by Dev Bentham
Claire looked at Mark.
He shrugged. “I read it was good for pregnant women’s digestion.”
Lisa wrinkled her nose. “That is, if it doesn’t make you throw up.”
“Now you’re making me nervous about dinner. Should I have eaten before I came?”
Lisa laughed. “Don’t worry, he’s only interested in torturing me. He’s actually a pretty good cook. He’ll make some woman very happy some day.”
Claire looked at him speculatively. “Is that so?”
“You guys hungry yet?” Mark busied himself with the quinoa, thankful as always for tasks.
* * *
Claire sprinted to the box office to retrieve their tickets. Mark helped Lisa from the car. Then he stared in the backseat at the bouquet he’d bought. He’d insisted Lisa and Claire add their names to the card. Now he had no idea what to do with it. It felt stupid to carry it in and stupider to leave it in the car.
Lisa gave him an exasperated look. “I can’t bend over like that, Mark. You’ll have to get the flowers out yourself.”
“Uh, right.” He held them self-consciously as he walked Lisa toward the steps.
She waddled slowly and he was beginning to think maybe this wasn’t such a good idea when she said, “I can’t tell you how great it feels to be out of the house. Even if I look like a battleship.”
“You look beautiful and radiant,” Claire announced, striding up to them waving tickets. “And we have seats front and center. Close enough to see them sweat.” She grinned at Mark.
He thrust the flowers toward her. “Can you take these?”
Her eyes softened. “Ah, to be young. I’ll trade you.” She handed him two tickets. “You get Lisa to the seats and I’ll make sure these get to Seth.”
He couldn’t meet her eye. “Thanks.”
The theater was in a converted Catholic church. Red plush seats with gold numbers had replaced the pews and a stage had been built over the altar, but stained glass windows still portrayed the Stations of the Cross, dully lit by the last of twilight. Claire was right, Seth had planted them front row center. Mark could see the broom marks on the stage floor. Off to one side of the stage an orchestra tuned up.
Lisa dropped into the middle seat. “Boy, it’s amazing how tired I get just walking.”
Mark looked at her with concern. “Are you all right? Can I get you anything?”
She waved him away. “Stop hovering. I’m fine.” She glanced at her program and then the orchestra. “I’ve heard the conductor is surprisingly good, I mean, given that we’re not exactly a metropolis.”
Claire slid into the aisle seat. She reached across Lisa to touch Mark’s arm. “I couldn’t find Seth so I gave them to the stage manager. She’ll make sure he gets them in time.”
He nodded. Flowers had been a terrible idea. Talk about mixed messages. He really was crazy. Seth would be much better off without him.
The lights dimmed and the orchestra hit their opening notes. Mark leaned back in his seat, resting his head against the plush velvet. An announcer’s voice boomed from the speakers in front of them, reminding everyone to turn off their cell phones and enjoy the performance.
The show started with jazzy pieces and young, in some cases very young, dancers. Mark didn’t entirely understand the point of all the running and jumping across the stage. He sneaked a peek at his program. Seth wouldn’t be on until after the intermission. He felt himself relax into the rhythmic thumping of little feet, accompanied by a bass downbeat. His body reminded him that he’d pushed it to the limit during the day. Settling further into his chair he allowed his eyes to close.
People around him began to stir. Mark’s eyes flew open. Bright light hit him and he blinked. He turned to Claire and Lisa. “Tell me I didn’t snore.”
Lisa smiled. “Only a little. And when you did, I poked you and you stopped.”
Claire leaned forward and whispered. “It’s okay, you didn’t miss anything important.”
“I don’t know,” Lisa added. “I really liked that last piece. Don’t you think the girl in the red was awfully good?”
Claire winked at Mark. “Yes, I did.”
Mark stood. “Do you want anything from the concession stand?”
Lisa groaned. “No. I need to pee. But I don’t think I can do the line.”
Claire took her elbow and helped her up. “I’ll take you backstage. I’m sure they’ll understand.”
Lisa allowed herself to be led up the stage steps and back through the curtains. Mark sat back down, feeling useless and a little foolish.
A young girl dressed in black appeared by his elbow. “Your name Mark?”
He nodded.
“I’m supposed to give you this.” She pressed a piece of paper into his hand, darted back onto the stage and disappeared through the side curtains.
Mark unfolded the paper and read, “Wake up. I’m on next. P.S. Glad you’re here.”
He grinned and looked at the stage. It was weird to think of Seth watching him from the wings. But kind of nice too.
When the lights dimmed again Mark sat up straight, determined to stay awake. He needn’t have worried. A cello solo began and a spotlight illuminated Seth, clad in a black unitard, hanging upside down entwined in a long red fabric rope, the bottom of which pooled on stage. Seth extended his arms and began to writhe to the music, holding impossible positions as the cello notes extended. The tempo increased and he twirled his way up the rope, using his legs and arms as fulcrums. He paused at the top then fell down, only to catch himself inches from the stage.
Mark’s heart flip-flopped and the audience gasped, then burst into applause.
Seth turned upside down again and slid his legs up the rope, splitting what had looked like one thick rope into two thin ones. With a kick of his legs he began to twirl.
Mark sat mesmerized. His every movement enthralled with its precision and grace. How could anyone have that much physical control? And how could something so simple, a man and two ropes, be so charged with beauty? With passion?
The cello held one last, long note while Seth twirled gracefully to earth, his feet making barely a whisper as they hit the stage. The audience erupted into cheers and applause. Seth’s gaze found Mark as he bowed. Mark wanted to stand, to shout, to run onstage and take him in his arms. He pounded his hands together instead.
Seth trotted offstage and music for the next dance cued up. Mark felt a touch on his arm and turned to Lisa. Her face looked ghostly in the light from the stage. She clutched her abdomen with one hand, digging her fingernails into his arm with the other.
“Claire,” he whispered. “Something’s wrong.”
Claire glanced at him and then at Lisa. She leaned over him and whispered in Lisa’s ear. Lisa nodded. Mark could see tears starting in her eyes. Children were tumbling out onto the stage for another big number.
“We have to get her out of here,” Claire whispered.
Mark nodded. He enfolded Lisa in his arms and stood, carrying her swiftly up the center aisle. Whispering crescendoed around them and he could hear Claire murmuring reassurances behind him. He certainly hoped she was right and that Lisa would be fine.
Outside Claire said, “We could call an ambulance but it’ll be faster if we drive.”
Mark nodded and walked quickly toward his car. Lisa clung to him and buried her head against his shoulder, her breathing shallow.
He paused by the car door and looked at Claire. “Can you get my keys and open the doors? They’re in my pocket. And maybe you should climb in the back so you can hold her steady.”
Claire nodded and fished his keys from the pocket of the hip he thrust toward her. Within minutes they were on their way. She pulled out her cell, dialed the hospital and began speaking like the calm professional she was. When she hung up he could hear her quietly reassuring Lisa.
Mark plowed through every red light in his way.
It was only after Lisa had disappeared through the emergency room doo
rs that he felt the speedy tingle of spent adrenaline. He parked the car and jogged toward the hospital. Someone in a white coat flew toward him with a wheelchair.
“What happened?” he demanded.
Mark put a hand out and stopped the man from shoving him into the chair. “No, it’s my sister-in-law, Lisa.”
“You’re bleeding.”
Mark looked down. His shirt sleeve glistened bright red. He touched the stain. It felt wet and cool. Mark gripped the arm of the wheelchair, suddenly dizzy. His stomach churned.
The young man put a hand on his shoulder.
Mark pulled away. “I’m fine. It’s her blood. Where is she? Lisa Apostolos.”
“The pregnant woman?”
Mark nodded.
“They took her in a minute ago. You’ll need to talk to the desk.” And with that the man and the wheelchair disappeared.
Mark had been carrying Lisa’s medical information, insurance cards and even a copy of her birth certificate for weeks. He sat in a hard-backed chair and filled out all the necessary paperwork, trying hard not to think of the blood. Why wasn’t Pete here? For the first time since his brother’s initial call, Mark felt the enormity of his complete inadequacy to the task.
Claire appeared beside him. “They’re prepping her for surgery. There’s a special waiting room.” She glanced down at his shirt. “Maybe you want to go home and change?”
He shook his head. “I’ve got workout clothes in the car. I’ll get them and meet you in the waiting room. If anything happens before then call my cell.”
The surgical waiting room was blue: blue carpet, blue walls, blue chairs. Someone must have thought blue would be soothing. A television in one corner spouted CNN. Besides Claire, the only other occupants were one old and two middle-aged women who were probably mother and daughters. One of the younger women was crying. The mother patted her back and vacantly watched the television.
Mark doubted anyone was taking in the details of the latest congressional scandal. They were all waiting for much more important news.
He dropped into the chair beside Claire.
“She’ll be fine.” Claire patted his hand. “Lots of women have C-sections. It’s probably too common, in fact, but in this case it’s a good thing. The baby is, what, thirty-seven weeks? The risk of complication at that point is pretty minimal. Relax, and quit looking so terrified. You’re going to be an uncle.”
Mark stared at her. “She’s going to have him now?”
Claire gave him a funny look. “Eight-plus months pregnant, contractions, bleeding—what else is she likely to be doing?”
He shook his head. “How am I supposed to know? You’re sure she’ll be okay?”
“Surgery is always risky but yeah, I think she’ll be fine.” She grinned. “Look on the bright side, no more birthing classes.”
He thought it would be hours, but a smiling nurse appeared after about forty-five minutes. “Congratulations, Mr. Apostolos, you’re a father of a beautiful healthy boy.”
He blinked. “Uncle. But thank you. How’s Lisa?”
“She’s doing fine. So far it looks like the baby won’t need special care but we’ll need to keep them here for the next few days. Shall I take you to the room?”
“Told you so.” Claire squeezed his hand. “Give my best to Lisa. Tell her I’ll drop by tomorrow for a visit.”
“Aren’t you coming with me?” Mark stammered.
She shook her head. “This should be a family-only moment.”
* * *
Lisa lay propped in bed, the baby cradled like a football against her breast. Mark stood in the doorway for a moment. She looked groggy but smiled down at her infant like a woman in love. He cleared his throat and she looked up and beamed at him.
“Isn’t he beautiful?”
Mark moved closer and peered at the wrinkled red bundle. Not exactly beautiful. But then his tiny hand uncurled and curled and Mark’s heart burst open.
He grinned at Lisa. “He’ll do.”
Lisa blinked back tears. “I wish Pete was here.”
Mark brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Yeah, me too.”
A nurse appeared. “I’m sorry, Mr. Apostolos, you’re going to have to leave. I mean, if you were the father…”
Lisa giggled. “Can’t win either way, can you? It’s okay. I’ll be sleeping soon. You should go back to the show.”
Mark looked at his watch. “It can’t possibly still be going on.”
Lisa stroked her baby’s head. “Didn’t Claire tell us there was a cast party at the brew pub downtown?”
Mark shook his head. “I can’t go there.”
Lisa looked up. “Why on earth not? We were invited.”
“It’s complicated.”
She gave him an exasperated look. “It’s not complicated. Just tell him how you feel. He’s a fool if he’s not interested.”
Mark gaped at her.
She grimaced. “Why does everyone think I’m stupid?”
“But how?”
“Well, you’ve been mooning around the apartment, ducking into your room whenever your phone rang, so I knew something was up. Then it stopped and you started moping.” She smiled at him a little sheepishly. “I looked in the contact list of your phone. You only have three personal numbers—our home, Claire’s and Seth’s. It didn’t take a rocket scientist. I’ll admit I was surprised but I got over it. I thought you might tell me if I kept ribbing you about women, but you didn’t.” She shrugged. “And then I watched you stare at him with goo-goo eyes all through his dance.”
“I didn’t.”
She nodded. “You did. So go do something about it.” She glared past him and said, “Do you have a problem with my gay brother-in-law?”
Mark turned to see the nurse blush and stammer. He grinned at Lisa, who winked and shooed him out of the room.
Chapter Fourteen
A shower and change of clothes later, Mark waded through the clutch of smokers at the door to Bailey’s brew pub. He pushed his way through the door and into the small vestibule lined with vintage beer advertisements, framed baseball card displays and ferns.
A hostess, who couldn’t have been more than nineteen, beamed a gracious, vacant smile. “Table for one?”
He shook his head. “I’m looking for the dance cast party?”
Her smile morphed into something more real. She nodded toward a stairway. “They’re upstairs, first alcove on the left.”
Mark nodded his thanks and climbed the stairs, his heart thumping double-time. It felt like he was in one of those science fiction movies where the hero ascends a flight of stairs and finds himself in some sort of alien world. He imagined at the top he’d step into something like the bar in Star Wars, with colorful creatures sporting way too many appendages. What he found instead was an ordinary restaurant with average-looking people eating and laughing at tables and booths. At the far end a low wall separated the restaurant and bar area, where a band was setting up.
Mark found the dancers and their friends in an alcove off the main room. Some clustered around a buffet table while others stood in small groups, sipping beverages and laughing. He stood for a moment at the edge of the crowd. Inhaled raggedly. There was no way he could step into that swarm of bodies.
He was about to spin on his heel and leave when he spotted Seth across the room, tall and beautiful, the center of attention in a small circle of laughing happy people. Sweat broke out on Mark’s brow as he stepped forward, pressing his way through the crowd. His heart pounded. People’s voices seemed louder inside the alcove, but he couldn’t make sense of any of it. He squeezed between two people standing almost back to back, excused himself, closed his eyes, took a deep breath and opened them to find Seth standing before him.
“You’re here. How’s Lisa? That was quite a dramatic exit you all made.” Seth extended a hand to touch Mark’s shoulder.
Mark grabbed his hand and held it tightly. “Yeah, sorry for the disruption. Lisa’s fine.
And the baby is too. Everyone’s fine. I, um, I, can we talk?”
Seth smiled. “Yeah, of course.” He led Mark toward an empty corner.
Mark trailed after him, gripping Seth’s hand like a lifeline.
Seth turned to face him. “Afraid this is the most privacy we’re likely to get.” He moved to pull his hand away but Mark held fast. He knew he’d never get it out if he wasn’t touching Seth. Seth cocked an eyebrow and waited.
“Would it be a problem if I kissed you here?” Mark asked softly, his eyes riveted on Seth’s lower lip.
Seth looked past him to the room of people. “I think there’d be a certain shock value in it. And people will think you’re gay.”
“I am gay.”
Seth grinned. “I like a man who’s sure of himself. Still, I’m not sure we want to be the talk of Lacland just yet.”
Mark met his gaze. “Right. It’s only that I was thinking it might make it easier for me to say what I want to say if I kissed you first.”
Something flashed in Seth’s eyes. “Follow me.”
Seth led him out of the alcove, down the steps, past the smiling hostess and the smokers, into a tiny alley and behind a pungent dumpster.
“Not exactly romantic.” Mark kicked at an empty soup can.
Seth shrugged. “Best I can do on short notice. You want candlelight, you have to call ahead.”
Mark ran his thumb along Seth’s jaw. “If I’d called ahead would you have wanted me?”
Seth turned his head, catching Mark’s thumb in his teeth. He released it with a kiss. “Yes.”
Mark cradled the back of Seth’s neck and pulled him down. Their lips met and he poured his heart into the kiss, telegraphing passion and admiration and, yes, love. Seth’s hands dug into his back as he pressed back into him. The smell of rotting garbage, the furtiveness of an alleyway, reminded Mark of nights pressing against strangers. But this was Seth, beautiful, intelligent, sexy Seth, the only person to push through Mark’s wall of craziness. His tongue tasted of wine and his mouth felt like the most exciting and safest place Mark had ever known.
He broke the kiss.
Seth collapsed back against the brick wall of the restaurant, his gaze warm. “You know how to get a man’s attention.”