Mikalo's Grace

by Syndra K. Shaw

I sighed.

  Yet another point.

  No!

  "It's the right thing to do. Please, please, please support me on this, alright?"

  A long pause.

  "Alright. Of course."

  "Thank you."

  "And let's definitely not forget our sunblock."

  "I'm sorry?" I asked, confused.

  "For when we visit your Mikalo in Greece."

  I smiled.

  "I love you, my friend."

  "Of course you do," came her response. "I'm good for you."

  I laughed.

  "That you are."

  Bill knocked on the door. I motioned him to come in.

  "Okay, gotta go. Work to do."

  He waited until I had hung up the phone before speaking.

  "Congratulations."

  "For?" I asked.

  "Mikalo Delis. He just called and accepted our offer."

  "He what?"

  I was on my feet.

  "He accepted," he repeated. "And you don't look very happy about it. Silly me, I thought you'd be happy. You're like one big, confusing puzzle, Miss --"

  "No, no, no," I interrupted. "He can't."

  "He already did. We're drawing up the contracts now."

  I grabbed my purse and shrugged my coat over my shoulders.

  "Stop. Just ... Just stop. Hold off on the paperwork, if you can. I need to, I need to talk with him."

  He stopped me as I passed by, holding me gently by the arm.

  "Do you know what you're doing?" he asked.

  "Yes, I think so," I said.

  "So be it," he responded, releasing me with a brief pat on the back. "I'll slow them down in Personnel with some Visa issue or something. Shouldn't be too hard."

  "Thank you," I said, once again on the move as I started down the hall.

  "Oh, and Ronan?" he called out.

  I turned.

  "We'll do dinner next week. Just the two of us. We'll talk, okay?"

  I paused.

  "Sounds good," I said. "And thank you, Bill."

  Chapter Forty-Three

  I had guessed right.

  After a long cab ride downtown and a lot of elbowing my way through the crowds choking Washington Square Park, I had finally arrived at the one place I figured I could find him.

  And there he sat, alone at the back near the small fountain, his long fingers wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee.

  I quietly approached.

  He saw me and smiled.

  "What a surprise, my Grace!"

  Sitting, I reached over and grabbed his hand, eager for the feel of him.

  Seeing my expression, he quickly put on a fake pout.

  "So sad," he then said, leaning forward. "Speak to me."

  "Blazen tells me that you called --"

  "I did," he agreed, nodding.

  "And that you accepted their offer."

  "Yes," he said. "Yes, I did.

  "And this makes you happy, my Grace?"

  I paused, politely waving the waitress away, and then spoke.

  "Does it make you happy?"

  He started to speak, but I interrupted him.

  "Think about it, Mikalo. Is this what you really want? Or is it something you feel like you have to do because you love me and want to be with me and want to see me happy.

  "Think about it."

  "Is it so wrong to want to be with the woman you love?" he asked.

  I shook my head.

  "No," I said. "No, it's not. It's very sweet.

  "You said when we first met days ago ..." I started.

  He interrupted me.

  "Days ago?"

  "Yes, it's only been days, Mikalo. Feels like longer, I know, but it's just been a week."

  "I saw you, my Grace. When you first walked into the coffee shop, I saw you. Watched you carry the heavy bag and drop it on the floor. Saw you take all those papers out and then, like you forgot, I'm not sure, stand up to get a coffee.

  "I sat very quiet, like the mouse, and watched you work. Watched your eyes, those beautiful eyes, glance at people. Watched your head, here --"

  He pointed to his brow.

  "Watched it make a little frown as you thought. And I wanted to talk to you, wanted to know you. Was very curious.

  "I think the gods put in me a thirst for coffee that day and directed my feet to that place, helped me to see those young girls for what they were --"

  "Wait," I said, interrupting him. "What?"

  "Those girls who laughed? Remember? They tried to come to talk with me, but, no, they did not please me. The eyes were mean and the laugh was loud. And, you know --"

  "They were ribs and bones," I said. "I remember."

  "But you," he continued. "You, I wanted to know.

  "And I needed to find my courage, my strength to come and talk.

  "And coffee is good for this, I think. So, I got a new coffee and when I turned, you were looking at me, and my heart was so happy.

  "Your eyes gave me this gift, this courage, to say hello. And now we are here."

  He watched me closely, now.

  "You say it has been days. But days, my Grace, they become weeks and the weeks become months. And those months? They become years.

  "My father met my mother in a moment. She could not find a seat to eat lunch, so he offered her his table. He was finished and she was just starting and so they had a moment to share.

  "But in that moment, there was a spark. He felt it as he left.

  "And when she was finished and asked to pay, the man, the waiter, he says no. The man who left paid for you. And he gave you this. And he handed her my father's name and address of where he lived.

  "That was their moment. Our moment, it was not too different, no?"

  "But that moment they had, my mother and my father, became a lifetime. I trust our moments will become a lifetime, too, my Grace."

  He watched me, his eyes still on mine.

  "Do you?" he then asked. "Do you trust this?"

  "I do, Mikalo. I do. But you can't stay in New York. Not now. Not right now, at least. You have your family, the ones you love and the one's you don't. And you need to be there to protect what your parents built, so your children will one day enjoy what you enjoy now."

  His face beamed as he spoke.

  "You would like children?"

  I nodded.

  "Yes, with you, I would," I answered. "I would, but when the time is right. And you know in your heart the time isn't right. Not right now."

  "Oh, my Grace," he said quietly. "I gave my word to your Firm."

  "I'm on it, Mikalo. It's fixable. Don't worry about that."

  He paused, thinking.

  "And to think I had a dream of having a home here in New York one day."

  "You do," I said as I took my hands from his and, lifting my bag and setting it on my lap, opened it to reach inside.

  I then handed him a small box.

  "A gift?" he asked, his face lighting up. "For me?"

  "Open it," I said.

  He tore away the ribbon and popped the top off the distinctive black box.

  Immediately the tears fell as he held the navy blue Goyard key holder in his hand, a small, envelope-shaped pocket of durable, leather-like fabric hiding a gold bar inside holding several keys.

  "Keys to my house," I explained. "The security code changes weekly, but just call me and it's yours. My house is your house now, Mikalo. You have a home in New York whenever you want."

  "You could not know," he then said as he wiped his eyes.

  "Know what?"

  "My grandmother, she enjoyed this Goyard for many years. My mind still can see her suitcases, this chevron here --"

  His fingers traced the famous v-shaped Goyard design covering the fabric.

  "Still in my head," he continued. "And then my mother, she, too, enjoying it. Purses, shoulder bags, suitcases. My father giving her new pieces when he would return from Paris. And later, when he bought the apartment on the Aven
ue Foch, she would join him, yes, and bring home more.

  "This, this treasure has been in our family for many, many years, my Grace."

  He glanced at it again.

  "You have made my heart so, so happy."

  "Then I am happy.

  "But Mikalo," I continued. "You have to go home."

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Even though my body was his, there were tears.

  He was spending the night. His last night here in New York before leaving tomorrow morning for Athens.

  When I woke, he'd be gone, he said. His heart too hurt for goodbyes.

  He didn't think he would be able to leave if he saw my tears.

  So here in the moonlight, our parting still hours away, he held me, his kisses covering my face, the weight of him as he laid on me delicious, his hardness pressed against me, but not yet nestled in my warm wetness.

  This was different, this love. A quiet passion which spoke of subtle desperation.

  But not the desperation of a need that was eager to be filled. No, this was the desperation of a need to remember.

  Rubbing my flesh against his, my cheek against his, my waist against his, my legs against his, my arms moving up and down his body, trapping his scent so it could be remembered long after he was gone.

  Allowing our juices to mingle, our hips pressing against each other, our sweat running in twin rivulets down our bodies, the warmth being catalogued somewhere deep in my mind so it, too, would be remembered.

  Savoring his slow kisses, the pause as he waits, his breath warm, and then capturing the moment when the softness of him met the softness of me, that spark never to be forgotten.

  And when he finally, gently lifted himself and, gripping his hardness, patiently inched his way deep, that, too, was treasured, the awareness that this special feeling of being complete, of being whole and happy and cherished as he moved inside me, was itself leaving and, therefore, important to remember.

  His breath warming my skin, that too was a treasure I needed to capture.

  The feel of his hair between my fingers. His soft skin under my flat palm as I felt his body. The smell of his sweat as he tucked his head into the crook of my neck. The taste of him on my tongue, on my lips, on my fingers as I licked. And those little helpless sounds he made in his throat as I pushed myself into him, grinding against him, forcing him deeper.

  There was too much, too many things, too many fleeting, tender moments to capture.

  I kissed him, slow, allowing his tongue to lick my lips and then my chin, his fingers wrapped in my hair as he bent my head back to lick my throat, his heart eager to collect its own treasures to take home.

  And the wave built, growing in strength as slowly, patiently, calmly, we moved, our bodies in perfect time, our rhythm now familiar.

  "My Grace," he whispered, his voice shaking as he gently picked up the pace.

  I kissed him.

  "I love you, my Grace."

  "And I love you," I whispered back as my hips trembled.

  "Oh, my Grace ..." he then said, his lips trembling as he closed his eyes.

  "Open," I whispered. "Please."

  He opened his eyes, closely watching me as he inched in deep one more time and paused, his heart racing as he gulped and then quietly moaned as I felt his heat fill me.

  It crested and crashed, then. My own wave. The feeling warm, the tingle intoxicating, the thump-thump-thump a familiar and welcome friend, the continued, insistent throbbing of Mikalo deep inside yet another treasure to hold close to my heart.

  Resting, he laid on top of me, still inside, our hearts still racing, his lips still tasting me, my hands still in his hair as I pulled him close, gripping him tight.

  "Oh, my Grace," he said again before dipping his head low, his forehead resting near my cheek.

  I couldn't speak.

  All I could do was hold him, cling to him, desperate to remember every moment between now and morning.

  He sighed and then his body shook, his quiet sobs lost in the crook of my neck.

  I squeezed him, holding him tighter.

  And together, once more, there were tears.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  It had been six weeks.

  Six weeks of lying in a lonely bed. Six weeks of not laughing. Six weeks of not sleeping. Six weeks of resurrecting faint memories of treasured moments as I stared into the dark.

  It had been six weeks of nothing but solid work seven days a week.

  And Bill and I were having our weekly lunch.

  "Just go home, Ronan," he insisted again. "I know you're caught up and there's this nice little quiet space where you have a chance to take a breath. So go take that breath.

  "I promise the Firm will not collapse if you take half a day off."

  I looked out the window at the passersby, bundled up in bright scarves, their hats pulled low, gloved hands jammed into their coat pockets. Snow was in the air, the wind biting and brisk, the light gray and dim.

  Although I fought it, I thought of Mikalo in the sun, the sand beneath his long toes, his skin tan and shining with sweat, his beautiful eyes hidden beneath dark sunglasses as he smiled, basking in the warmth.

  "Ronan?" Bill asked again. "Take the afternoon off."

  "Yes, you're right," I said. "I think I should. Catch up on some sleep maybe."

  "Oh please tell me you've been sleeping," he quickly said. "I mean, I'd heard you were coming in early, even before the sun rose, but ... I mean, c'mon, really?"

  "It's lonely, Bill," I explained with a shrug. "I just lie there, alone, wishing he were here and it's insane. So I get up and work. And when I work I realize this thing is at my office and that thing is in the conference room and the other thing is in the second drawer of my desk and it just makes sense to come in and work from there, you know?

  "And, still, every week he gets the new security code. It's, I don't know, like, a great excuse or something to pick up the phone and call him."

  "He calls you, of course."

  "Oh yeah," I said. "Three, four times a week. I'd love to Skype, but he gets flustered and says he doesn't have time for it."

  "Has he mentioned anything about his family?" Bill then asked.

  "We don't discuss it. I mean, he doesn't bring it up, so I don't ask."

  "His brother closed one of the factories. A large one that makes, oh, I don't know, concrete or metal or phones or something.

  "Anyway, it made the news over there that he was trying to sell it off, so that's why he closed it and booted everyone out. And we're talking maybe two, three thousand workers.

  "And your Mikalo stepped in, shamed him publicly -- even on the nightly news, I think --, and went to court to stop the closure, halt the sale, and then gave everyone their jobs back at higher salaries."

  I paused, quietly proud.

  "Then it was definitely good for him to be there. I made the right decision.

  "Have you thought of going to visit him?" he asked before taking a sip of water.

  "Who has the time?"

  "Yes, of course," he quickly said, putting the glass down. "There's just way too much work to do."

  He leaned forward, his elbows on the table.

  "Now listen, okay? You are going home. To rest, to eat, to shop for Christmas presents, or just sit on your ass and watch bad TV.

  "But you are going home if that's the last thing I do.

  "And," he continued, "you may even take a three day weekend."

  He motioned for the check while fishing out his wallet.

  "Now go and get some sleep."

  I stood and lifted my purse, slipping it over my shoulder.

  "Thank you, Bill."

  "You need the rest, Ronan."

  "No, no, no," I said. "Not for that. For everything. Thank you for everything."

  He shrugged.

  "What are friends for, right?"

  Chapter Forty-Six

  There was a package waiting on the stoop when I came home.

&
nbsp; Nothing fancy. A small box wrapped in brown paper and tied with crude twine. No return address, my name written in black marker on the top.

  I didn't give it much thought as I unlocked the door, closing it behind me, grateful for the warmth of home after battling my way up Central Park West through the biting wind.

  I shrugged off my coat and then unwound the scarf from my neck, tossing both on the nearby bench. I considered kicking off my shoes, but, intrigued, I waited, curiosity getting the better of me.

  Holding the box, I opened the drawer of the desk near the door and, scissors in hand, quickly cut the string, ripping away the paper and popping off the top.

  I reached inside and discovered a small jar of soft, white sand.

  "It is beautiful, no?"

  The voice behind me was soft and deep, the familiar tone kind and loving.

  I froze, my heart in my throat.

  Rein it in, Ronan. Keep your cool.

  And do not cry, whatever you do.

  "Yes," I responded, calm and cool, my eyes still on the jar in my hand. "It is."

  "And the sky, it is still blue, even with these grey clouds, yes?"

  God, I missed that voice, our phone calls really not doing it justice.

  "Oh absolutely," I said. "I promise the sky will be a beautiful, clear, gorgeous blue in a few months."

  I could feel him draw near, the scent of him filling my nose as I breathed deep, the growing fear I was dreaming distracting me from this miracle.

  Finally, I turned.

  I had to.

  Had to make sure it was really happening.

  It was.

  Mikalo. Tanned. Gorgeous. Happy.

  And here.

  With me.

  "What about your sun, Mikalo?" I asked, only half teasing. "Won't you miss your sun?"

  He now stood in front of me.

  Wrapping his arms around me, he drew me close, his face close to mine.

  He kissed me. A quick, playful kiss followed by a grin.

  I smiled, relieved it was real and not some delusion driven by overwork and loneliness, my doubt erased as I finally allowed the happiness of having him here enter my heart.

  "Ah, there," he said, seeing my smile. "There is my sun, my Grace."

  He kissed me again.