He rose as she did. “I think Kendra and I can work things out together. We always have.”
She searched his eyes. “Have you? I wonder. Or, like most people, have you merely ignored the fragments that don’t fit into the picture you hold of your marriage?”
She left him with this, left him dissatisfied that out of respect he had allowed her the final word. Left him wondering exactly how Kendra could believe that hiding in a ramshackle log cabin several hours from Washington would put the lingering effects of the shooting to rest.
Kendra swung both legs over the side of her hospital bed, a maneuver that required both hands to nudge her left leg into place. Then slowly, carefully, she shifted her weight to her feet, gripping the rail as she did. When she was balanced, she moved slowly across the floor to the mirror on the closet door. Her left foot still dragged, but the fact she was moving on her own steam was such a miracle, she felt only pride.
She ran her fingers through pecan-colored curls that the hospital salon had cut from her shoulders to her collar yesterday. She liked the new look, although it released the curls from any semblance of order. But she would be managing her own care now, and easier was better. She would be bathing in well water, too, and there was no guarantee the old well by the river was going to tolerate anything but the most perfunctory showers.
She eyed her image and ticked off what she saw. She had lost weight and hadn’t needed to. Now her face was thin, almost gaunt, and there were shadows under her hazel eyes. She was pale, which meant that the freckles that had haunted her as a child stood out in sharper relief. Years ago her sister Jamie had told her she looked like a puppy in Disney’s
101 Dalmatians
. To Jamie, at four, this had been the greatest of compliments.
Sandy, who was picking her up in a few minutes, had brought Kendra the clothes she wore. Yesterday she had assessed Kendra’s figure and whistled disparagingly. “Girl, we got to get you some clothes that won’t slide right off that skinny ass.” And she had gone right out to do it.
The clothes fit perfectly. Sandy had a stellar eye for fashion, which had landed her a job in the
Post
’s Style section. For Kendra’s trip home she had chosen a gauzy peach skirt and a lightweight cream-colored sweater. Kendra’s taste ran more toward Ralph Lauren than JLo, but Sandy had found a compromise.
She heard a wolf whistle from the doorway and turned around too fast, nearly tripping on her own feet. Somehow she managed to keep her balance. “Isaac? What are you doing here?”
“I came to take you home. I didn’t expect to find a supermodel.” He moved across the room as he spoke and took her elbow to steady her.
She was aware of the strength in his fingers, the solid weight of his body against hers, the inches she had to tilt her head to gaze up at him. His golden brown eyes stared down at her steadily, unsmiling. He lowered his head and gave her a quick kiss.
“I’m okay. Just turned too fast.”
“You look terrific.”
Her hand went to her hair before she realized what she was doing. She supposed it was the most natural of responses, ingrained in her gender. “Thanks.”
He reached out and lightly ruffled her curls. “I’ve never seen it this short.”
“It’s easier to take care of. And summer is coming.”
For a moment he still didn’t smile; then he managed one. “I like it. A lot.”
“I was expecting Sandy.”
He stepped away. He was dressed for work—gray slacks, navy sports coat, pale yellow dress shirt that teased out the blond streaks in his hair. If there had been a tie, he had stripped it off.
“I told Sandy I’d come. I didn’t want to miss this. It’s a big day.” He held up a shopping bag. “I brought you a welcome home present.”
For a moment she didn’t take it. She felt like a fraud. She wouldn’t be going home, at least not for long, and she had to tell her husband.
“Want to sit?” he asked.
“No. No, I’m fine.” She reached for the bag. “I’m, well, just surprised, that’s all.”
“That was the point.”
She reached into the bag and pulled out a package wrapped in siren-red paper with silver ribbon. “Maybe I’d better sit.”
He didn’t try to help her to the bed. Isaac had learned that lesson a week ago. An aide had chastised him for trying to make things too easy. Now she made the trip with a minimum of fuss. She slid the box free of the ribbon and tore the paper loose. Inside was a sterling silver cigarette case, an antique etched with art deco fans. She pictured it in the clutch purse of a flapper.
“You want me to take up smoking?”
His smile was more natural this time. “It’s the perfect size for business cards.”
“It’ll hold a credit card and money, too, if I want to travel light some evening.” She shined it with her palm. “I love it.”
“You missed the card.”
“Oh?” She saw he was right. She opened the plain white envelope and drew out a sheet of watercolor paper folded into quarters. On the front he had drawn a perfect caricature of her, brown curls flying, heels clicking midair, arms flapping like wings, a smile as wide as the Potomac. Underneath the computer had printed “I Am Woman.”
She opened the card. The printed message read “Watch Me Soar.” Underneath it, Isaac had written, “And you will. You’re on your way. Welcome home.”
Tears stung her eyes. The tears were new, the product of a life that had flipped out of control and taken her emotions with it. “Who is this crazy lady?”
“Maybe you don’t feel like clicking your heels just yet, but you will soon enough.”
Almost from the moment she awakened from surgery, she had told herself she would move on quickly, that she would not let the carjacker destroy her life or self-confidence. She had thought that just repeating the vow often enough was all it would take. But she had been wrong.
She looked up. “It’s inspiring. Thank you.”
“Are you ready to go home?”
She was surprised by how little she wanted to leave. She had not yearned for the condo with its view of city streets. She had not yearned for the crushing weight of deadlines, the crowded newsroom, the ringing of telephones. She had yearned for Isaac, but that wasn’t new. She had yearned for him before the shooting, too.
For a moment she couldn’t answer. Fear gripped her. Outside, spring was at its peak. D.C. did spring with minimum fuss and maximum appeal. One moment the trees were bare, the next they were suffused in blossoms. Cherries, Japanese magnolias, redbuds and dogwoods. She could walk out into the sun, leaving behind a rainy night in March when she had nearly died.
If only it were that easy.
“Kendra?”
“I’m not going home.” She looked over at him. “Not for long. I’m moving out to the Valley. I want to recover there. I don’t think I can do it here.”
He didn’t look surprised. She searched his face. “Who told you?”
“Dr. Gupta. I saw her on the way to your room.”
She took that in, relieved that she had not been required to break the news. “You probably think I’ve lost my mind.”
“It’s occurred to me. Let’s discuss it at home, okay?”
She was afraid to drive through the District’s streets, to park underground and take an elevator to their floor. Once inside the condo, she wondered, would she have the courage to leave again?
She looked away. “This is hard to explain, and harder to believe, but I’m not feeling all that brave right now.”
“You don’t have to explain. But I bet they have plans for your bed.” His voice softened. “Nothing’s going to happen. I’m here to make sure of it.”
She was spared a response. In moments they were enveloped by a swarm of staff who had come to help with last-minute arrangements. Kendra was tucked into a wheelchair and her overnight bag unceremoniously plopped on her lap. Isaac was shooed out of the room to pick up the car. She was wheeled to the elevator. By the time the first wave of fear had peaked, she was in the car and Isaac was reaching over to help with her seat belt. She fastened it with trembling hands, hoping that this, at least, would help her feel anchored to something.
Isaac drove without speaking. The streets were crowded, not unusual at lunchtime. Some part of her marveled at the sheer number of cars. Each driver knew exactly where he or she was going, exactly what needed to be done. She had always felt the same way and had never once thought how odd it was to be that certain.
Another part of her, a larger part, was terrified they would not make it through the traffic without an accident.
“I’ve taken care of your plants,” Isaac said, once they were away from the hospital. “I didn’t want you to come home to wilted ferns and African violets.”
She wet her lips. “Thank you.”
“Did they feed you lunch? I forgot to ask. We could stop. Would you like that?”
“No.” The response was emphatic, more so than she had intended. “They fed me.”
“We’ll be home in a little while. Why don’t you close your eyes and relax? I’ll tell you when we get there.”
More often than not, when she closed her eyes she saw the man who had shot her, the fury on his face, the gun swinging in her direction. She had nothing to fear from him now. He had been caught with her car not far from the drugstore and had pleaded guilty. He was in jail and would be for some time to come. But none of that seemed to help.
She searched for something to say. “What are you missing at work today? Don’t tell me nothing, because I know better.”
“Right now I’m missing lunch at the Bombay Club. Nothing someone else can’t take care of.”
She glanced at his profile. Isaac was easy to look at, if not traditionally handsome. Wide, high cheekbones, strong jaw, dark upswept brows. He tanned easily, and his skin always had a healthy glow. Three years of braces had perfected the smile that could so easily make her forget all the things that went unsaid between them.
“You’ll want to get back after you drop me off,” she said.
“Only if you’re feeling comfortable. I can clear my schedule.”
He hadn’t cleared it. She heard that. He had expected to return. Now, faced with a woman who hadn’t even been sure she could leave the hospital, he was reconsidering.
“I’ll be fine,” she promised.
They drove the rest of the way without speaking. She flinched as he pulled into the condo garage. It was well lit, the space large enough that it was unlikely anyone would be hiding, but when he turned off the engine, she had to force herself to unsnap the seat belt and reach for the door handle.
“Wait until I come around,” he said.
He helped her out, then opened the back to get her overnight bag. She had given her flowers to other patients early that morning. She had little to show for the weeks she’d spent in rehabilitation except improved muscle tone, a lopsided gait that was, nevertheless, the difference between mobility and paralysis, and the prospect of a normal life once she was fully recovered.
“There’s no nurse’s aide present. Am I allowed to escort you?”
She moved closer and took his arm. They walked slowly, but she managed well. Her gaze darted right and left. The garage seemed empty.
The ride up was uneventful. Their hallway was longer than she had remembered. The inside of their condo was filled with red tulips, yellow daffodils and hyacinth-purple balloons.
“It’s wonderful.” Kendra’s voice was husky. “Are they all from you?”
“The balloons are from your colleagues. The daffodils are from Sam and Elisa. The tulips are mine.”
“I feel welcomed.”
“You’ve been missed.” He wrapped her in his arms. This kiss was not perfunctory. “Welcome home,” he said, when he finally pulled away.
“Either you’re making me dizzy, or I’m still recovering.”
“Sit. I’ll get you something to drink. Pepsi? Snapple?”
“Why don’t you get yourself something for lunch?”
He waited until she was seated, then headed for the tiny kitchen. She pulled the old quilt from the back of the sofa and draped it over her legs, because, suddenly, she was chilled. She wondered how long the peace would last, how long she would be allowed to bask in flowers and balloons before her convalescence became the topic of conversation again.
It didn’t take long. He returned with a sandwich. She wondered when he had found the time to shop for bread and ham. Had an assistant volunteered? Had he gone online and scheduled a delivery, hurriedly checking off items he thought she might need?
“Are you really going to be all right?” he asked. “I can stay, or I can call Sandy. She said she’d come if you needed her.”
“I’ll be fine. We have a security alarm. I’ll probably use it.”
He ate in silence, as if he couldn’t fill up quickly enough. He had broad shoulders and an athlete’s build. He always ate as if he were training for a decathlon. When he had finished, he took his plate back to the kitchen, returning minutes later with a glass of milk.
“We might as well talk about this,” she said. “There’s nothing to gain from putting it off.”
“It’s been a big day. Maybe we should wait.”
“I know you don’t understand. I know you think I’ve lost my mind. But I need to get out of here.”
“I could try to get vacation time. Not next week, but the week after doesn’t look too grim. We could go away together. Someplace quiet.”
She searched for the right words, but there weren’t any. “I need to get away from
everything
,” she said at last.
He sipped his milk, but his eyes didn’t leave hers. “I gather that means me.”
“I hope you’ll stay there with me when you can.”
“This doesn’t make sense.” He got up and began to pace. “I know you’ve been through a tough time. I understand that. But what’s the point of leaving everything familiar?”
“And why should I stay? My job’s on hold. You’re never home. What friends I’ve had time to make have high-octane professions. I don’t think I’m going to enjoy strolling our neighborhood for a while. There’s nothing here for me.”
He stopped pacing. “Your husband is here. Your home.”
She settled on the second part. “This condo isn’t my home. It’s a place we bought because it was a good investment and we could afford it without dipping into my trust fund. But we can’t even have a cat. I’m lucky they let me raise houseplants. We look out over more buildings just like this one, filled with more people who work too hard. We bought the furniture from the previous owners so we wouldn’t even have to shop.”