I'd lived under the assumption that my father had packed everything up and donated it to the shelter a few blocks over when he moved in here last year, but from the looks of it, he's been living out of a suitcase when he is here. Everything is almost exactly where it was when I left.
"You miss my dick already?" I grab the denim material covering my groin. "You need to learn to control yourself, Alexa."
She tightens the belt on the robe she put on after her shower. I recognize it as being one of mine although I doubt I ever wore it. "You're hilarious, Noah."
The stoic expression on her face doesn't match her words. "You're being sarcastic? That's adorable."
A wide grin flashes over her mouth. "Seriously? Why are you dressed? I remember you always being naked when you used to live here."
The house phone rings as if on cue. "It's almost nine. My assistant is prompt. I told her the last time I saw her that we'd be here today and I wanted her to come to meet you."
"You have an assistant?"
I dart my finger in the air as I answer the phone, quietly talking to the doorman of the building. I hear Alexa muttering under her breath.
"Why do you need an assistant?" She's right behind me as I hang up the phone. "What's going on?"
I turn quick on my heel and kiss her softly. "You'll understand the moment you meet her."
She half-shrugs her shoulder as she trudges down the hallway and disappears into the bedroom, where I assume, she'll get dressed.
The faint knock at the door brings an instant smile to my face. I swing the door open with one quick movement. "Opal, I've been waiting for you."
***
"Noah," Alexa whispers my name against my bicep as she clings tightly to my hand. "She's...your assistant...is that what she really is? Noah, she's home..."
I turn quickly and lower my lips to her cheek. "She's proud, Alexa. Opal is a very proud and very talented woman who unfortunately ran into some bad luck."
Her eyes catch mine and I see the instant understanding in her expression. She nods slowly as her thumb slides over my hand.
I had last night all planned out before Alexa and I ended up in bed before nine o'clock. When we left the kids in New York under the care of my dad, I thought we'd have time to talk on the flight to Boston about my work here and Opal. That hadn't happened.
A woman, who has a son enrolled in the school that Alexa teaches at, sat across the aisle from her. The two of them spent the entire flight talking about geometry. Alexa practically gave the woman a primer so she could tutor her son. I admire her commitment to her job, but I wanted her completely focused on my needs this weekend. It's selfish. I feel no guilt about that. Everything I'm doing here in Boston is to be the best man I can possibly be so my wife and my kids are proud of me.
"I'll take your coat." I let go of Alexa's hand as I approach Opal who is standing near the windows looking out at the view of the city. "I didn't have a chance to run out to get any food, but I'll order something in."
Opal nods as I slip the heavy wool coat I bought her last month off her shoulders. "That's kind of you, Noah. I was going to bring up some coffee but I ran out of time."
It's money. She ran out of money. I know that. I pay her a few hundred dollars cash each time I come to Boston to help me organize photos, and clean my office and just talk about life but the woman barely keeps a dollar of that.
I know once she leaves my place she heads straight to the shelter she stays at and hands it over to them. I drop in there from time-to-time now when I want to invite her to spend the day with me. It's where I first met her almost a year ago. She was hunched over a magazine, dated five years ago, reading an article about the benefits of vacationing in St. Tropez.
I took the seat next to her and as her eyes traveled over my face and settled on my scar, she didn't bat an eyelash. She smiled at me. It wasn't one of those forced grins I've grown accustomed to from strangers. It was warm and genuine.
We talked that day about death. Her husband died five years ago leaving her with a mountain of debt and no way to climb out of the financial hole she was in. She had no children to lend a hand or any siblings nearby she could stay with. Her pride held her back from asking her friends for anything. Instead, she scraped by on the minimum wage job she held at a drug store until they gave her two week's severance pay and no notice that her work with them was done.
She ended up at the shelter when the temperature got too cold for her to stay outside. All she owns are the clothes on her back, the pictures of her life, and the papers that document who she is. It's all in a knapsack she keeps strapped to her back.
It wasn't until I stood to leave that day and she reached towards me with her outstretched hand that I knew that she understood me better than most people I've ever met. Her right hand was missing its thumb. The rest of her fingers were a twisted reminder of an accident at a factory she once worked at. Her left hand fared much better, the damage not as severe but she wasn't looking for pity. She didn't need it.
Trying to explain to my wife how I ended up befriending a homeless woman, decades older than me, was never the challenge. Alexa understands I'm far from typical when it comes to the people I choose to get close to. I used to have soul searching discussions with Bernie, the sandwich delivery guy, before Alexa walked into my life.
I don't judge anyone based on their age, or how they look or what's in their wallet. I let people's souls speak to me and Opal's was crying out when I first saw her that day. She needed a friend and so did I.
I wanted my wife here in Boston so she could see what I see in Opal and so she could understand why I need to have my work in the spotlight again. It's not for the accolades, or for the money. It's to feed the creative part of me that has gotten lost beneath the endless hours of editing family photos for other people and the never-ending drive to keep my schedule full.
"I was wondering if I might see those pictures you took last time you were here." Opal points to my camera, which I'd put down on the coffee table after taking a picture of Alexa this morning.
I'd made her sit on the windowsill in my sweater while I got on my knees in front of her and captured her vision forever. She looked more beautiful today than she ever has before. I wanted to save that so I could look at it twenty years from now and remember how I thought I loved her as much as I could when I took the picture, yet knowing that by then, I'll love her even more.
"I have them on a memory card. It's in the other room."
I arch my brows as I glance at Alexa, looking for permission to leave the two of them alone. She's too busy staring at Opal to even notice me.
"Opal, I can make us a coffee." She steps across the room in the direction of the kitchen. "I brought a container of my favorite blend in my bag with me. I remembered that the coffee Noah used to drink here was crap."
Opal laughs loudly, a sound I've rarely heard. "I'd like that, Alexa. I told Noah the last time I saw him that I knew I'd love his wife as much as I love him."
I turn towards the hallway, suddenly feeling like the weight of the world has fallen off my shoulders.
CHAPTER 9
"I'm no expert," she stops herself as her hands slide over my bare chest.
"I disagree." I pull in a slow, deep breath. "After what your mouth just did to my dick, I'd say you're an expert, Alexa. That was fucking amazing."
Her tongue races over her bottom lip. That's the same tongue that popped out of her mouth to show me my release before she swallowed it after blowing me. I adjust her on my lap as I feel my cock hardening again.
"Watch it or I'll be ready to go right away."
"Promises, promises." She inches back on my thighs, her hands resting on my shoulders.
I'd brought her back to the bed after Opal left. We'd spent the entire day with her, sharing lunch and then dinner before Alexa packed up the leftovers for her to take with her. She asked Opal to stay in the spare room, but she was insistent that her friends at the shelter were waiting for her. I
'd given her three hundred dollars on the promise that she'd keep at least twenty of that for herself. She'd smiled without agreeing to my terms. She'd pocketed the money, had hugged both Alexa and I and then left the penthouse wrapped in her coat, gloves and hat to face the bitterly cold January air.
I push my back into the headboard, my hands resting on my wife's thighs. "What aren't you an expert at?"
"Photography." Her voice is small, hesitant. "You've taught me a lot about it but I'm not an expert."
"No one needs to be an expert to be a photographer." I laugh. "Have you seen Instagram? Facebook? Anyone with a camera or a phone with a camera is a photographer."
"You haven't spent all this time framing your mom's pictures just because you want to show them to the world."
It's not a question. She's too smart to ask me that. She has way too much insight into the man that I am.
"There's more to it than that, Alexa."
"You miss being the Noah Foster, don't you?" She scratches her chin; the movement causing her breasts to bounce.
I love that she hasn't tried to get beneath the sheet or pull on a robe. She's as completely comfortable nude as I am even though we're talking about something as meaningful as my career.
"I don't miss what I used to do." I don't need to talk about who I used to be. Alexa knew that guy. She fell in love with me despite the fact that I was well known for inviting prostitutes to this apartment to either photograph them or fuck them. "I miss taking pictures that matter to me. I miss expressing myself through my work."
"I saw those pictures you took of Opal," she says delicately. "I looked at your camera. I saw the pictures of her and the others."
The others? For some reason those words sound too harsh and empty coming from my wife's lips. I know there's no hidden meaning behind them, but they strike me as detached, or maybe just out-of-place. "The other people who stay at the shelter, you mean?"
"Yes, I'm talking about them." Her fingers trail lazily over a tattoo in the middle of my chest of a cross. I'd gotten it shortly after the twins came to live with us, when we were still fostering them. It held no particular meaning to anyone other than me. My mother had worn a cross around her neck that my father gave to her the day my brother and me were born. The dark tattoo was in honor of her. A symbol of my love for my children, my silent promise to guide them on life's path the best way I know how.
"What about them, Alexa?"
"Why haven't you gotten Opal a place to live?" she asks. "I see why you care about her. She's a very sweet person."
I'm not offended by the question. It's not thoughtless. It's honest.
"I offered, repeatedly. Opal refused."
"We have so much." She pats my stomach. "We have more than enough to eat. We own two homes. We don't have to worry about money."
It's guilt that laces her words. I hear it. She feels it. I do as well. I have since I was a young boy and realized that the condo I lived in was more spacious than the crowded apartments my friends would go home to. I learned to hide the fact that my parents would take Ben and me to Europe during summer break and Aspen for our winter holiday. My mother came from money, a lot of money. I've never wanted for a damn thing my entire life.
"We are generous, Alexa." I squeeze her thighs. "We give a lot."
"I don't think it's enough."
"We can give more," I offer. "We can go to the shelter today and I'll write them a check."
Her lips part and there's a brief moment of silence before she speaks. "I'd like that but there's something else."
"What?"
"I said I'm no expert, Noah," she begins before she stops to point at the doorway. "Go look at your camera. You need to really look at those pictures you took of Opal and the other people at the homeless shelter. Those are the pictures you need to let the world see. There is so much in those faces. I felt so much when I looked at them."
Whatever she may have felt when she studied the images on my camera is in her voice. I hear raw emotion. It's sadness and as I stare into my wife's beautiful blue eyes, I know that she may just have given me the purpose I've been searching for.
CHAPTER 10
"I've been thinking more about a baby." I set a cup of coffee on the table in front of Alexa. "I think we need to get on the same page. I don't like that we're not."
Her fingers trail over her forehead before she snaps her head up to look at my face. "I know that you're happy with things the way they are."
"How could I not be happy with the family we have?" I sit in the chair next to her, pulling her bare feet into my lap. "We have the most amazing son and daughter in the world."
She moans as I push my thumb into the sole of her right foot. "That feels so good. My feet have been so sore."
I smile knowing that she's working herself as hard as she is. She's on her feet all day at school and once she walks through the door of our apartment, she's busy chasing after our twins. She doesn’t slow down until she's fast asleep next to me.
"I want to understand why you want a baby, Alexa."
"You know why I want one."
I massage her heel, my fingers roaming over the smooth skin. Is it possible for a woman to have perfect feet? If it is, my wife owns them. "You feel a void inside?"
Since we got to Boston yesterday, I realized something pretty substantial. I've been so preoccupied with trying to fill the hole I feel inside of me that's related to my work that I've been ignoring the same bottomless pit that Alexa feels inside of her.
"I feel like there's something I'm missing." She rests her hand on her chest. "I love being a mom. I wouldn't trade it for anything."
"What is it then?"
She pushes her right foot into my palm, stretching her leg out as she does. "You seriously could do this for money, Noah. Women would pay to have your hands on them."
"I'm not going to respond to that." I chuckle deeply. "You're the only woman I want to touch."
"Do you ever think about what our baby would look like?" Her breath staggers. "If we could have had a baby, do you think it would have had your eyes?"
It's a conversation I always avoid. I've never faulted Alexa for not being able to get pregnant. If I had to choose between her and a child born of my blood and bone, I'd choose her every single time, over and over until I take my last breath.
The irony of my job is that I walk into homes where women confess to me that they weren't even sure they wanted their baby but now that they have him or her, they're grateful. They throw those words out like they mean nothing and as I snap frame after frame of the small faces and tiny hands of their newborn children, I wonder why the universe didn't see fit to give my wife a child of her own.
I mourn for the loss she must feel in the knowledge that she'll never carry her own child in her body. She'll never feel it kicking, or sense its presence. She tells me all the time that she's fine with that but she's not. Her desperate desire to adopt an infant is evidence of that.
Alexa can't have our baby, but she wants a baby. She wants the experience of holding an infant, and swaddling it next to her chest. She wants that baby to only know her as its mother and me as its father.
How in the hell can I take that away from her when she's given me everything?
"Sometimes I think that I want a baby more than anything." Her hand trails over her stomach, across the black sweater she's wearing. "Then there are times when I don't want things to change at all. I love Max and Chloe so much."
I arch my brow, waiting for her to continue, wanting her to share.
"When we got Max and Chloe I knew that they were born to be our children." She smiles brightly. "You could feel that too, right? It was as if they were waiting for the two of us. "
"They were." I graze my hand over her toes. "Those kids were waiting for us."
I met our children when I stumbled on a community daycare program. I volunteered my time to help and in the process I met my twins. It felt like fate at the time. It still does.
"
What if there's another child waiting for all of us?" She pushes her foot into my thigh. "What if our family is supposed to be bigger? What if we're not done yet?"
"We can talk to a lawyer about adoption or we can foster another child."
She folds her hands in her lap, her eyes cast down. "I don't want to go out looking for just any child, Noah. I think if our baby is meant to find us, he or she will."
I don't argue. I don't push because the baby she's looking for may never find us. I now realize the hole that my wife feels inside of her may be the child we'll never be able to conceive.
CHAPTER 11
"Grandpa said you used to be a troublemaker."
I turn towards the soft voice of my daughter. Her small hands are resting on my forearm. She's dressed in her pajamas, her dark hair framing her face. I tucked her in bed more than an hour ago after telling her a story about our dog, Rex. My kids love that dog. I do too although I'll never admit it to them.
"You're a troublemaker," I counter as I pick her up and place her in my lap. "You're supposed to be asleep."
"Max is asleep," she offers as if that's the consolation prize. "He always falls asleep before I do."
I snuggle my face into her hair. "Are you not tired?"
"No." She looks up at me. "Did you get hurt because you were a troublemaker, Daddy?"
Her small brown eyes rest on the scar on my cheek. My children have asked about the scar at various times, in very different ways.
In Max's mind I'm a superhero who was injured while saving the world. I've corrected him by telling him that I was trying to save a friend but the bad guy hurt me. He prefers his story and until he's older, I've decided that correcting him is a waste of his time and mine.
Chloe is different. She's the one I catch staring at my face when she thinks I'm not looking. She's also the one who touched it repeatedly one night when we sat together on the sofa watching a cartoon. She didn't ask me about it then, and I never offered an explanation.
Since that day she's tossed out random questions about whether it hurts and why my twin brother, her Uncle Ben, doesn't have one just like it. I've answered each question with thoughtful tenderness.
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