herringbone pathway of ancient, red bricks. Trees lined the curbs on both sides of the street, laying down a wide swath of shade for the shoppers who were on foot. Dainty trellises covered with climbing ivy and bougainvillea partially hid the tiny alleys between the buildings, giving the area an old-world appearance.
Mary walked and looked, but without really seeing. As she stopped at a crosswalk, waiting for the light, she overheard the conversation between the two women in front of her. Three children had gone missing from Savannah schools over the past six weeks, the latest only the day before yesterday. With no clues as to what had happened to them, Mary could only imagine the parents’ fears. She knew the meaning of loss and of mind-numbing fear, and she felt guilt that she had prayed for the children’s safe return without actually believing it would happen. The truth was, Mary had lost her faith in God and humanity.
She continued to walk, absently window-shopping without interest in buying. It wasn’t until later when she stopped in front of a jewelry store to look at the window display that she realized she was lost. Curious, rather than concerned, she turned around, intent on searching for familiar landmarks, when the store across the street caught her attention.
The name over the doorway intrigued her. Time After Time. But when she realized it was an antique shop, pain hit her with the force of a fist to the gut, leaving her weak and motionless.
Before she and Daniel had married, antiquing had been one of their favorite pastimes. She loved old cookbooks and tiny treasures that were often overlooked by the true collectors. But that was back when they had still been happy, when his family hadn’t known she existed. She shuddered. God. How many times in the past six years had she relived those last moments of their lives? Remembering the fights was like being stabbed repeatedly in the heart, and always because of the same thing.
His parents hated her, and she hadn’t known how to make him understand. She couldn’t forget the sounds of her baby’s shrieks, echoing above their own shouts, and feeling the guilt of knowing that she was frightened by their anger and harsh words.
She had known Daniel was frustrated with everything, including her constant tears and her inability to get along with his family. She had lived in fear that he would get fed up with her and leave, then knowing if that happened that her world would come to an end. And it had happened, but not as she’d expected. She had feared that he would leave her, but not that he would die in the process.
A car sped past in front of her, shattering her concentration.
God…how much longer do I pay penance before you put me out of my misery?
As usual, she got no answer to the question. Weary all the way to her soul, she started to turn away, barely missing a young boy on a bicycle as he came flying around a corner. In reflex, she jumped off the curb to keep from being hit and when she turned around, realized she was halfway across the street on her way to the antique store.
Longing for a connection with the man that she’d loved and lost, she started toward the store, hesitating only briefly as she reached the door. When she stepped inside, she paused and took a deep breath. The scent of well-oiled wood and ancient books mingled with the faint layer of dust on the jumbled up counter. To a true antique buff, it was like waving free money in front of an addicted gambler.
Telling herself she was a glutton for punishment, she let the door shut behind her. As it did, a small bell jingled from somewhere overhead. At the same moment, her gaze caught and held on the old man behind the counter.
She hadn’t seen him at first, but when the bell sounded, he’d looked up and the movement had caught her eye. He was tiny and stooped and looked as old as the jumble of artifacts in the store. He had a tube of glue in one hand and a pair of tweezers in the other. She could just see the corner of a picture frame on the table in front of him and supposed he was trying to repair something that had broken.
“I’m just looking,” she said.
He nodded and then returned to his task.
A slight shift of relief moved through her when she realized he wasn’t going to follow her around in the store, trying for the hard-sell approach. She and Daniel had always liked to browse on their own.
Her nose wrinkled slightly in reaction to the musty odors as she moved toward the back of the store. The farther back she went, the more narrow the aisle became. Finally, she found herself holding the skirt of her dress against her body to keep from sweeping the dust off from an assortment of old tables and chairs.
Despite her initial nervousness in coming inside, she quickly lost herself in what Daniel used to call her “search mode.” She shopped from instinct rather than a skill of knowing true antiques, and her purchases had always reflected that. She bought because she liked a piece, rather than due to any value it might have. In all those precious years with Daniel, her favorite purchase was still a small fluted vase for which she’d paid the huge sum of fifty cents. It was barely big enough to hold a single sprig of honeysuckle, but its fragility reminded her of a kinder, gentler time and place. If she closed her eyes, she could still see the laughter on his face when she’d crowed with delight at the find.
Determined to proceed, she jutted her chin and pushed past the dusty jumble toward a single counter at the back of the room.
There, in the middle of the mess, was a small glass case filled with an assortment of jewelry. The padlock on the case was rusty, which went rather well with the thick layer of dust on top of the glass. Determined to look inside, she took out a tissue and gave the dust a quick swipe. The moment she did, she knew she wanted to see more.
She turned and called out to the old man up front.
“Sir…I’d like to see the jewelry inside this case. Do you have the key?”
She heard the sound of chair legs scooting against wood and then the squeak of a drawer opening and closing. A few seconds later, the old fellow emerged and started toward her.
Mary tried not to stare, but there was something so compelling about his face that she couldn’t look away. It was a mixture of age and grief and a knowing that comes with having outlived too many friends and family.
He stepped past her without speaking, removed the tiny padlock with surprising ease, then opened the case. For a moment, their gazes met and Mary felt as if someone had caressed her face. But then he blinked and the notion passed.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m interested in those rings. Do you mind if—?”
He walked away without bothering to comment and Mary shrugged. It was obvious from the dusty contents of the store that he didn’t sell much, and if his behavior with her
