It was a year and a half later that they met again.
Mary Eunice had found a job elsewhere, working for an elderly woman in her antique shop. She hadn't a clue what to do with her life, and a clerical education wasn't worth much in the 60s. Friends didn't come easily for her, and her closest friend was Sylvia. The elderly woman.
The doorbell rang as Mary Eunice walked into the shop, she checked her watch to be sure she wasn't late.
"Mary, dear, come here please" Sylvia spoke from across the tiny shop, gesturing her over.
"I have a gentleman coming in later to pick up that piece, right there." she said, pointing to an old, black enamel telephone. It looked to be from the 1890s, by Mary's judgement. She reached up to grab it for the old woman, only to knock it over. It clashed and clattered against the marble floor.
"Mary dear be careful! I swear it's as if you have half of a brain sometimes." she said, reaching to pick up the arrayed object.
"I got it, I'm sorry. It was an honest mistake." Mary said, picking up the jumbled telephone and walking it to the front desk. She attempted to put it back into its original stance to no avail, the microphone piece fell wonky and the stand was now bent. She sighed, rubbing her temples. It was going to be another long day.
"Sylvia?" Mary called out for her attention. "When is this man stopping by?" she inquired.
"Half past 6 dear."
Mary winced. Normally the shop was open from 8 in the morning to 7:30 in the evening. Often they closed much earlier, due to the lack of customers. This man had the nerve to interfere with her evening. Mary rolled her eyes. Not like she had anything to do.
Slowly, but surely, 7:30 came around. She had counted a total of four customers for the whole day, none of them below the age of fifty. The job was a deathly bore. Mary had been asked to close up the shop that evening by Sylvia, who needed to take her afternoon pills. Sylvia wasn't used to being awake so "late" at night. Mary took on this duty, as she normally had any day the store stayed open, in stride. She walked to the double back doors, locking each one carefully before pulling the blinds. It was only as she was headed towards the front door that the bell rang, scaring her badly. Mary Eunice tripped, tipping over an ancient chinese vase of sorts. She watched as it shattered against the floor.
"Fuck." Mary sat there on the ground, entirely sick of working in a store full of dedicates. The tears began to stream down her face, and before she knew it her breath hitched in her throat. She hadn't noticed the man who entered the store and began to walk over.
His shadow and cologne failed to phase her as the marble floor below her was pattered with tears. He glanced around for a broom, and began to sweep up the broken china.
"I'm sorry,... Rough day. You can put the broom down, I got it." Mary said, watching the man. He really didn't need to do that. She began to wipe away her tears and compose herself, taking a deep breath in.
He leant it against the counter, made his way over to her, offering a hand to her as she wept away her tears. He helped her up, his face disguised by the darkness.
He held on to her hand a little longer than a friendly gesture, and placed his other hand over it. She grinned through her frustration, golden hair falling over her shoulders as she looked at the ground.
"Bull in a china shop?"
Mary recognized that voice. She pulled her hand from his grip and stepped back. Why was he here? Had he come to try to convince of her daughter again? Or worse?
"Timothy, please just leave. I'm moving on, if this is how I do it, then so be it."
"Woah Mary calm down," he said, walking back towards the counter. On top lay his antique telephone. He ran his hand along the bent microphone piece.
"The woman who owns this shop didn't mention it was damaged." he said
Mary looked at the ground as she made her way around the other side of the counter. She nodded to him, touching it herself.
"Mistake of mine."
His eyes grazed over her in the better lighting. She had on a pastel purple sweater, over some kind of mid thigh length dress. Her hair had grown a bit, but she'd kept the sunshine bangs; instead of under a wimple, it fell naturally over her shoulders. Still the Devine creature he once knew.
"Really?"
"I knocked it over."
"I see that..." He spoke, sighing.
"Look, Timothy, Sylvia is mad enough at me as is. And this ridiculous place is the only job I could find right now. I'll pay for it. Just take it out of my sight. She won't know the difference. I don't think-"
"Mary, Mary." he said in a calming, serene voice. He placed a hand over hers on the counter. She felt everything come back to her in a wave of sadness.
"She's turning two Saturday." he said, as if he'd read her thoughts.
Mary stood in silence, watching her hand underneath his.
"I have some pictures, if you wish to see." he said, grabbing at his wallet with his other hand, and flipping it open to show her.
Mary leant in, gazing at the string of photos before her. Dorothy stood, one little hand on her hip, the other on a tree, smiling as large as she could. Her white blonde hair still had its baby curls at the ends.
"She talks so much, one couldn't even imagine her being- our daughter. She's incredibly outgoing, ran right out the front door to greet the post man the other day." Timothy said, grinning.
"She also sounds rather English when she's angry." he mentioned, closing the wallet.
The feeling inside Mary's stomach was one she couldn't describe. Steel butterflies fluttering around maybe?
"Timothy that's..." She had lost her train of thought.
"Ah," he gently moved his hand away.
"No, Timothy that's... adorably hilarious. She's quite peculiar isn't she?"
"Very much so. She only eats Cheerios with strawberries in them, and hates it when her brother sings to her. Or interrupts her musical renditions."
Mary's whimsical picturing of her daughter came to a wavering halt, as she felt like she'd been hit by a train. He'd recovered so quickly? Already had a little brother for young Dorothy? She couldn't speak, as she tried to glance to his left ring finger for any indications of a band.
"Her brother?" she said, voice cracking. Mary was grateful for the faulty lighting in the small shop, for the redness that took over her felt unbearably hot. She wondered if he could hear her heart pounding.
"James, he's five. Step brother I should say properly, to be."
She nodded quickly, then looked away.
"You're welcome to stop by, Mary, whenever you'd like. She's too young for anything to traumatize her now. And Sarah has been a wonderful mother figure to her. Dorothy hasn't been missing out on much." he said, watching her tantalizingly as she walked around the counter, and stopped mere inches from him.
Her hand grazed over his cheek, gently touching his lower lip with her thumb. She was insanely jealous of the life he'd made after everything, but also knew that he deserved to move on.
She stepped in closer, as he enveloped her in his arms.
"I am so sorry Timothy." she whimpered into his chest.
"She's a blessing." she heard him say as he smoothed over her hair, then resting his head atop hers.
"It has changed me. Don't ever be sorry for bringing her to this earth. She is..." he stopped to gently lift Mary's chin, dusting away her tears.
"She is my angel."
"Dorothy need'st be somebody's." Mary said.
"After all that we've done, been through, survived; Mary Eunice you will always haunt me. And you know that if you ever change your mind-"
He grasped her shoulders and looked her in the eye. Her stare shyed away, as it normally did.
"-really change your mind, that I would do anything for you Mary."
He set his check down for the telephone, took it into his arms, and made his way towards the door.
"I'd do anything."
The ringing of the front door opening, then shutting, brought her back to reality. She wasn't going to fool herself for a minute longer that day, he'd been the only thing on her mind for the past year. If he thought she haunted him, she couldn't imagine what he was doing to her. Constantly wondering, constantly curious, mildly anxious with every thought of him and Dorothy.
Mary found herself running outside along the sidewalk, catching some odd glances. She caught him by the wrist.