Scenes From the City: A Knitting in the City Wintertime Surprise (3 page)

I heaved a sob, covered my mouth with my hand, and shut my eyes. I pressed my forehead against the wall of the hallway and tried to take calming breaths through my nose.

I’m fine…I’m fine…I’m fine… everything is fine.

“Dr. Finney?”

I glanced up from my position hugging the wall to find Dan, Dan the security man as Janie liked to call him
,
hovering about two feet away. His forehead was wrinkled, and he looked at me—aka, the crying woman—like I was a rattlesnake
, with a dash of fear and a heavy dose of trepidation.

I sniffled and gave him a little wave. “Oh, hey, Dan.”

He was going to be Quinn’s best man at the wedding, and he’d been my guard for several months during the fancy stalker incident; therefore, I felt quite comfortable with him. We were a tad more than friendly acquaintances, and, if he were the type to hang out with girls, I totally would have hung out with him.

Alas, he was not the type to hang out with girls. Like Quinn, I doubted he had even one female friend. This was a strike against Quinn in my book but, for some reason, not a strike against Dan. Dan was too adorable for strikes. He deserved reprimands no harsher than a disappointed head shake followed by a hug.

But I digress…

Back to the hallway of crying.

Dan reached his hand out as though he were going to pat my back but then pulled it through his hair instead, sending the short brown spikes in all different directions.

“Elizabeth…are you okay? Did something happen?” His genuine concern initiated a new wave of melancholy, and my chin wobbled.

My voice tight with emotion, I nodded. “Yeah,” I choked then swallowed. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

I knew I sounded and looked not at all convincing, especially since new tears replaced those that had nearly dried; I felt the hot liquid emotion roll down my cheeks.

“Fuck…” he said, like he was just as distraught as I was, and pulled me into a big bear hug. We stood there for a bit—not long, but not super short—with him hugging me and me crying on his suit jacket. Then he added, speaking against my hair, “Sorry. Sorry for cursing.”

I pulled away and looked up at him, confused.

He cleared his throat and shrugged. “I mean, sorry for saying
fuck.
And, I guess, sorry for saying fuck again—just then—when I was explaining why I was sorry. So, sorry for all the times I just said fuck, including this time, while we’ve been standing in the hall.”

I couldn’t help it. I laughed. I laughed loud and long and let my head fall to his shoulder and laughed against his shoulder.

Tangentially, I heard the sound of a door open. I wouldn’t have noticed it, as I was too busy laughing like a crazy woman, but Dan became suddenly rigid, and he cleared his throat again.

“Uh, hey, Nico.”

I glanced up from my laughing spot on Dan’s shoulder and looked over mine to find Nico standing just inside the door wearing gray pajama pants and a white T-shirt. His eyes narrowed as they moved between me and Dan. Then they widened abruptly as his gaze moved over my face, and he stepped forward, reaching for me.

“Elizabeth, are you okay? Why are you crying?” He pulled me from Dan’s suit and placed me against the thin material of his shirt. He smelled like Nico. He smelled like home.

I snuggled against him and said, “It’s been a long day.” My voice was watery again. I was a mess.

“What happened?” Nico addressed this question to Dan.

“I don’t know, I swear. I came out of Quinn’s place and found her against the wall, crying.”

“But then she was laughing?” Nico stroked my hair.

“It’s because he said a curse word then apologized for saying a curse word.” I pressed closer to my husband…
my husband…mmm…mine.

“That’s why you’re crying?” Nico asked, his hand pausing mid-hair stroke.

“No, that’s why she was laughing,” Dan supplied, sounding tired. “I have no idea why she is crying.”

I sniffled again, then told them, “I lost two.”

A slight paused followed, then Nico asked, “Lost two what?”

“Children. I lost two. It was a bus crash…a school bus.” I felt a new wave of tears; I tried my best to swallow them down, but I couldn’t.

“Fuck…” Nico exhaled the word, his arms tightened just before he released me and bent to scoop me into his arms. “I’ve got you…” He kissed my temple and carried me into our apartment, shutting the door with his foot and presumably leaving Dan in the hallway.

I would have to send Dan a thank-you card, something to express my gratitude for being such a nice person and taking pity on his strange, crying neighbor.

Nico carried me into the master bedroom, set me on a large leather chair, and covered me with a blanket.

“I’ll be right back.” He tilted my head back, cupping my jaw, and kissed my closed eyelids; but he waited for me to open them and acknowledge him before he stood and crossed to the bathroom. Peripherally I heard him turn on the bathtub.

I should have been fine. I should have been able to pick myself up and dust myself off. I knew I couldn’t save every person. Times like these were typically good examples of when my stubbornness was actually a gift.

But that was before Nico, before I stopped being so stubborn.

Before Nico, I would stubbornly ignore my feelings, go home, and get various shades of intoxicated then go to sleep; not the healthiest coping strategy, but it worked for me, and it didn’t happen very often. Or, if Janie were around, I’d stubbornly ignore my feelings, have her over, and we’d cuddle while watching old Star Trek Voyager episodes.

  This wasn’t the first time I’d experienced a breakdown after losing a patient, but this was the first time I hadn’t been able to hold it together long enough to get inside my apartment.

I was rubbing my eyes, willing the tears to stop, when I heard music drift over the speakers. I wiped my nose with my sleeve, tried to bring the room into focus, and found Nico crossing to me. Without preamble, he picked me up and carried me into the bathroom, all the while showering my face with feather-light kisses.

“Is that Frank Sinatra?” My nose was clogged and my throat still tight, so the question sounded strangled and nasally.

“Yes.”

“What song is this? It sounds familiar.”

“
Fly Me to the Moon
.”

“Ah.” I nodded, sniffling again. “I guess the opening line should have tipped me off.”

He grinned and set me down by the tub. The lights were off in the bathroom, but he’d placed candles everywhere. Their soft illumination embraced me, casting the obscenely large space in gently flickering shadows, softening reality somehow, and making Nico’s olive skin glow bronze.

The bathtub was full of bubbles, the faint scent of my jasmine bodywash in the air, humid and warm.

“In other words…” Nico sang quietly, reaching for the hem of my shirt and tugging it over my head, “I love you...” He undressed me methodically, all of his touches chaste and cherishing. I blinked twice, two new tears falling. He kissed my cheeks, like he could kiss the sadness away, and smoothed his hands down my bare back, a gesture meant to soothe.

Once I was naked, I took a step toward the tub; but he scooped me up once again, and I let him. He placed me in the hot water, in the center of the thick bed of bubbles, just as the song changed.

It was another Frank Sinatra tune.

“What’s this one called?”

“
Misty
,” Nico said, straightening. As he did so he whipped off his shirt and tossed it in a corner; then he swiftly depanted and climbed into the tub behind me.

“Hard to imagine Frank Sinatra as helpless as a kitten up a tree,” I said as he positioned me between his legs, my back against his chest, his strong arms around my torso, holding me.

“I think any man in love is as helpless as a kitten up a tree,” he whispered close to my ear, then asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

I knew he meant my day, not Frank Sinatra in love and feeling misty.

I shook my head, then turned my cheek so I could listen to him breathe, the beat of his heart. “No. I really don’t.”

“Okay.” He hugged me tighter, resting his chin on the top of my head. “You should cry. Let it out.”

“I don’t want to cry.”

“Just know that you can.” He brought bubbles to my shoulder, then wiped them away with his large hand. “You can cry, you can scream, you can be your feelings, and I will love you just the same.”

We were silent for a long moment as I considered his words, listening to the bubbles fizz and pop.

“I missed our wedding,” I blurted suddenly, feeling overwhelmingly sad. My chin wobbled as I spoke, “Life is the sum total of our memories, and I missed that one…with you.”

“I’m…” He sighed, his hand finding my thigh and squeezing it. “I’m not sorry, Bella. I’m not. It was beautiful and…horrible.” He laughed, his chest rumbling, “It was also weird…and wonderful, and I wouldn’t change a thing about it—other than that, part of me wishes you could remember it, but another part of me is glad you can’t.”

“Then you left.” I turned in the tub so I could see him, so he could see me. “You left right after we were married. And you faked phone static every time I called. Not cool, Nico.”

“Yes,” he nodded, his voice rising, “I did. I knew that I’d be home in three days. We needed to talk about it but not on the phone. Definitely not on the phone.”

“Why?” My hands came down, and bits of soapy water and bubbles splashed against his chin and neck.

“Elizabeth, I’m famous for two things: my apple fritters and my temper.”

I screwed my face up, not wanting to smile and almost succeeding. “I thought you were famous for your alphabet soup recipe and wordy math problems.”

“I’m famous for three things: my alphabet soup, my apple fritters, and my temper. I knew that if we spoke over the phone, one of us—likely both of us—were going to say something we’d later regret.”

“You could have just told me that!”

He lifted a single eyebrow and gave me a look like he knew better. “Really? You wouldn’t have insisted we argue over the phone?”

I twisted my lips to the side, narrowed my eyes on him. A new song, again Frank Sinatra, filtered in through the door; it was one of my favorites,
The Way You Look Tonight
.

I hated that he was right.

“Fine.” I twisted back to my original position and settled against him. “I’m still angry.”

“That’s fine…” He unwound my hair from its braid, massaged his fingers through it. “We can have angry sex later.” As though to illustrate the superiority of this idea, he tugged on my hair.

“Stop pulling my hair.” I said halfheartedly because I liked it, but I was still upset about missing the ceremony.

Nico released the strands and wrapped his arms around me again. “We can have as many weddings as we want. We can have another Vegas wedding or something with our families there, more traditional.”

“I know.” I sighed, the anger dissipating and disappointment taking its place. “There’s nothing I can do about it, I know that. I’m just still…I love you. I wanted to be lucid for it.”

“Then I am sorry,” he said quietly, sincerely, and I knew he meant it. “Do you forgive me?”

“Yes…but we’re still having angry sex later.”

“Deal.” I felt his smile against my shoulder.

“And I’m going to bite you and smack your ass.”

“Promises, promises...” He nipped my shoulder, his teeth feeling delightfully sharp.

Bundled in his arms, in the hot bubbly bath, in the comfort of shared silence and unobtrusive lights and Frank Sinatra’s velvet crooning, I relaxed. Every so often Nico would place a kiss on my neck or fondle my breast but escalate the touching no further. I sensed he was enjoying the peace and calm and being together just as much as I was.

Abruptly, he chuckled again and squeezed me. “Honestly, I’m just happy this is what you’re upset about.”

“What do you mean?”

“I wondered…” He began haltingly then nuzzled my neck. “Never mind.”

“No, say it. What
did you wonder
?” I fished his left hand out of the tub and fit mine over it. I compared our rings, they were a perfect match. I felt my mouth hitch to the side; I liked how they looked together, our hands. I liked the contrasts, the big and the small, the dark and the light. I loved how the rings he’d chosen reflected the differences between us, but they complemented each other. They belonged together.

I felt his chest expand with a large breath before he said on a rush, “I wondered if you would be angrier about us getting married so quickly, not about missing it.”

I grunted. “Um…no.” I thought about this statement then continued, “Actually, hell no! I woke up that morning, after you left, and I was…” I paused, not wanting to admit that I was panicked because I thought I’d married some faceless stranger. Instead, I opted to say, “I was angry about missing our vows, missing you, but when I saw your note and the marriage certificate, I was so relieved that it was done. Watching and helping Janie and Marie plan this marriage monstrosity has been more than enough wedding planning for a lifetime.”