by Jane Tara
The bastard was right. Not because this wasn’t beautiful, but because he wasn’t with her. He never came, had never wanted to come with her, and coming alone was a huge mistake. It was a glaring reminder of every time he’d failed her, or refused her, or bulldozed over her to get his own way. Being here alone was a reminder of how she’d spent twenty years desperately wanting him to do something romantic for her, anything, anything. A bunch of flowers. A bloody poem. A loving dedication in one of his books. But she’d got nothing. If she dared mention it, he’d dig his heels in and challenge her to leave if she didn’t like it. But she never left. Because she loved him. Totally and utterly.
So most of all … being in Vienna alone now was a reminder that he was dead.
Deep breath. Focus on something light. Something unrelated.
Eva stared at the children boarding the train. She tried to concentrate on them, what they were wearing, and their laughter. But she couldn’t get her mind off Geoff.
Geoff had been dead a year. One year and ten days to be exact. While not officially her first Christmas without him, it was certainly the first she could remember. Last year didn’t count. It was a blur. She’d been in a very dark place. She could barely remember his funeral, or the weeks afterward, where she couldn’t get out of bed. She saw in the New Year clutching his shirt, wild with desire for a dead man, so grateful she’d been behind on the washing when he died. She had a bunch of his shirts that still smelled like him, but was petrified that the scent was fading.
There were moments during those first two months where she didn’t think she’d survive. There were a few truly overwhelming moments when she prayed she wouldn’t. But ultimately, Eva was not the type of woman to curl up and die alongside her man. One morning she got up and actually ate breakfast. She showered and then checked her emails. She sat alone, coffee in hand, by her favorite window where the morning sun flooded in. And she knew she’d be okay. She wanted to be okay. She was determined to rebuild her life.
It hadn’t been easy. Thankfully she had her work. Editors like her were able to pick and choose. She escaped into the novels she edited. She escaped into the very world Geoff had always mocked—romance. Admittedly he didn’t ridicule her work, or the romance writers they knew. Being a writer himself he was fully aware of how good writers bled for their art, irrespective of genre. For him, the problem was never about romance books, but that Eva expected that romance to translate into real life.
“That’s like me suddenly becoming Henry VIII because I’ve just finished my book about him.”
“Geoff, you are like him,” Eva sniffed.
Working from home was both a blessing and a curse. Geoff was in every room, every piece of furniture. God knows he’d made the final decisions when they were renovating, so even if she preferred the beige hues, they ended up with bold colors. She liked the caramel-colored couch, but ended up with deep red. Now that he was gone, Eva took comfort in being surrounded by the remnants of his powerful personality.
Until she glimpsed his desk. And then she could feel herself slipping away, her skin and flesh and every atom of her being sliding off her into a pool on the floor. Being married to a writer meant he was at home and at his desk a lot. Unlike other women she knew, she couldn’t kid herself that her husband was at the office late or on a business trip. His empty chair was a reminder. His absence was palpable and constant.
Eva had met Geoff later in life. They’d both been married, and divorced, with lots of baggage. She was on a romance panel at a historical writers’ conference in Florida, and Geoff was the keynote speaker. She’d read a few of his novels, sprawling novels set in Tudor and Elizabethan England that were popular with both the literati and airport readers. She sat down the front of his session and watched him speak, mesmerized. He was one helluva man. Tall, dark hair, rugged, with muscular arms and an endless chest. And he knew how to work a crowd. He was articulate and erudite, but also had the audience in stitches. At one point, his eyes rested on her and her whole body filled with fire. Afterward, to her surprise, he came over to her and introduced himself.
“I find it unfair that you know my name and I don’t yet know yours.”
“I’m Eva.” She shook his hand and a jolt of pure energy shot straight through her. She covered her surprise with nervous chat. “I enjoyed your talk. I absolutely agree with—”
Geoff cut her off, as was to become his habit in their relationship. “Fuck my talk. I’d rather have a drink with you.”
Eva agreed to it without hesitation, another pattern in their relationship. Not that she was weak, then or ever. Quite the opposite. As she knew, from that very first night, only the strongest of women would take on a man like Geoff. Right from the start he was challenging, but Eva found it refreshing to be challenged. Every conversation was to the death. He kept her on her toes—and goddammit, she hadn’t been off her heels in years till she met him.
He also kept her in bed. For three full days. By the final night of the conference, Eva was wondering how she’d live without him.
She ran her hand over his chest. It was everything a chest should be on a man. “I’m sure everyone at the conference is talking about us.”
“Let them. It’ll give them something to write about.” Geoff moved a lock of hair from her face. “Want to stay here with me for Christmas?”
“In Florida?”
“In bed.”
“But that’s two weeks away?”
“So? You said your kids are with your ex this year. So are mine. And Christ knows I hate English weather at this time of year. Stay with me here.” Geoff slipped his hand across her belly and down between her legs. “You’re wet. I take that as a yes.” He moved down and spread her legs, and slid his tongue inside her. Conversation over. But from that moment on, Christmas was about warm weather and lots of sex.
She never complained. Who would? Right when she’d thought it was all over for her, at thirty-nine, with a messy divorce and kids in tow … this ravishing man charged into her life and took over. He couldn’t get enough of her. He didn’t tell her she was beautiful or desirable, he showed her. He didn’t have a romantic bone in his body. But he was passionate. From the moment he’d first kissed her on a Miami boardwalk, she was his. His smell, his build, the noises he made while he was inside her. There was no other man as male as Geoff. His very presence excited her. And ultimately subsumed her. And that never changed in twenty years. Not until the day she found him dead on the floor from a heart attack. His heart. The one organ he gave on his terms.
‘Entschuldigen Sie, bitte, ist der Tisch frei?’
Eva plummeted back to the present. A young man was standing in front of her.
“I’m sorry, I don’t speak German.”
“I was just asking if this table is free. Are you waiting on friends?”
“No, please go ahead.” She gestured at the vacant area around her table, and the young man and his friend moved in and started talking.
She watched them for a moment and then turned her attention elsewhere. Perhaps she should’ve brought someone to Vienna with her. But who?
Eva was in touch with all the kids—her own and Geoff’s—and pretended for their sakes that she was managing okay. She lied, and said she was getting out and seeing people. But she wasn’t. Their circle of friends was very much a couples affair. And she still wasn’t up to socializing without Geoff. Not with their old friends.
She had Paige now, of course. Their friendship was new but already ran deep. In fact, in many ways it had saved her.
After the initial grief had abated and she was able to work again, Eva spent her days editing. Then, in the afternoon, she’d go for a walk, often stopping by her local bookstore. She’d always supported her local bookstore, but after Geoff’s death she found herself haunting the aisles of the cozy little shop more than ever before. She went in to look at Geoff’s books, despite having shelves of them at home. She’d pick up his books, stare at his photo on the jacket, and flick
through to the dedication: To my sidekick, Eva.
Sidekick.
Never love. Or darling. Or wife.
He’d published three novels while they were together before she confronted him about his choice of endearment.
“Why don’t you say, ‘To my wife’? Or my darling?”
“Why don’t I wear yellow? It’s just not me.”
“Aren’t I your darling?”
“Right now you’re my pain in the arse.”
And he’d given her a kiss and returned to his work. It was another novel, and when he published it, he dedicated it to his sidekick.
That was Geoff. And she knew that. But still, she was drawn over and over into that shop to open the books, as if by some miracle he’d posthumously change the wording and be romantic.
It was on one of those afternoons that she noticed Paige peering over her shoulder.
“Is that you? The sidekick?” Paige asked.
Eva nodded.
“I’m so sorry for your loss. He was a great writer.”
“Yes, he was.”
Paige tilted her head to one side. “He talked about you a lot.”
Eva stared at the woman. “Did you know him?”
“He did a reading here once.”
“Oh, that’s right.”
“And he’d sometimes pop in and buy something. Whenever he did, he’d point out all the books his wife edited.”
“All my romance books?”
Paige nodded. “He was very proud of you.”
Much to her own horror, Eva burst into tears. “Why couldn’t he acknowledge that, rather than calling me his bloody sidekick?”
“I know, darling. Men can be such bastards.”
And from that moment on they were friends. Paige told Eva about the book club she ran, so she had joined. It was the darkest time in her life, and the friendship and support she’d received from this group of women had been such a blessing. They’d read books: always inspiring, uplifting tales, romances and biographies about great women. Just the type of read Eva loved and needed. Looking back, the one thing that had saved her from complete despair was her book club, and the women she’d befriended.
Book by book, month by month, meeting by meeting, Eva felt the weight of her grief lift. Not disappear, mind you, but it was unlikely that would ever happen. She didn’t know if she’d want it to. A man like Geoff would be mourned forever. She knew that was the risk she was taking the moment she met him.
It was Paige who had encouraged her to spend Christmas in Vienna. She’d been insistent, even when they’d spoken today, when for once Paige needed Eva’s support.
“It’s about closure, Eva.”
“It’s just bad timing,” Eva said down the phone.
“No, it’s perfect timing. I need your support next week. So please go and do this. It’s part of your grieving process, Eva.” Paige gave her a hug. “You’ll be more use to me afterward.”
Eva knew Paige was right.
Paige pointed out. “And you’ve always wanted to go.
“I always wanted to go with him,” Eva said. “But no, we always went somewhere hot.”
“Yes, how dreadful for you,” Paige teased. “Morocco and rampant sex for Christmas. I do think you were a little blind to what you did have. I was lucky if Tim ever gave me a card.”
Eva laughed. “You always know how to cheer me up.”
“And you always know how to depress me,” Paige said with a wink. “Remember, I met your husband. He was gorgeous.”
“God, I know. But not a romantic bone in his body.”
“Perhaps. But my husband was spineless, and believe me, that’s worse.”
Eva blinked as snowflakes landed on her eyelashes. She knew Paige was right, but still couldn’t help feeling angry with him right now. All she’d wanted was a little romance. She’d wanted him to bring her to Vienna. She wanted to kiss him under the Viennese Little Heart Tree. She’d dreamed about kissing someone she loved beneath its branches ever since she’d first read about that goddamn tree. It was the place for lovers to meet in Vienna.
Too late now.
She began to calm. The anxiety passed. The breathing helped. Or perhaps it was the gluhwein. She finished it and placed the mug on the table. She would now make her way back to the hotel and try to find an early flight home.
She took one last look around. Eva noticed a small striped tent off to one side. The cloth across the entrance was pulled back and she could see a woman seated at a small table, watching her. She glanced at the sign outside: Wahrsagerin. Bitte kommen Sie rein. A psychic?
She looked back at the woman, who motioned for her to enter.
Oh, what the hell!
This was one of the benefits of not having Geoff with her. He would make some derisive comment and hurry her past the tent. But Eva had always been interested in psychic phenomena. And she’d be lying if she weren’t just the slightest bit curious. Would she ever be able to move on from Geoff? Perhaps this woman would know the answer to that.
Eva entered the tent and the woman waved her into a seat. Neither of them spoke. Instead, the woman seemed to wait for Eva to get her bearings. The tent was warm, with a soft glow and the smell of roses. The table was draped in a purple velvet cloth and on it sat a pack of tarot cards and a crystal ball. Eva almost laughed. This psychic certainly had the tools. And the look. Eva guessed she was Romany, probably in her forties, with incredible dark eyes that seemed to stare straight through her. She had on the expected outfit, big skirt, lots of jewelry, a colorful scarf wrapped around her luscious black hair. When she spoke, her English was excellent, with a lyrical accent.
“You are okay now?”
Eva was thrown. Had the woman been watching her fighting off her panic attack?
“How do you know I speak English?”
The gypsy sat motionless. “How do I know anything? I just know.”
Never wiser words spoken, thought Eva.
The woman stuck out her palm. Eva placed her own hand on top and was then embarrassed when the psychic sniffed and said, “Payment, please.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought … just a moment.” Eva dug into her bag and found her wallet. She remembered she’d spent all her change. “I don’t have gold … to cross your palm or whatever …”
The psychic shrugged. “I take Visa too.”
Eva hid her surprise by burrowing through her bag and finding her emergency stash. “It’s okay, I have enough euro.”
The woman clutched the notes and shoved them under the table, storing them god knows where. Eva certainly wasn’t going to ask. Then she turned her attention back to Eva.
“You are very sad.”
Eva nodded. You didn’t need to be psychic to see that. Her friend’s granddaughter had recently said the same thing to her, and she was six.
“Your heart is broken.”
Eva hated that she was so cynical but that ole chestnut was pretty much a sure thing in a psychic reader’s tent. Women didn’t enter here because they were happy.
“He is sorry he was not more … romantic.”
All the air in the tent was suddenly sucked out.
Eva reeled back as though she’d been slapped. “What did you say?”
“He is sorry. He says … I don’t understand this, but he tells me … sidekick.”
Eva held the side of the table, bunching the velvet cloth in her hands. “Is he here?”
The psychic shook her head and Eva took a breath, suddenly relieved. Of course he wasn’t here. How ridiculous.
“He is outside. He doesn’t like my tent.” The gypsy smiled at Eva. “He’s a big man. Perhaps his ego would not fit in here.” She let out a husky laugh. “He says you were right, it’s nice here. But bloody cold.”
Eva stared at her in horror. She felt faint.
How can she know all that? Because she’s a professional con artist! The woman must be a fraud.
She was feeding on her need, her grief. But how would she
know Geoff wasn’t romantic?
Because that’s a common failing in men?
How would she know about being his sidekick?
Eva had no comeback for that.
The woman leaned across the table. “He says he is sorry. He is here now.”
A sob caught in Eva’s throat. She’d heard enough.
“That’s enough. Thank you for your time.” Eva grabbed her bag and hastily made her way out of the tent. The night air hit her like a slap, back to reality.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. Those gypsy women feed on people like me.
That thought made her feel better. She would hardly be the first woman in history to waste money on a charlatan.
She began to walk, her hands thrust deep into her coat pockets. She headed back toward the city hall. She’d catch the U-Bahn back to Karlsplatz and her hotel. She’d planned to walk, but Vienna at night held no appeal anymore. She felt better now she’d made her decision to leave. It wasn’t the right time, or the right place for her.
Out of the corner of her eye she noticed a couple kissing under the Little Heart Tree, off to her left. A tear escaped and trickled down her cheek. She was suddenly enraged. She felt like shaking them. How dare they flaunt their love like that. And did they understand how precious it was? Probably not. She hadn’t appreciated how little time she’d have with Geoff. And now he was gone, and life was hard, so very hard. And she’d just made it worse by going into that tent.
She grabbed a tissue from her pocket and dabbed her eyes. She was allowed to grieve, for as long as she needed to. And she wanted to do that at home, where she felt closer to him. Not here, in the last place on earth he’d ever be.
“Eva.”
It was like a short sharp shout that echoed in her head. She turned. Did she know someone here? Surely not. And how embarrassing to run into someone from home, when her eyes were all red.
She looked around, but didn’t see anyone she knew.
Now I’m hearing things.
And at that moment the young couple under the Little Heart Tree finished going for gold and stepped away, and she saw him, right there where they’d been kissing. She knew it couldn’t be him. It shouldn’t be him. But it was. Leaning against the tree was Geoff, watching her.