by Wendy Devore
“Sure.”
While I wait, I sit on the capstones that border the bed of mint. I am absentmindedly pinching its leaves to release the sharp essence when I hear the footfall, and I know it’s not the other Kate. I swallow hard and turn around.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he observes as he hands me the steaming mug of tea.
It’s true. I’ve been studying with Gurudevi for a month in his home, and I haven’t seen him once. For the first time I realize that this isn’t a coincidence.
“Don’t take it personally.” I can’t bear to look at him, but I can feel his gaze and it pierces my heart. I suddenly feel queasy; I sip the hot mint tea.
He sits patiently beside me on the wall of the garden bed. I stare at my feet. He is too near; I inhale his familiar scent, and the air seems to vibrate with his energy. The nausea intensifies.
I put down the cup of tea. “I’m sorry, I can’t…” I object, but as I rise, he grasps my hand and I finally face him. His luminous blue eyes are brimming with concern, and my knees buckle.
He releases me and takes my face in both of his hands. The gesture causes my entire body to flood with radiant warmth. His proximity is unbearable. I close my eyes.
“This isn’t right,” I protest. “I can’t do this to her; she’s been so kind to me…”
“She sent me to you. She thinks I can help.”
My eyes shoot open.
“I love her and you are her and you are in pain.”
“I need to find him,” I whisper.
“You need to find him,” he earnestly replies.
And then he kisses me.
I blink and he is gone. The entire courtyard is gone, replaced by Isabel’s conservatory, festooned with orchids. For a moment, I can’t breathe. Then I tear through the house like a woman possessed.
I’ve exhausted my search through the uninhabited rooms, and in dismay, I reach the huge wraparound veranda at the back of the estate. It overlooks the sweeping green expanse of the wild and dense garden, with its winding path and bushy California native foliage. The clouds are gray in this place too, but here, like me, they begin to weep.
I look up when I hear the crunch of hurried footsteps on the gravel fines of the path.
He rounds the corner of the footpath and stops in his tracks. For a moment, he stands there in astonishment, rain soaking into his dove-gray dress shirt.
My shoulders release in immense and profound relief. A bizarre sense of weightlessness overtakes my entire body. I am not too late.
“Hey,” I call with a nod. I swab my cheeks with the sleeve of my sweater. “You’re going to ruin that shirt in the rain. What is it, Armani?”
The moment of confusion passes; his face brightens and the spell is broken. He bounds up the walkway and sweeps me up into a soggy embrace. I can’t help noticing that his previously lean frame now appears haggard—almost cadaverous.
He pulls back and stares at me in disbelief. In his gaunt face I see boundless relief, but also something else—something harder to pinpoint. He clutches my left hand and examines it carefully. The welt from the Bug has long since healed, replaced by a small, round pink scar.
When he speaks, his weary voice is raspy, and his blue eyes are hollow, but they retain their familiar twinkle. Amusement? Amazement? Or something more?
“You came back.”
I shake my head sadly. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m afraid you’re not going to be able to afford four-hundred-dollar dress shirts on an oncologist’s salary.”
He looks confused for a moment, then a wan smile spreads over his pale face.
“Especially since your father lost his business and the family fortune years ago when he was indicted for bribery and fraud.”
His left eyebrow arches and he cocks his head. “Indeed.”
“And Isabel will be ecstatic that you’ve recovered from your mysterious coma.”
His expression transforms into momentary delight, then his countenance darkens.
“You know,” he reasons, “this means a significant measure of history has been altered. Without Albaion, without my father, without the Bug—we will never have met. There is a very good chance I will simply wake up from a coma with no memory of any of this. How will I find you?”
“There’s no need,” I reply with a wink and a shrug. “I finally understand how this relationship works. You get lost, and I find you.”
His explosive laugh is genuine—a sound I had feared I’d never hear again. With a tremendous exhale, I realize that all this time, I’ve been holding my breath.
“What do you say we get out of here?” he suggests earnestly, releasing my hand and slipping his arm around my waist.
Face upturned, I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him close. “I thought you’d never ask.”