"I can't believe they...let you do this...for a living." I sucked in a slow breath, held it, let it go. Did it again.
"Good point. But guess whose panic attack is dying down, huh?" He lifted my head with both his hands and smiled into my eyes. "Ta-da."
He was right. I was still sweaty, and my heart was thudding fast, but the panting had stopped, and I didn't see gray anymore.
"God, I'm good," he said with a grin, sitting back on the bench with me. "FDNY, baby. We live for this shit. Now, don't compliment me just yet. Just sit there and breathe. I'll stay with you."
*
An hour later, after I'd calmed down, met Jane, Daniel's sister whose "rat-faced shithead husband" walked out on her, as well as her two adorable sons and demonic daughter, after Daniel had handed his sister some money for the ice-cream truck, he informed me he was driving me home.
I didn't protest. For one, I felt weak and wobbly. For two, I didn't want to go back to that house alone. And for three, having a firefighter around made me feel safer. He made me take his arm on the way to the car, then fished my keys out of my purse and slid the driver's seat way back. "Tell me which way," he said, and I directed him through Cambry-on-Hudson.
"Holy shit," he said as we pulled into the driveway.
"Yeah. It's impressive."
I tapped the security code in, opened the door, then tried to turn on the front hall light. The den (or study) light went on instead. Good enough.
We went into the kitchen, and I heard Ollie's dog tags jingling as he came down the stairs, dragging his blanket, wagging his tail so hard his whole back swayed.
"Hi, Ollie!" I said, bending down to pet him. "Did you have fun napping today? You did? Did you miss me?" I looked up. "This is Ollie. Ollie, this is Daniel the Hot Firefighter."
Daniel was looking around, openmouthed. "Nice house," he said.
"Nathan was an architect."
"It could be in a magazine."
It had been in several, in fact. Nathan had copies framed in his work office. One of his coworkers had packed up his stuff and sent it over, but I hadn't managed to open the box yet.
I finished worshipping the dog and stood up, leaving Ollie to trot over to seduce Daniel's shoes. "Want something to drink?"
"I'm starving," he said. "You got any food?"
"I have a freezer full of sympathy meals," I said. "What would you like? I can thaw just about anything."
"Anything is fine." He looked a little uneasy, glancing around. It was an intimidating kitchen, I'd grant him that. He picked up Ollie, who began licking his chin. The dog loved everything with a heartbeat.
"Would you like some wine?" I asked.
"Got a beer?"
"Maybe." I dug around in the fridge. God, we had a lot of food! It looked like the fridge of a woman in a commercial, full of leafy dark greens and organic yogurt. All my sister's doing.
I found a beer in the back and took it out, then glanced at the label.
Hurricane Kitty IPA.
Nathan bought this. We'd spent a chilly Sunday afternoon in March at Keegan Ales microbrewery, sipping beers at the tasting bar after the tour, the lush smell of hops seeping into our clothes. Brought a twelve-pack home with us.
For a second, I could picture him so clearly it made me dizzy--Nathan reaching into the fridge, wearing his blue sweater with the four buttons at the neck.
"I'll have wine. Wine's good," someone said.
Right. Daniel the Hot Firefighter.
I put the beer back, grabbed some wine and pulled a Tupperware container of something from the freezer. "Chicken stew," I read from the label. "Sound good?"
"Sounds great. Hey, I don't have to stay, Kate. I'll call a cab and go to my sister's."
"No, no, that's fine. I mean, if you have to go back..."
"I don't have to. I just don't want you to feel like you have to entertain me." He folded his impressive arms. He didn't have a jacket on, though the night was cool, just a T-shirt. God forbid we should miss those biceps.
The thought brought a smile to my mind, if not my face. "Stay," I said. "And open this wine."
After the block of chicken stew had been pried from the Tupperware into a pot on the stove, the gas set on the tiniest flame, Daniel and I went into the living room, where I tried light switches until we could see each other, but not every pore.
I sat in one of the leather chairs; Daniel on the hard gray couch. He looked out of place here, too big for the sofa. Ollie leaped up next to him and put his chin on Daniel's thigh. Even dogs had a weakness for hot firefighters, apparently. Daniel petted Ollie's head with a big hand. "Hey, I started the porch swing, by the way."
"Great. The Coburns will love it, I'm sure." He'd sent me three designs, and I'd picked one and sent it back. Couldn't remember now what it looked like.
"How's your sister?" Daniel asked.
"She's good. She's staying with me for a while. How's Lizzie?"
"Oh, man, she's great. Those pictures were scary beautiful." He set his wine down on the coffee table. "I never thanked you for figuring out she had a problem with that little shit-stain boyfriend, by the way."
"Oh. You're welcome. A little magic trick of mine. Sometimes you can see things through the camera that you can't without it." It sounded stupid, saying it aloud. "So your other sister Jane...she's doing okay? She seems pretty together."
"She is. Her husband's an idiot. We never liked him. I didn't, anyway." He shrugged. "Then again, Jane hated Calista, so I guess we're even."
Rain began to fall, pinging in the copper gutters. This house was beautiful in the rain--the gutters had releases where the water would flow down in a controlled gush onto piles of white rocks before filtering into the irrigation system. Nothing was by accident with Nathan. Except his death, of course.
Which meant he'd kept those emails for a reason.
"You ever hear from her? From Calista?" I asked.
"No." He took a sip of wine, grimacing a little. I should've given him the beer. "Do you?"
I hesitated. "I get a card at Christmastime."
"She doesn't celebrate Christmas."
"Fine, fine. It's a winter solstice card." He gave a rueful smile. "So what happened with you two?" I asked. After all, he'd asked me about my panties today. I could pry a little, too.
"I don't know," he grumbled.
"Sure you do."
He sighed. "She loved me, then she didn't." He looked out the window, where the outside lights had magically gone on (still hadn't found those switches). "People change."
"She found yoga."
He snorted. "Yep. That was the beginning of the end for us. All of a sudden, she was talking about balance and mindfulness and inner quiet. I just nodded and smiled, and she got pissier and pissier because I was a dolt who just wanted to work and come home and get laid and have kids and be happy. I don't really know what being mindful really means."
"It means--"
"I also don't care." He smiled to soften the words. "So she left me not for another man or another woman, but for her journey. Which I wasn't allowed to be part of." He paused, shifting his gaze to the window. "If you ever want to make someone feel like they're nothing, that's the way to do it."
The words sat between us, heavy and sincere.
I took a sip of wine. "I always hated her name." I didn't; it was a beautiful name, but solidarity was called for. I smiled, and Daniel grinned crookedly, clearly relieved.
"Let's talk about something other than my ex-wife."
"Wait, wait, one more question," I said. "Why do you date all those teenagers?"
"Kate, cut me some slack. I've never dated a teenager, not even when I was a teenager. Let's make that very clear. They're all over twenty-one."
"Their IQs, too?"
"Good one." Ollie shifted his head so it was resting in Daniel's danger zone. Not that I noticed or anything. "I don't know. They want bragging rights so they can tell their friends they slept with a firefighter. I oblige, part of
my civic duty."
"You're a prince."
"They're uncomplicated, at least."
"That does seem to be true."
"Besides," he added, "if Calista could gut me the way she did, just imagine what someone like you could do, Kate." He winked, and I rolled my eyes.
"Oh, please. In your mind, I'm old enough to be your mother. All this flirting is just you on autopilot."
"It's a gift, I'll admit it." He looked at his wineglass. "So how are you these days?"
"Well, as you could see in the park, I'm doing great. Totally together."
"You lonely?"
The question jammed the spike through my throat. "Yes."
Daniel kindly looked outside, where the rainwater rushed down. "You know what I hated?" he asked, still not looking at me. "I mean, not that it's the same, divorce, but...well, I hated doing laundry after she left. When we were married, it was--God, I sound stupid."
"No, I know what you mean. It's like even your clothes are lonely."
He nodded. "Exactly."
"My husband had an ex-wife," I heard myself say. "And they stayed in touch right up until he died, but I didn't know about it. He saved all their emails, and I know I shouldn't read them, but I'm pretty sure I will."
"Don't."
"Easy for you to say."
"Kate. Don't."
"Why? Because then I'll see that I was his runner-up? Because then I might find out that he was going to come home one night and say, 'On second thought, Kate, I'm still in love with Madeleine. Can you move out this weekend?'" I took a hit of wine. "And no matter what they say or don't say, he's still dead. I'm still the widow, and I barely got to be a wife."
Daniel didn't say anything.
"Sorry," I muttered. "Verbal diarrhea. I better check the stew."
The stew was ready, bubbling and hot, and I found a loaf of gorgeous bread that smelled like rosemary and olive oil. I set out some cheese and got down the bowls, and we ate in the kitchen like two old friends.
Which I guessed we were.
"I better get back," Daniel said after his third bowl of stew and half a loaf of bread. "I have to work in the morning."
"Let me drive you."
"To Brooklyn? Nah."
"I meant to your sister's place, or the train station."
"I'm taking the train, but I'll walk. I like rain." He gave me a hug, and I registered the hard muscles and strong frame, the nice smell of him. "Don't read those emails. But if you do, call me if you want."
A kiss on the cheek, and he was gone, the smell of rain gusting into the kitchen, leaving me alone once more.
Chapter Nineteen
Ainsley
Over the weekend, I fluttered around Kate's house, bought a few pots of flowers from the garden center for her patio, which looked so lonely, then made spaghetti and meatballs for dinner. We watched a movie in her home theater, and Kate fell asleep halfway through. It was a good thing, anyway. The husband in it died, and why hadn't I checked that first? Granted, it was billed as a suspense, filled with unexpected twists, but there should've been a widow-warning on it.
On Sunday, I went to Rachelle's, in case Kate wanted some time without me. Rachelle made margaritas, bless her heart, and we stalked men on the internet who had liked her Match.com profile. We didn't look up Eric.
At night, back home in the chic bedroom that still felt like a hotel, I held Pooh to my chest and surprised myself by crying. Honestly, while I didn't envy Kate losing Nathan, at least Nathan got to stay...pure. More than a decade of happiness with Eric was now tainted by the now of him. I'd never be able to think of him without remembering that smug look on his face at the Algonquin. I hoped he'd get eaten by a bear and an orca whale out in Alaska.
But still, tears trickled into my hair. Where was the boy who stayed in the bathroom with me when I had food poisoning that time, when I was so drenched in sweat that I kept sliding off the toilet? Forget roses and diamond rings, that was love. Where was the guy who held me every night because, by his own admission, he loved the smell of my hair and couldn't fall asleep unless I was snuggled against him? Had he found someone else with nice-smelling hair? Or did he now carry a lock of his own to sniff?
How did you just stop loving someone in the space of weeks? That guy in the blue light drinking a pink martini...that guy was a stranger.
I tossed and turned, filled with half dreams that we never broke up, or that he, and not Nathan, had died. That he'd written another column about me, and I didn't know what it said, but everyone was mad at me because of it, even my dad.
So no wonder I slept through my alarm, which I'd set ten minutes earlier than normal so I could get to work on time.
I did not get to work on time. I was four minutes late.
"Ainsley, can I see you in my office?" Jonathan said.
My face flushed.
I'd thought about him, too, this weekend. How unexpectedly kind he'd been. How his eyes were so special and hypnotic up close. How I was almost positive that twice, he'd said something nice to me.
I went into his office and closed the door behind me. "Hi. Did you have a nice weekend?"
"You were late again."
"Sorry about that."
"Is it really so hard to be on time, Ainsley?" His voice was irritable.
I blinked. Apparently, those two nice things were signs of my overactive imagination. "I'm sorry. I'll stay four minutes late tonight."
"It happens at least four times a week."
"I tried! I did set my alarm earlier this morning, but I slept through it. It's the wind chimes ringtone. I guess I need a foghorn or a siren alert, because I just dreamed that it was windy, and so I kept sleeping, and--"
"That's enough explanation. Thank you."
He stared at me. Today, his eyes didn't look like a beautiful mosaic of green and blue and gold--they just looked icy. It made me feel off balance. Here he'd taken me out to dinner on Friday and for a carriage ride. Now he was acting like he could barely tolerate me. Again.
"Was there anything else, Mr. Kent?"
"Yes. I need your pitches for the December issue by ten o'clock."
"Okay." I started to get up, then sat back down. "Jonathan, I won't be going to DWI anymore. That's your group, and I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."
His eyes flickered. "I appreciate that."
"I am having a makeover party with Carly and Marley and Henry tomorrow night, though. You're more than welcome to come."
His mouth pulled up just the slightest bit on one side, and I felt a strange tug in my stomach. "I'll pass, but thank you for the offer."
I reached into my bag and pulled out his handkerchief from Friday night, which I'd washed and ironed yesterday. "Nice and clean," I said, putting it on the desk.
"Thank you."
"Thank you." Okay, all this civility was getting awkward. I stood up and went back to my cubicle. For once, I was relieved to get working.
My cheeks still felt hot.
I opened my email and found a message from Gram-Gram, typed all in capital letters and 18-point font because it was getting hard for her to see.
DEAR AINSLEY, I HOPE YOU OR KATE CAN TAKE ME TO A WAKE TONIGHT. WEAR SOMETHING PRETTY BECAUSE THERE ARE ALWAYS SINGLE MEN IN CASE YOU ARE READY TO MEET SOMEONE NEW.
Ah, Gram-Gram. She always had my back.
I AM ON THE LOOKOUT, TOO. GOD KNOWS I'M NOT MEETING ANYONE HERE. EVERY SINGLE MAN IN THIS PLACE HAS A LINE OUT THE DOOR, AND TRYING TO SIT NEXT TO THEM AT DINNER IS A BLOOD SPORT. OR THEY ARE DYING! XOXOXOX GRAM-GRAM.
I emailed that I'd be happy to go to the wake with her, not to ask Kate and that I'd pick her up at 5:30.
Then I got to work on some ideas for Christmas stories that weren't too similar to all the Christmas stories Hudson Lifestyle had done in the past.
*
At 4:00, Rachelle buzzed me. "Your beautiful grandmother is here to see you!" she sang. Gram-Gram was universally adored.
I went out to the foyer. "H
ey, Gram-Gram! What are you doing here?"
"For the wake, sweetheart. Oh, don't you look pretty! You'll definitely find a nice boyfriend, I'm sure." She patted my cheek. "Such firm skin! I remember those days!"
"Thanks, but I was going to pick you up at 5:30," I said.
"You did?"
"I emailed you right back."
"I forgot to check. Oh, dear." She smiled happily. "Betty was coming downtown, so I asked her to drop me off."
"Well, I don't get off for an hour, Gram-Gram, and my boss is a little uptight about--"
"Hello."
I closed my eyes. More trouble with Jonathan. "Gram-Gram, do you remember Jonathan Kent, my boss?"
"Hello, dear," she said to him. "I love your hair!"
Jonathan gave me that look that told me he was suffering from sharp gastrointestinal pains caused by yours truly.
"My grandmother and I crossed signals, Jonathan," I said. "I was going to pick her up for a wake, and she thought she was supposed to meet me here."
"Calling hours started four minutes ago," Gram-Gram said. "I wanted to get there before Anita Duran. She's like a fox in the henhouse. Or a fox in the rooster house, as the case may be. She'll have that poor widower's pants around his knees before we even get in the door if we don't leave right now, Ainsley."
Rachelle clapped a hand over her mouth. Jonathan just kept staring at me.
"Then by all means, off you go," he said.
"Thank you, Jonathan," I muttered. "I'll make up the time."
"Yes. You will."
"Ticktock, honey," Gram-Gram said.
The deceased, Darleen Richmond, had quite a crowd. My grandmother pointed out an elderly woman with jet-black hair at the front of the line, holding the widower's hand and patting it.
"Oh, that Anita!" Gram-Gram hissed, "She's such a slut. I knew I should've picked you up at three."
"Well, we'll have our turn." The line shuffled along. "So how did you know her?"
"Who?"
"The lady. The deceased."
"Oh, I don't know her," Gram-Gram said blithely. "I'm just here to check out her husband. I read the obituary this morning."
The woman in front of us turned around and scowled.
"Do you see anyone for yourself?" Gram-Gram asked, oblivious. "There are some handsome men here. Maybe someone for Kate, too."
What the heck. I did a discreet check. "Anyone catch your fancy?" Gram-Gram asked.
I shook my head. Smiled awkwardly at one of the actual mourners.
"The night is young. Don't give up!"
On Second Thought Page 23