“Stop.”
“Everything is different now. We’re married; you can’t just run away every time things get difficult. We have to stick it out together, Naomi; we really do. You allowed me back into your life. You took me back, so many years later. You, Joshua, and I—we’re a family. There is no running, and there is no cheating. I’m laying down my soul for you, and in return I want you to come to me and lean on me when life gets hard for you, and not walk away. If this is going to work then that’s how it has to be.” Jon realized he was on his knees, pleading, but this time she didn’t pull away. Her hand was warm, her fingers tightly around his, holding on.
“Jon, I lied to you,” Naomi said.
“What?”
The silk of her dress rustled like a brook when she leaned forward to be closer to him. “I lied. I told you I hadn’t met that reporter, Parker, before. But I did.”
“Yeah, I know you did, at the lounge. That’s where all the grief originated, Sal leaving you up there. It’s not important.” The skin of her throat and cleavage was as pure as a pearl, and he wanted to reach out and touch it; but she was looking at him so earnestly that he resisted.
“Yes, but before that. He was on my plane, and he tried to charm me with champagne. He tried very hard.” She touched his face again to make him listen.
Jon shrugged. “So he wanted to wheedle an interview out of you even then. Doesn’t surprise me. You didn’t have to keep that a secret, darling. That was to be expected.”
“No.” For an instant she hesitated. “That wasn’t it.”
“Not it?” A cup of coffee, Jon wanted coffee badly, and he deplored that he had passed on the assortment of sandwiches on the terrace. They had looked very inviting indeed. Wincing a little he got up and brushed off his trousers. Room service it would have to be; at this time of day there could be no idea of walking down the street.
There was no answer from her, so he turned around, phone in hand, to see her blush. Naomi was sitting on her hands awkwardly, almost like a schoolgirl, and for a moment he wanted to grin at her until he saw the contrition on her face.
“Not an interview, Naomi?”
“No. He wanted to…chat. He didn’t know who I was.”
“Are you saying he was making a pass at you?” It was so funny he had to bite his tongue when she nodded reluctantly.
“And you thought you wouldn’t tell me. Seriously, what did you think would happen? I’d have him arrested, gone after him and shot him? So someone has a crush on my wife? Yeah, I can see that happening. I have a crush on you too. It only proves he has good taste.” Now he did laugh.
“He invited me to have champagne with him,” she said sullenly, the corners of her mouth turned down. “And I did. I drank champagne with him on the plane. He was quite cute. Fun.”
“He’s a clown.” Jon put the phone back on the table and held out his hand. “I’ve changed my mind. It’s too late for coffee; let’s be reckless and go out for a drink. Come on. We’ll get Alan to drive us. I’m in the mood for a stroll along the Embankment.”
chapter 7
“He bought you champagne?” Jon asked while they were waiting for the elevator. “He chatted you up in the plane and then offered you champagne? Everyone drinks champagne on a long flight. How unoriginal.”
He really liked the dress she was wearing. It reminded him, in a way, of the evening gown they had bought for her when they had been in London more than a year ago, when he had asked her to marry him; and he smiled at the memory.
“Maybe not for him.” Naomi shrugged. It was the same, small, disdainful movement of her shoulder that had made him wilt so often, and now, seeing it directed at another man, Jon felt a surge of elated pride.
She was searching for something in her purse, not even looking at him, and had said it in an absentminded, negligent way, just as if now that they had talked about it, the entire thing didn’t matter anymore.
“Now, if he’d gotten them to serve you fresh oysters with the bubbly, that would have been a feat.”
This made her look at him in surprise. “But there were no oysters. I’ve never heard of oysters on a commercial flight. Do they do that? Really? I would have loved some!”
Jon laughed. “Yeah, I can see how you would have loved that. Come on.”
The elevator was opening for them, but just as he was about to usher her in, one of the room doors flew open. Russ stormed out, cell phone in hand, his eyes wide in panic.
“The baby,” he stammered, “now. My baby. Now.”
“Ah, there goes the drink,” Jon mumbled, his hand on Naomi’s back. “This sounds like an emergency.”
Solveigh’s father had called to tell Russ they were taking her to the hospital. Her labor had started, and yes, they all knew it was a couple of weeks early, but what were they supposed to do? The baby was calling the shots, and it wanted to be born, now. And Russ had better move quickly if he wanted to be present for the birth.
“What do I do, what do I do?” Panicked, Russ was pacing the carpet while Naomi tried to calm him. She could see Jon and Sal at the other end of the hallway, consulting, signaling LaGasse to join them, and then Sal taking out his phone. Half the band was there by now, surrounding her and Russ, shouting encouragement, slapping his arms or shoulders, showing him that they were there for him.
Naomi, in the center of it all, looked at the familiar, friendly faces around her and felt the love these people held for one another include her, wrap around her like the softest shawl. There was Art, his Irish accent broad and loud in excitement; Sean, his fine smile like the steady shine of a candle in a dark room; Jones, exuberant and loud as always; the others, a happy, cheering group, nearly as flustered as Russ himself.
She wanted to kiss every one of them, tell them how much she loved them, right then and there.
Jon came over, a wide smile on his face. “Okay, here’s the deal. A limo is waiting for you, Russ. The plane is ready at the airport, and it will take you straight to Halmar. We picked a small one that will be able to land at that tiny airport there. Get going! And good luck!”
Confused, Russ looked from one to the other.
“Go!” Jon pushed him forward. “Don’t dawdle! Your wife and baby are waiting for you! Don’t worry, we’ll take care of your stuff. Just go!”
He turned to Naomi. “And you? Aren’t you going to go and be with your best friend? Get a jacket and go with Russ! LaGasse will accompany you!”
“But Jon!” She didn’t know what to say.
Tenderly he brushed her cheek with his fingers. “Solveigh would never forgive me if I didn’t let you go, and I’m really scared of her.”
There was a trace of sadness in his eyes. “Go. Don’t let her be alone. Go, and have fun. I’ll be fine, and we’ll meet in Frankfurt.”
She couldn’t move. Sudden panic pulsed through her, freezing every cell in her body.
The last time he had sent her away in an easy mood, had kissed her good-bye before turning away and leaving her with Sal and Sean, she had nearly died; and now, in the hallway of a London hotel, the memory of that moment came rushing back.
She recalled the terrible, intense, nearly painful love she had felt for Jon as she watched him walk to the waiting car, and only a few breaths later the sensation of being hit right in the center of her body, hit by something brutal and very fast that made her crash backward, cracking her head on the pavement. She could see Sal and Sean bent over her, talking to her, and the shock in their faces; could hear Sal call her endearments he was never supposed to speak aloud; and she could taste the warm, metallic flow of blood in her mouth, choking her, burning in her lungs.
Jon said something but the words did not register; she hardly understood them through the buzzing in her head, and she made a falter
ing step back. He took hold of her when she stumbled, worry replacing the joy of moments before.
“Naomi?”
She held on to his sleeve, trying to breathe, fighting the fear, until gradually the turmoil subsided and the world around her returned to normal. Sean and Sal had shifted their attention to her; even Russ was staring, his face flushed, the grin dead in his face.
Her hand shaking, she touched her lips to make sure there was not really blood flowing from them; she even gazed down at the front of her dress, expecting to see the red torrent there just like before.
“Baby, are you okay?” Jon asked again.
“I hit my head,” she replied, her voice wavering. “I remember I hit my head. It hurt.” She looked toward Sal. “You called me ‘love.’ You cried. And Sean…” A small sob escaped her. “I told you to watch out for Jon.”
“Naomi.” Sean laid his hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, dear. It’s over. You can put it behind you now. Nothing like that will ever happen again.”
They were all there, closing ranks around her, murmuring encouragements, all of them, surrounding her like a cocoon.
“It’s over now,” Sal agreed. “Let it go.” And added, even softer, “Let it go, love.”
Jon ignored it for once. “You don’t want to go with Russ? Would you rather get some rest?”
It was her decision. The fear and pain lay before her like a huge pile of dirt, a vile mess she had to cross, and it was her decision.
“I’m going,” Naomi said. Her hands were still clamped around Jon’s wrists, her mouth dry and the taste in it bitter, but the moment of panic had passed. “I’m going to Halmar with Russ.”
There was no time to pack anything.
“Go, go,” Jon urged. “Get whatever you need there. The baby won’t wait for you to pack!”
Russ was already in the car, but just before she got in Jon caught her in an embrace. “Come back to me. Give me a call when you get there.” He kissed her hard. “Come back to me. And give my love to Solveigh.”
“I wish you could come.” Naomi hugged him tightly. “I hate to leave you.”
“That’s all I wanted to hear.” His breath stroked her cheek. “To hear you say you want me; that’s all I need.”
The car pulled away and into the night, passed out of the city and westward toward Heathrow.
Wearily, Naomi looked out of the window at the ugly buildings and convoluted roads around it, glad that this time she did not have to pass through the terminals to get to her destination. With disgust she remembered the endless walk a few days before along dingy hallways, around many corners, and up and down confusing, senseless stairs, following exit signs that seemed to lead people in a spiral to nowhere.
Now things were different; with his usual efficiency, Sal had made sure they were taken directly to the hangar where the small jet waited, its engines singing nervously, a hummingbird among airplanes. The lone flight attendant ushered them aboard, and it pulled out and taxied toward the runway almost before they were seated.
The lights of London slipped away beneath them as they circled and flew toward Norway.
It had been dark in London, but the farther north they went, the lighter it got. Homesickness rushed through her, a sudden, hot longing for the quiet beauty of Halmar and for the simple life in her small hotel. She could hardly believe that she would be sleeping in her old bed again, having breakfast in the kitchen with her cook, Andrea, and seeing daily life at the Seaside.
The residue of panic lingered on the back of her tongue, the sudden memory of the shooting had been so strong and immediate. She tried to push it away, but it was there: she could see herself stretched out on that red carpet, the faces of other people hovering over her like balloons from the haunted house on a fairground; and she could remember the feeling of her life flowing away from her, of getting weaker with each beat of her heart.
Scariest of all though, and this she had never shared with anyone, was the memory of the peace.
Even in that moment when she had, blood gurgling in her mouth, implored Sean to look after Jon, there had been no real worry, no concern.
It hadn’t mattered. Even then, still conscious, she had embraced the peace of the silence; and even now, healed and well, a small part of her wanted to be back on that black beach of her coma dream and in its solitude.
Incredibly, Russ had dozed off.
Naomi watched him sleep, his mouth open, his hands resting limply in his lap. There hadn’t been a lot of sleep for any of them, wouldn’t be on the tour with a strange bed every night and many hours spent traveling. They were no longer young. They weren’t old either; but in the limbo between the two, and now, on the road, life showed them where they were headed in its cruel and efficient way.
Russ had some gray scattered through his brown hair. It glinted in the light over his seat. There were a few lines around his eyes, fine and clearly put there by laughter, but they were there. She remembered how he had looked when they had first met, more than twenty years ago now: a lanky, awkward young man with curls down his collar and nothing else on his mind but the music. Often enough she had walked in on them working together, shaping a song worth recording out of the fragments Jon had come up with.
“Strings, yes.” would have been Russ’ argument. “Put some feeling into it, for God’s sake!” And Jon, muttering, balking, wanting only the raw, nude sound of a guitar and his voice.
Now, of course, he had filled out. They all had; they seemed taller, more imposing, resting easily in themselves: handsome, mature men, sleek with success, toned by the life they had chosen.
Carefully Naomi laid one of the blankets over him, smiled when he shifted and mumbled a bit, and settled down herself to look out of the window at the glowing sky. It wouldn’t be long now before they would reach the Norwegian coast, the fjords and mountains to their right clearly visible in the nightlong sunset. For an insane instant she wished she could open a window to smell the air, find out if even up here the scent of Halmar could be found, if it would guide her home like the geese on their annual wanderings.
She could almost taste Andrea’s cinnamon rolls and the crawfish cooked in dill and aquavit, hear the music from the meadow where there would be dancing and partying on such a balmy evening, and feel the weight of the flower wreath she would be wearing in her hair.
She looked down at the clothes she was wearing—an expensive, beautiful designer dress, too nice to be worn on a flight, and the high heels she knew she was going to ruin as soon as she got out of the car on the cobbled street outside her hotel—and, for a brief moment, wondered what had become of her. Her life had been so quiet, so reclusive, in tune with the landscape and the little town, peaceful to the point of boring; and she had loved it that way.
Now, everything was different.
From where she sat she could see LaGasse’s blond hair and a part of her black-clad shoulder. The bodyguard was a study in discretion, never in her way, never talking to her if not approached first, an iron shadow always two steps behind her. Naomi had, in an unobserved moment after they had boarded, seen the weapon she carried: a silver monster in a leather holster, a huge, deathly thing that seemed much too sinister for the small woman with the petite hands and dainty face.
There was a chime reminding them they were about to land. Russ woke up and looked around in shock for a moment, disoriented and slightly disheveled, until he realized where he was, and why.
“We’re landing,” he said, his voice breathless with nervousness. “My baby. I’m having a baby.”
Naomi nearly laughed.
The hotel van picked them up. Andrea and Christi were waiting for them, both of them waving, cheering, nearly jumping up and down in their excitement to see her again.
“You are too thin.” were An
drea’s first words. “Those Americans don’t feed you enough.”
It was such a ludicrous statement that Naomi hiccuped in mirth.
She lowered the window on the drive to let in the cool, tart breeze, happy to be here. They drove straight out of town to the small hospital that lay in its own park beside the road to the next town. They drove uphill, inland, away from the bay; and, looking back, she could see the sun hovering over the hills in the distance, the water calm and red in the late-evening glow, the clouds rose and orange, and the land bathed in that special light only seen up here in the North.
Naomi wanted to get out and walk back down to the shore, dip her feet in the cold water and watch the seagulls, listen to the wind and the stillness of the place, but it was not to be.
They had brought a picnic basket, and while Christi drove, Andrea started unpacking all the delicacies she had made on the spur of the moment, as soon as they had known Naomi would be coming along.
“Jon called,” she said, her tone gruff to hide how touched she was by his thoughtfulness, “and told us to get your apartment ready for you and to make you something to eat. He wanted you to feel at home and to enjoy the time you’re here. As if we wouldn’t have done that anyway.” She sniffed, a little indignantly, then added, a little softer, “He takes good care of you.”
She had eaten something on the plane, but when Andrea offered her one of her cheese muffins, Naomi bit into it with the hunger of homesickness. The taste brought back memories of impromptu dinners in the hotel kitchen with the girls after all the guests had either retired or left, and sadness washed over her for a second, only to be displaced by laughter when Andrea held out a bottle of aqauvit to her and asked, “Want some?”
Of course she didn’t, not now, just before entering the maternity ward and facing Solveigh in labor.
Under the Same Sun (Stone Trilogy) Page 7