“Our lives are defined by opportunities, even the ones we miss.”
– Eric Roth
The seasons flew by so quickly. Time was passing and my life was closer to the end than the beginning. I didn’t know why, but I’d spent the last few years revisiting places I’d already been. Maybe it gave me pleasure to reflect on the sweet memories of those precious years so long ago.
Not that I was stuck in the land of yesteryear. Far from it, but re-visiting a place after fifty years gave me the opportunity to see it with new eyes—perhaps more understanding eyes.
My first excursion to the past took me to the neighborhood where I was born seventy-five years ago. I was amazed to see Gus’s barber shop was still around. Though Gus had died many years earlier, his name remained on the sign, a little worse for wear, as if in memoriam.
Remnants of the past always seemed to linger on.
Most of the locations I visited had changed with time. My father’s dental office was gone, but I was happy to see the apartment building where I’d spent my first twenty years was still standing. The neighborhood was my home, and I had the same friends until my late teens because nobody ever moved away. They were as close to me as my family, and in many important ways, even closer. Walking in my footsteps from long ago, reminiscing, allowed me to envision my life as a youth again…fresh, energetic, and unplanned.
While visiting the old neighborhood, I reveled in the joys of the past, but was also saddened by the fact that the number of years ahead of me were few. I still had so much to do, one of which was to visit a special place I longed to see again—one more time.
I left my apartment on the east side of Manhattan and drove to the Bear Mountain Inn, a hotel tucked away in the rugged mountains of the Hudson River, a few miles from West Point Military Academy. I hadn’t been there since my twenties when I was a law student. Would it be the same?
Visiting places from long ago let me see them as they were today without the golden glow of the past, so there were times I had to conjure up my imaginary rose-tinted lenses to re-color my memories. Life never made mistakes. No matter how I viewed a place, past or present, everything was in the here and now. Nostalgia could bring back happy and sad moments, but reliving memories from my early years often made me ache inside because I could only picture them in my mind.
As I drove up the winding mountain road to Tomkins Cove, I had a feeling that today would be different. Scattered traces of snow still lingered and although the ground didn’t seem ready for spring, I could see a few budding daffodils trying to fight their way into the sunshine.
I parked my car and entered the front doorway of the inn, guarded on each side by two standing wrought iron black bears. The huge rustic main room was exactly the way it had been fifty-five years earlier. A roaring fire blazed in the large fieldstone fireplace and elk heads with full sets of antlers flanked an oil painting of a white-bearded Rip Van Winkle, asleep and leaning against a tree.
The high ceiling and walls were made of rough-hewn dark timber, and on the flagstone floor were soft sofas, overstuffed chairs, small tables, and lamps. Four large chandeliers hung from the ceiling, each containing a dozen lights topped with small sand-colored shades. Pots of steaming coffee and tea were on a table nearby.
I settled into a seat on the sofa, hypnotized by the fire, and soaked up the familiar atmosphere. A few people milled about—some read newspapers, others played with their children. It wasn’t long before I fell into a deep sleep.
Not knowing how much time had passed, I was awakened by the touch of soft fingertips brushing across the back of my hand. An elderly woman stood before me, smiling. It was a smile I knew. She said nothing for a few moments.
“You don’t recognize me, Daniel, do you?” I thought I knew her but was afraid to mention her name aloud. What if it wasn’t…was I dreaming? Then I saw the way she curled her lip, tilted her head, and stared at me with raised eyebrows. All those nuances told me she was real.
“Christina?”
She nodded, took a deep breath and her smile widened.
I shook my head and rubbed my eyes.
“My God, Christina! What are you doing here? Please sit down next to me.” I patted the cushion.
“Thank you.” She lowered herself carefully, one fragile hand trembling.
“I know that perfume.”
“You should, it’s Fleures de Rocaille.” She leaned back against the soft cushions, straightening her blue button-up sweater. “You gave it to me at Bobo’s restaurant in Chinatown when we celebrated my twentieth birthday.”
“You still have the same bottle?” I laughed lightly.
She chuckled, then playfully waved me off, her face beaming. Despite her gray hair and the wrinkles on her pale skin, her gaze remained alive with the same youthful energy she’d always had. “You haven’t changed. Well, actually, I do have the old bottle. I could never throw it away, but I’ve bought more.”
“I’m amazed you’re here, sitting with me after all these years. We shared so much together. What luck.”
“I’m just as surprised, and when I saw you sleeping, I couldn’t believe it. I knew it was you. There was no doubt about it. I wondered if you’d remember me, and what you were doing here. I almost didn’t wake you.”
“Well, I’m glad you did. Do you come here often?”
“No, never, not since you and I were last here.”
“Neither have I. My God, how could that be?” I touched her hand.
She tilted her head upward and shrugged. “It must be kismet.”
“Of course, it has to be.”
When I was with Christina fifty-five years ago, her eyes were filled with tears. We sat in a quiet corner of the inn that night, steps from where we were now. She wore a white blouse, one she’d monogrammed with what she believed would be her married initials, CNR, Christina Noelle Rothman. But it was not to be.
“Do you have time to talk?” I asked. “I mean, are you here alone…”
“Yes, I’m alone.” She put her warm hand on mine. “I have time.”
I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She was radiant. Her face, even with the few lines across her brow, was wholesome and innocent, still reflecting the inner beauty I always knew. I wasn’t the only one who loved her. All of my friends did, too, and they were happy for us. We never argued and being together, for us, was always enough.
We laughed a lot, and when I said something that bordered on a possible quarrel, she would look at me with a questioning expression, wave her hand at me, and good-naturedly ignore the comment.
That was it. She had her ways, all of them lovely.
Now, I couldn’t help but think about the huge gap in time that was already behind us.
“How many years have gone by?” I asked.
“Too many, our lifetimes.”
“Not all,” I said.
“No, not all. We did share two wonderful years together. Part of them bittersweet, but it was our first taste of love—the sweetest of all.” Christina sighed. “And it was a gift I’ve always cherished to this day.”
I nodded. “Those years were a mixture of wonderful remembrances for me. I never found them again with anyone. I don’t know where to begin. We have so much to talk about.”
Her hand pressed tighter on mine. “We have all the time in the world. There’s no more racing to class. No dashing about.” She held back a moment. “Tell me, are you married, children?”
“My wife, Sarah, died two years ago. I have one daughter, Noelle, and three grandchildren, a boy, and two girls. What about you?”
“One son, Michael, and two grandchildren, Jena and Christopher.”
“Very nice, and how is your husband?”
“Henry? He was a good man, but I lost him a year ago.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” I moved closer to her.
We chatted for hours. I didn’t take her hand, although I wanted to. Being with Christina was a dream come true, especially here, of all places.
Years ago, we came to Bear Mountain to watch the ski jumping and went skiing later that night at the Silvermine ski area. It was nothing more than a long hill with a rope tow to cling to and get us to the top. We skied under the stars, in the cold air, and spent the night in the mountains at the inn. It was a slice of heaven and a place to express our love.
I had lost track of Christina over the years. I married Sarah, but Christina was always in my heart. I wanted to know more about her and her marriage.
“I told you, Henry was a good man and a wonderful father, but we were different…too different to have a deep emotional connection. It was nothing like what we had and he didn’t have our sense of humor.” She smiled. “You and I laughed at the same things.
“I wanted Henry to know me and accept me for who I was. He was never able to do that and tried to change my ways.” She paused. “We missed out on what could have been a fun marriage. Maybe I ran to the first man available after we broke up, thinking it would be the same as it was for us, but soon realized it could never be and nothing ever would.”
“I think I get the picture. Sometimes when I sat across from Sarah while she was reading, I would stare at her thinking, ‘You have no idea who I am.’ Then I thought of you and what we had.”
“Well, you know, Dan, that’s not fair. Comparisons never are and yet, when it comes to us, I find myself doing the same thing. We can’t change the past.” She had a wistful tone to her voice as if she wished she could change things. I know I wished it.
“You’re right,” I whispered.
“Tell me more about your Sarah,” she said as if to direct the conversation away from us. I wondered what she was thinking.
“There’s not much to say,” I replied. “Our marriage wasn’t about love. Each day was another opportunity for us to be polite to each other, and we became comfortable being that way. After a while, even the polite gestures were gone. We drifted further apart until we retreated into our own separate lives. We still kissed each other hello and goodbye. I don’t understand why. There was nothing left. Maybe we did it out of habit.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“It’s all right. Looking back, I can see it now, but I’m not sure I could’ve put it into words then. I was going through the motions, but I didn’t know it.”
We sat quietly for a few long moments.
“I’m glad we’re together now,” she finally said, quietly, as if uncertain whether or not she should voice her thoughts. “I have so many remembrances of us here, and haven’t been here since we said our goodbyes.” Her voice was just above a whisper. She paused, touched the moist corner of her eye and forced a weak smile. “Let’s talk about some of the things we did together. You first,” she added with renewed enthusiasm.
“There’s so much, Christina.”
“Tell me.” Her smile widened.
I shook my head and took a deep breath. “Do you remember the time I read an article in Harper’s Magazine on how to win at blackjack?”
“Yes, then you took out other books on that so-called art and we spent all summer playing cards in the park before you went to Vegas.”
“Then I called you.”
“At three in the morning! I can still hear you. ‘Christina, Christina, I’m at The Flamingo. We won, it works…everything we did works.’” She laughed. “Then you said something like, ‘I’m going to hit a few other hotels. It was so easy. I sat at the end of the table, counting cards, and used every trick we practiced together. We’re rich!’”
“And we were,” I said, staring into the crackling fire.
Christina shook her head. “I wouldn’t go that far, but it bought us a trip to France and Italy where we learned about wine.”
“That was a gift by itself. Remember when we drove through the French countryside and stopped for lunch? I can still taste that crusty baguette, topped with soft, creamy Roquefort, and a bottle of good red. What could be better? Tell me more of your remembrances. Close your eyes, you’ll see better.”
A smile lingered as her eyes closed. “One vision stayed in my mind. It was a quiet moment. You were asleep on my lap on a hillside in Tuscany overlooking Florence. Your face was so peaceful. When you awoke, we sipped our Chianti and tasted the sweet flavor of the grapes from each other’s lips. Everything was perfect.”
“The wine helped, too.” I smiled.
“Yes, it always makes great moments better.” She beamed, squeezing my hand. Her touch sent a tingling sensation through my body. It felt so good to be in her presence again.
“We must have been pioneers,” I said. “None of the other couples we knew lived together or went on long trips, or at least they didn’t admit it if they did. But that’s the way it was back then. Society was strict about morality.”
“Those were better times, simpler, but with more social restraints.”
“That’s true. But we’re being too philosophical. What about the weekend in Greenwich Village?”
“Loved it. The Washington Square Hotel was a wonderful place. It was like a slice of Europe. I’m happy to say we missed breakfast every morning.” She giggled.
“We hit all the jazz spots like Café Wha, listened to Bob Dylan, and went to see The Fantasticks at the Cherry Lane Theater. That was fun. And the people we met in the Village—they were like us.”
She cuddled up beside me and the fire crackled in the hearth in front of us. “I remember when we left the Cherry Lane Theater. It was a warm summer night, but the drizzle kept us cool. When the rain stopped, we walked along the shiny streets to Washington Square Park. The benches were wet, so we couldn’t sit, but you gave me the sweetest kiss ever in front of the Fifth Avenue Arch. We were one.”
I said nothing, barely taking a breath, but I could’ve sworn my heart was beating faster.
“Do you remember when we first made love, Dan?” Christina whispered in my ear, and when I glanced at her, she was smiling wickedly.
“Do I? Oh my God, it was in my dad’s dental chair.”
“How could I forget that night, Dan? It wasn’t the most romantic place for my first time, and uncomfortable to say the least, but it was beautiful for us to be so close. We lost ourselves in our passion and after all the sweet kisses that followed, we knew we belonged to each other.”
“Those moments made me feel we were one,” I said, sighing. “Leaving my father’s office, you took my arm and leaned into me as we walked, your head pressing against my shoulder. My heart was pounding. I wasn’t sure what to say when you asked if it was my first time.”
“I know, but when you told me it was, it put a smile on my face.”
The wood in the fireplace burned to embers. Where did the hours go? They’d spent the entire day talking. I watched her brush away a tear.
“I still can’t forget that night,” I said. Her smile disappeared.
“You mean when we said our goodbyes here.” She pointed to a table in the corner. “I was devastated. I still don’t know why we had to break up.”
I took a deep breath. “It was the mistake of my lifetime, and I’ve always kept you in my heart.”
“Why? How could it have happened? We had such love. Our future was already written out.” She shrugged. “We thought it would be forever.”
I glanced away for a moment. “When we were here that night, I told you I was scared. You tried to reassure me and asked me to trust you, saying I had nothing to be afraid of but, the truth was visions of disaster raced through my mind. I don’t know why. You had a domineering mother, a strict Catholic. You told me she would consider you dead if you married outside the faith. My family would have been no different. They were orthodox Jews, and it was expected that I would never marry anyone of a different religion. Even with all the love we shared, I was overwhelmed with guilt.” My heart felt heavy. I couldn’t believe this was coming up now, all these years later.
“And yet, you never talked about religion,” she said sadly. “I mean, I was aware of our differences, but I never thought it would keep us apart. I didn’t think anything could. Maybe we kept some of the things that really mattered out of our relationship on purpose. It’s so different with young people today, isn’t it?”
“I think it’s better now. People are given more freedom to express themselves now. But back then…” I frowned, then rubbed my eyes. “I knew I made a big mistake. It hurt you, and I continued to live in the world of what might have been. I’m so ashamed of—”
Christina put up her hand. “Don’t. You were just being who you were at the time, and it was so long ago. I never got over it and never will, but I’m happy to be with you now. This moment is ours. We have been given an unexpected gift. You were strongly committed to not getting married when we last met here, and I was so hurt.”
She paused for a moment, and I thought I heard her voice break. I wanted to hold her, but I held back.
“Afterward, I sat in a chair for a month staring at a wall,” she continued, “and my unhappiness deepened when my mother tried to tell me it was all for the best.” She turned to face me. “There’s something else.”
“Go ahead.”
“When I married Henry, I was already three months pregnant.”
My jaw dropped, my throat clenched. I was stunned and could hardly speak. I finally found words after a long moment of silence. “Oh my God…”
“I didn’t know what to do. I thought of calling you to let you know, but remembered how definite you were about breaking up. I didn’t want you to feel pressured to marry me. I already knew Henry as a friend for a couple of years. If you remember, we were out with him and a girl he knew from high school. We went to the Museum of Modern Art and later had dinner at Orsini’s.”
My mind swirled. I said nothing.
“In some ways, Henry was understanding. I told him I was pregnant with your baby, and he was aware of how I felt about you, but he still wanted to marry me. After we were married, he encouraged me to tell you about the baby, but I could never bring myself to do that. You were very clear that night when we were here. Did I deceive you by not saying anything?”
“You did what you felt was the best thing.” I put my head in my hands and cried. “Christina, I gave up the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. We had so much. And for what? Some stupid, shallow value that no longer has any meaning.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
“And the baby?”
“Well, he’s not quite a baby any longer, although I still remember him that way. He teaches constitutional law at Columbia and has three children—two boys and a girl. So, you see, you and I are part of them, too.”
I felt tears running along my cheeks. How stupid I had been. “Do you have any pictures?”
“Doesn’t every grandmother?” Christina held her phone in front of me. “Michael has a beard, but if you look above it, you can see your nose.”
I looked at his picture. He was a combination of both of us. “I can see my nose, poor kid, but I also see your sparkling blue eyes.”
I went through the pictures of the grandchildren. I could see something of us in all of them. I held Christina’s hands close to my chest and kissed them. She was still so beautiful.
“So, you never had other children?” I asked.
“No, Henry wasn’t able to, but I told you he was a good man and a good father to Michael. They even went skiing at Silvermine one Sunday.”
“Christina, I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry for all the years we lost together.”
“And I’m so happy for us to have today.”
“Thank you for saying that. Do you think I could ever meet Michael? Does he know about me?”
“Of course, you’ll meet him. He has to learn more about his beginnings. He knows Henry adopted him and that you’re his birth father. I told him some things about you, but I had to be fair to Henry and not say too much. Michael understood. He’s like us.”
We shared our phone numbers, email addresses, and promised to see each other when we could.
We held hands, walked out the door, and hugged.
“Thank you for telling me about Michael,” I said. “I can’t wait to meet him. You’re right, he does have to know more about his beginnings.”
Christina hugged me close, and I helped her zip up her coat, tucking her scarf gently around her neck. “He has a good sense of humor, Dan, but we’ll still have to leave out the part about the dental chair.”
We laughed and said goodnight, promising to meet again. I returned and settled into a cushioned seat near the fireplace and dozed off once more.
I awakened and rubbed my eyes, still sprawled on the same sofa. The embers in the fireplace were gone, replaced by well-seasoned wood. Crackling sounds filled the room as sparks flew up the chimney.
It was all a dream, just a dream…a wistful remembrance. I heaved a deep breath, devastated. It seemed so real. I wished I had slept longer. I sighed, and my nose twitched. Strange that the smell of her perfume lingered from the dream.
I was snatched from my reverie by a shadow, cast across the flagstone floor. Looking up, my breath stuck in my throat, my eyes flaring.
Christina stood there, five feet away, smiling as beautifully as ever.
It was kismet.