Travis saw ghosts everywhere as he drove slowly
through Olean. He passed the drug store where he had sipped ice cream sodas and
paused at the old movie theatre. He heard whispers and thought of Annette.
As
it was late afternoon, he debated whether to stop in Olean, a New York town set
in the western foothills of the Enchanted Mountains. He could do another
hundred miles, but something tugged at him and he found a room in the Olean
Hampton Inn.
Later
when he was fresh he asked for a dinner recommendation and the girl at the desk
suggested the Old Library Restaurant. Travis knew the structure, having long
ago used the reading rooms and reference materials for his high school study.
After
parking in front and mounting the stairs, he was greeted by a smiling man
dressed in black pants, a white shirt and a black vest, the man strangely
familiar. The greeter’s earnestness reminded Travis of a middle-aged Mormon Missionary.
He was led into the main reading room and seated at a table for two by a window
that looked out on a creek, a nice setting.
Travis
studied the menu as the waiter scurried off, after identifying himself as Larry.
Aware of a new presence, Travis looked up to find a thin, elegant woman staring
at him from the doorway. He knew he cut
a dashing figure being tall, lean, and silver haired. He was a retired
investment banker, but often taken for a doctor, or a lawyer.
The
woman disappeared from the doorway and Travis was left wondering. The waiter returned and Travis ordered a bottle
of wine, wanting something from the Finger Lakes. Larry recommended the Fox Run
New York pinot noir. Travis agreed, having driven five hundred miles that day
and with only another 300 miles to his Vermont lake house, he would indulge
himself.
Larry
arrived and with panache opened the bottle and nodded for Travis to sample the
ruby-red wine, which Travis approved. He
relaxed and tilted his glass, staring out of the window and thinking about his
life in Olean many years ago.
Suddenly
the woman was there, smartly dressed in a black skirt and white blouse, a name
tag announcing her as Anna. She was tallish, a long neck with a heart shaped
face, a small mouth, but large dark eyes. Her gray hair was stylishly pulled
back in a pony tail. Travis gauged her to be somewhere in her late forties, maybe
older but obviously aging well.
The
woman introduced herself, saying she was the owner. Her husband had died a few
years ago, so running the restaurant and maintaining the standard was her
preoccupation. Her son, Larry, was her helper. She announced crispy duck as the
special and Travis agreed.
As she left to place his order, Travis called
out, “I know this place.”
“Yes,” was all she said, and
then disappeared into the kitchen.
Before long the waiter
was back with the crispy duck, which along with rice and a house salad made for
a delightful meal after the long drive. When finished, Travis pushed away his
plate and swirled the wine. His bottle was half finished and he was feeling
mellow as he gazed at the evening dusk.
Anna returned and put her
hands on the back of the chair facing him. She looked down with a smile and
asked about the meal. He complimented her, and then offered her a glass of
wine, but she shook her head.
“I spent my junior year
in high school here.” Travis told her. “I was an Olean Husky, played sports,
was even the junior class king along with my girl friend, Annette Bosworth.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“Almost forty years ago,
Annette and I, but it ended.” Travis said with melancholy.
Anna asked what happened
and Travis told her of young love, a six-month courtship. The junior dance was
a triumph for the two of them, dancing in the spotlight to Moonlight
Serenade. Then there was the Friday
night picnic along the banks of the Allegheny River.
“It was idyllic.” Travis
said. “But…”
“Unspoken promises, too
much too soon.” Anna surmised.
Travis was suddenly quiet
and his shoulders slumped as he poured himself more wine. His elegant demeanor
evaporated as he explained that his father was an engineer with Dresser Rand
and something went wrong at work for his father. That weekend the family had to
pick up and move south for a job with GE, who needed mechanical engineers to
work on a new jet engine. Travis’s father jumped at the opportunity and they
left immediately.
“I didn't have a chance
to say goodbye, or to explain.” Travis said, looking up at Anna. “We just up
and vanished.”
“But surely you wrote.”
Anna said.
Travis moved in his
chair, furrowing his brow; he ran his hand over his silver hair. He shook his
head, saying it was turmoil, making the change, living in a new place, meeting
new friends.
“And someone else came
along?” Anna coaxed.
Travis waved his hand,
but ignored the question, saying years later he ran into an Olean teammate who
told Travis that Annette had taken it badly, that she had been sent away.
Annette had spent a year at the Upstate Institute.
Anna listened wide eyed,
then shook her head and excused herself, going upstairs and into her storage
room where she rooted through an old trunk until she found what she was
seeking.
She returned wearing a
blue blazer for the evening chill and this time sat across from Travis,
accepting a glass of the Fox Run wine.
For the first time,
Travis gazed into Anna’s dark eyes and was startled. Larry returned, breaking
the spell and put down a cup of crème brule for Travis.
“Better served cold.”
Anna said, leaning forward.
“The desert?” Travis
asked.
“Revenge.” Anna answered.
They stared at each other,
absorbing the forty years that had passed since their fateful night by the
river. Travis glanced at Larry hovering in the doorway and Travis understood.
Anna reached into her blazer pocket to grip
the old Webley .32/200 pocket revolver. She took it out, pointing the pistol
under the table at Travis.
“Please, let me tell you,
tell the both of you.” Travis said. “It was so complicated.”
“I don’t want to talk
about it.” The woman replied.
And then Annette pulled
the trigger.
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