Falling

by Simona Ahrnstedt

  They helped one another undress. Peter was so unbelievably gentle with her, with featherlight fingers and soft kisses, that she felt like a princess. The bathroom was big enough for a group of armchairs. Peter sat her down in one of them and squatted in front of her. Slipped off her canvas shoes and put them carefully to one side. Ran his hands over her calves and up, over her hips. Helped her take her panties off, folded them up. He was so tender, so calm, that Gina allowed herself to be swept along. He kissed her knees, her stomach, and her collarbone before they went into the shower together.

  Gina had studied medicine for almost two semesters. She knew her anatomy. They had taken classes in chemistry, biology, and the physiology of the body. But that said, she had no idea how a man’s penis would feel in her hand, how warm and hard and intimate it would feel in her palm. Had never realized how different someone else’s fingers would feel as they wandered over her skin.

  He lathered her up, carefully, gently, almost humbly. The shower rained down on them and they kissed. He rinsed her off, dried her in an enormous towel. Crouched down, dried her feet, her calves, her thighs.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

  And Gina felt beautiful. Not just exotic and young. But like a desirable grown woman.

  They made love in his bed. He took his time with her, kissed and touched her until she was more than ready. He was careful when he entered her, and it felt so good that Gina thought to herself that it had been really smart of her to wait for him.

  She stroked his hair, felt him move inside her. It was better than she had expected. Different, but better. More serious. He was so chivalrous and attentive to her every need, so good and protective.

  Afterward, they lay and talked. Touched one another, got close, adjusted to their newfound intimacy.

  “Are you okay?” he asked for maybe the fifteenth time as he gently caressed her nose, her forehead, her mouth. Kissed her, doted on her.

  “I think this has been one of the best days of my life.”

  “I know it’s the best day of mine,” he said. “Did it hurt?”

  “Not a bit, actually. My poor body must have been so shocked to be having sex that it forgot to protest.”

  “If it’s alright for me to say so, I love your body.”

  He fell silent, and the word love hung in the air.

  Gina smiled and put a hand on his face. She had strong feelings for him, otherwise she wouldn’t have done what she had. But she was in no rush. And she knew Peter wouldn’t put any pressure on her.

  He moved closer to her, on top, and Gina giggled. Again. She rolled her eyes and then laughed out loud.

  And then they made love again.

  Chapter 56

  Alexander put his cutlery to one side. He was having trouble concentrating on lunch, even though he was the one who had suggested it. It was two days since he had last seen Isobel. Twenty-four hours since she had last replied to one of his messages.

  What the fuck had happened?

  He didn’t want to press too hard. But it wasn’t his imagination, was it? That she’d withdrawn from him? Did she need to think? Had something happened? What could it be?

  “Are you planning to tell me why we’re here, or do you want me to keep guessing?” Leila Dibah asked as their coffee arrived. She studied him with her dark, all-seeing eyes, and he wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if she could actually look into him, read his thoughts, and was amusing herself by listing all of his many shortcomings.

  “I want to talk finance,” he said as he wondered whether Leila knew anything about what was going on with Isobel.

  “I’m listening.” Leila stirred her jet-black coffee.

  “How much would you need to get Medpax back on its feet?”

  Her face didn’t move; she didn’t even blink.

  “A ballpark figure?”

  “Yes.”

  “A million. Maybe less. We just passed an audit, so there can’t be any ambiguity around any donations. There has to be complete transparency.”

  “Of course. I’ll talk to the foundation.”

  He had the money, after all. He wouldn’t worm his way in to Medpax, try to take control or anything like that, but he couldn’t let Isobel’s organization go under. The hospital needed more oxygen machines and staff, otherwise children would die. He might just as well give money for humanitarian aid as for anything else. Plus, he knew it would have a direct impact. Medpax didn’t pay high wages, had no inflated administration costs, and definitely didn’t have any field-workers sunning themselves poolside. And he wanted to support Isobel’s organization, do something.

  “Can I ask, why is it you decided this?”

  “I thought I should try to do something for the world for a change.” And I want to prove I’m worthy to a woman I care a lot about.

  Leila looked skeptical.

  “So this has nothing to do with Isobel?”

  “Why? Has she said anything about me?”

  Why didn’t she reply to his calls and texts anymore? What could have changed during the short time since they last saw each other? They had parted as though . . . well, as though they meant something to each other, but now: nothing. Had he misjudged her that badly?

  Leila raised an eyebrow. “Said anything? Like you were in high school, you mean?”

  “I just wondered.”

  She stirred her coffee. “When you’re a psychologist, people always expect you to encourage them to talk about things.”

  “I tried to talk. She’s avoiding me.”

  Leila smiled. She definitely had a mean streak, he thought. But he was dying to talk about Isobel, so he could tolerate some nastiness in return.

  “That’s not what I meant. You should know, it’s my professional opinion that people are useless at talking to one another. And whenever they do, it mostly ends in misunderstandings.”

  “Mmm,” he agreed. He had always thought that talking too much and too deeply was a mistake. But that also meant he had no idea what he should do now. “What do you think I should do?”

  Leila held out a hand and studied her shiny, black nails. “The thing is, Isobel is someone I care a lot about. She was in Liberia last fall, did you know that?”

  “Yes. I care about her too. I hope you realize that.”

  Leila made a deprecatory gesture.

  “What she probably didn’t tell you is that when all the other field-workers stayed four weeks—because they can’t cope for any longer than that—Isobel stayed eight. You can’t even imagine what she went through. That woman is tougher than anyone I’ve ever met.”

  “I know that already,” he clipped, wondering what Leila was getting at.

  “I don’t understand you. If there comes a point where I have to choose between Isobel’s well-being and your money, I’ll choose Isobel in a blink of a second. She’s never had anyone to fight in her corner. She’s a tough doctor but a complex person. The truth is that since you came on the scene, she’s changed.”

  “Changed how?”

  “She looks like a calf that’s been put out to pasture for the first time in its life, and doesn’t quite believe it’s real. And I feel slightly responsible for that, because I encouraged this, back in the beginning.”

  Alexander didn’t know what to say to that.

  Leila leaned forward over the table. Gave him a stern look. “If you’re just having a bit of fun with her, I suggest you think carefully about whatever it is you’re doing.”

  “I can’t see that is any of your business.”

  She smiled, that evil smile again. “Then we’re on the same page. So don’t ask me whether Isobel has said anything. Talk to her.”

  Alexander nodded coolly. The check arrived, and he paid in silence. They got up, and he helped her with her jacket before they went out to the street. Leila took out her cigarillos, lit one, and breathed in the smoke.

  “I’ll be in touch about the money,” he said.

  She blew out the smoke. �
�Thanks for lunch.”

  * * *

  Idris looked so worn out, Isobel thought worriedly.

  “How’s the cold?” she asked over Skype.

  “It’s not bad,” he answered, as she’d known he would. There wasn’t a doctor on earth who would admit they were sick unless they were dying. But he looked really sick.

  The Skype image flickered, and Isobel waited as weather, satellites, or maybe just Murphy’s Law did its thing.

  “How are you?” he asked once the sound and picture were working again.

  “Just a little jet-lagged,” she lied.

  She knew she looked worn out, too. But she couldn’t sleep, and since she didn’t want to be one of those doctors who wrote out a prescription for sleeping tablets the minute things got a little tough, she lay awake instead. Brooded. Cried.

  “How is Marius?” she asked.

  Idris shook his head. “I didn’t want to say anything. I don’t know where he is. But you know how things are, he disappears sometimes.” She nodded, bleakly, knew how the boy tried to get along. Maybe he was in N’Djamena, the capital. Maybe he was dead. She felt a stab of almost unbearable pain.

  “It’ll be better when the new doctor arrives. He is sharing some kind of visa trouble.”

  “You’re probably right. Take care,” she said, hoping that at least Idris would get a good night’s sleep. And that Marius was safe somewhere.

  They said good-bye, and the feeling of guilt threatened to overwhelm her.

  What was she doing? How could she dream about a life with a playboy like Alexander when there was so much else that was more important than being someone’s exciting sexual conquest? She should be ashamed. And she was.

  Her cell rang, and she picked it up.

  “Hey, it’s Leila,” she heard in her ear.

  Isobel frowned, tried to remember what day it was. Friday. “Did I miss a meeting?”

  “No. I just wanted to check if you were okay.”

  “Why shouldn’t I be?”

  “I saw Alexander De la Grip today. We had lunch.”

  Shit, even hearing his name hurt.

  “What did he want?” she asked, trying to find the exact right carefree tone, but she had a terrible feeling she failed miserably.

  “He wants to give Medpax more money. I wanted to check you were okay with that.”

  “I guess so. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Because there’s something going on between you. And because it’s a lot of money.”

  “How much?”

  “A million.”

  “I see.”

  She heard Leila sigh deeply on the other end of the line. Yes, well, there was plenty to sigh about today.

  “Isobel, I know I told you to have fun. I’m sorry if it was bad advice.”

  She almost smiled. It couldn’t be easy for Leila to admit something like that. “Nothing happened. Or, it’s over now. He’s not the man for me. And I have no problem if he wants to give money to Medpax. Or does he expect something in return?”

  “No.”

  Isobel wanted to ask more. Whether they’d talked about her. How Alexander was doing. Whether he was as miserable as she was. But, of course, she said nothing. There were limits to how pathetic she wished to appear.

  “Thanks for calling,” she said.

  As soon as she hung up, the phone rang again.

  Like some damn call center.

  She looked down at the caller ID, didn’t want to admit even to herself that her heart beat that little bit harder at the thought that Alexander still hadn’t given up.

  Mom.

  Yippee.

  “Hi, Mom,” she said, and stretched out on the couch. She looked at the vase of orchids he had given her, still fresh and vibrant.

  “How are you?”

  Blanche launched into a monologue about people who annoyed her, articles she would write, and things she needed help with as soon as possible. Isobel closed her eyes.

  “Mom, I don’t think I’ll be able to come over this weekend.” She could barely get up off the couch.

  “What kind of nonsense is this? Are you sick?”

  “No, but . . .”

  “Being idle does no one any good. Have you found a better job yet? You know I think you should continue your studies, pursue your doctorate. When I was your age . . .”

  “Mom, please. I’m feeling a little down. I just . . .”

  “Down? What do you have to be down about? You’re young and healthy. I don’t know what’s wrong with you. And you came home early from Chad. Honestly, I’m a little disappointed in you. If you’re going to keep sneaking off like this, you won’t amount to anything.”

  Isobel put an arm over her eyes and stopped herself from groaning loudly. “I didn’t sneak off. I was almost caught in the middle of a clan war.”

  “Surely you’re exaggerating.”

  She couldn’t, she just couldn’t. “I’m your daughter. Why do you always have to be so horrible?”

  Long, hurt silence.

  “So I’m the villain now, as usual. Just for loving you. No one will love you like your mother. But I’ll just have to accept it, like everything else. Sorry for bothering you.”

  “I just don’t understand why you have to criticize everything I do,” tried Isobel.

  “There’s no talking to you when you’re in a mood like this.”

  “So hang up then.” She didn’t even know where the rebellious words had come from.

  “Isobel! What’s with you?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with me. You’re the one who moans about me all the time. You don’t know what it was like in Chad. You just call to complain and talk about yourself.”

  “Well, sorry for having an opinion, for breathing. I don’t know how you got so easily offended. Talking to you isn’t pleasant at all today.”

  Silence. She was gathering herself for an attack, Isobel could hear it.

  “It’s no wonder you don’t have a man in your life.”

  Isobel blinked violently, stared at her toes, felt the familiar powerlessness inside. It made no difference what she said or did. She was never good enough. Her entire life, she had striven to keep her mother in a good mood, and normally, she would have apologized by now, steered the conversation to safer ground, repressed any urge to stand up for herself. But instead, something that had never happened before happened.

  She snapped

  It was enough.

  “You know what, Mom, you can go to hell,” she said, and hung up.

  Shame she couldn’t slam down the receiver. She put the phone down, took a pillow, pressed it to her face, and screamed herself hoarse, yelled straight into the fabric and stuffing. She shouted until it hurt, until she ran out of breath, took away the pillow, inhaled, and got ready to scream some more.

  When she heard a knock at the door, she paused, the cushion in the air. Sat up.

  No one ever knocked on her door.

  No one even knew the door code.

  No one but Alexander.

  “Open the door, Isobel. I can hear you shouting in there.”

  “Go away.”

  “Open this door. I’m worried.”

  She hesitated, then reluctantly got up from the couch as he continued to pound the door.

  “Isobel!”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” she muttered. She passed the mirror in the hallway, saw that she looked puffy, pale, and awful, but decided it made no difference. She unlocked the door, unhooked the chain, and pulled it open.

  “Can I come in?”

  Oh, mon dieu, he was so handsome it was blinding. She shook her head but moved to one side and let him in anyway.

  “You didn’t reply to my messages,” he said once she closed the door. “Don’t I deserve an explanation? What happened?”

  * * *

  Alexander looked Isobel over. He was deeply relieved that she seemed okay. When he first knocked, he hadn’t heard anything, and thought maybe she wasn’t home. B
ut then he heard a stifled scream, and when she didn’t open the door, he had seriously started to wonder whether he should kick it down. But she looked like usual. A little pale, her hair an untamed mass around her face and shoulders, but otherwise the same as ever. Her apartment was also as he remembered it. Neat and clean on the surface, just like its owner, but full of hidden secrets.

  Isobel stood with her arms folded, radiating all kinds of distance. Her eyes were dark. Dark gray, like a gloomy November afternoon. He just wanted to pull her into his arms, take in the scent of her hair and neck, and tell her everything was okay, that he could fix whatever was wrong if she would just tell him what the hell it was.

  “I don’t understand what happened,” he said, following her into the living room.

  Everything had been good when he’d left her in Eugene’s apartment. Jesus, how could that already be two days ago?

  “Nothing happened. But we can’t go on like this.” They were still on their feet in the middle of the room.

  “But why? What did I do?” He searched her face for a clue, battling a mix of anger, worry, relief, and dread. He shouldn’t have left her. She was fine when he did. And now this. “I don’t understand,” he added, frustrated, not knowing if he ought to shake some sense into her or crush her to him and never let her go.

  She shook her head, took a step away from him, was practically speaking to herself. “I saw a picture of you and two girls in a club in New York. The same day we Skyped.” She frowned.

  Alexander breathed out. At least he knew what she was talking about now. He could fix this. He hadn’t done anything; surely she would understand.

  “I was out and I was drunk, but I didn’t sleep with either of them. We didn’t do anything. I would never do that. You have to believe me.”

  “I do believe you. Like I did with that other girl. But don’t you see, it makes no difference—there’ll always be some other woman with you. I don’t think I can cope with the uncertainty. Always worrying. Never knowing for sure.”