Skin Like Dawn (When You Come to Me)

by Alyse, Jade

  She entered the kitchen and a tall, shadowy thing loomed over the sink, faded by the brightness of the sun. She lifted the knife a little higher. “You have five seconds to leave the house before your spine is severed by this knife. One...two...three...”

  A mug of coffee shattered on the floor then, causing her to step back cautiously. Then, Brandon Greene turned and raised his hands to her, blue eyes milked with surprise in the morning light.

  RIGHT AT THE CORE

  “JESUS, BRANDON!”

  Holding a hand to her heart, she swallowed thickly, dropping the knife on the ground.

  “Tallie, what the hell are you doing with that knife?”

  “Brandon, what the hell are you doing here? You aren’t supposed to be back until Saturday.”

  “I caught a redeye. I’ve been flying all night.”

  She wasn’t sure why, but she’d started to cry. “You really scared me.”

  He came toward her, enveloping her. “I know, I know. I was trying not to wake you up. Guess that didn’t work out too well.” He kissed her forehead.

  “Why are you here?”

  “I needed to be here. I needed to be home. I needed to see you.”

  She instinctively buried his face into her chest and inhaled. Yes, Brandon was home. “Jesus.”

  He chuckled. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  She gazed up at him. “You’re home? You’re really home?”

  “Of course.”

  “But...your job...”

  “All taken care of. Don’t worry about it.” He reached for her hand. “How long do you have before you have to go to work?”

  She glanced at the wall clock. “A couple of hours.”

  “Good,” he smiled. “Come lay with me. Tell me about what you’ve been up to since I’ve been gone.”

  SOMETHING FELT OFF THE NEXT DAY – she was running late. She couldn’t find her socks, her keys had gone AWOL, and she couldn’t even remember if she’d brushed her teeth or not.

  But Brandon was smiling, and she eyeballed him curiously, finger-combing her hair with mindless regard, as she stuck a piece of toast between her lips.

  “What the hell’s gotten into you?”

  She was grumpy and she wanted to blame the hormones. But she was envious of her husband’s refreshed appearance and gleaming clear blue eyes.

  He pecked her forehead once. “Nothing…it’s just a beautiful day.”

  She followed his gaze out of the window by the front door. He was right – the sun was shining, not a cloud in sight. That bizarre vision alone brought her nearer to shivers.

  She reached out toward him and adjusted his tie. “You’re going to be late for work.”

  “Not a problem. My first meeting with the marketing department isn’t until eleven.”

  “Lucky you.”

  She sauntered toward the door, almost reluctantly, and he grabbed her by the wrist. “Stay…have breakfast with me.”

  “Brandy…not today.”

  “You could at least pretend like you love me right now.”

  “I always love you. Even when I’m stressed and in a hurry.”

  “Baby, please.”

  “I can’t. I’m already late and I look like shit.”

  “You look incredible. It’s a wonder that I was lucky enough to get you.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

  He pressed his lips into the side of her face, pulling her nearer to him, enveloping her into a strong embrace.

  She murmured his name, encouraging him to stop so that she could leave. But deep down, she knew that wasn’t true.

  He chuckled a little, arrogant of his well-known effect on her. “Stay…”

  “Brandon…there are only so many ways that I can give you the same answer. Soon, I’ll be resolved to running away from you.”

  “That’s no good.”

  “No. So let me go.”

  She turned to face him, hooking her arms around his neck. “Just find peace in the fact that I’m finding it very hard to say ‘no’ to you.”

  He pecked her lips once. “How hard?”

  She mimicked the gesture. His smile grew larger. “Think back about ten years and you’ve got your answer.”

  And in a few minutes time she was out the door.

  But the radio in her car didn’t work – it’d always been rather buggy, but she figured a change of pace with the new system Brandon had installed for her birthday. She projected a heavy sigh, rubbed her belly and turned the ignition anyway. “Guess we won’t be hearing the news today, Harp.”

  The sun was fighting its way through the clouds up above. It was particularly beautiful. No rain in sight. She immediately thought that strange. There was even temperate weather, causing her to crack her window and allow some of that fresh Pacific air to bring a bit of flush to her cheeks.

  But she thought of her home in Georgia; of her mama and her sisters and her grandma. And she felt an aching. She made a mental note to call them when she got to the hospital – if she could spare the time.

  Traffic was heavy but her spirits were amiable. She bizarrely agreed with the movements of the morning commute, of the cars that surrounded her on the freeway, of the smell of bubbling exhaust pipes and too-hot mugs of coffee. She was there with them – and it made for an eerie shiver down her spine.

  She never toppled off from these feelings, even when an elderly woman in an SUV much too large for her, threatened to merge into her lane without looking. She simply beeped her horn a couple of times, waved her delicate hand at the flustered woman with silver hair, and kept it moving.

  She should’ve known then that things weren’t right that day.

  SHE FOUND A PARKING SPACE much further than she would’ve liked outside of the pediatric wing, but she grabbed her work bag, adjusted the collar on her shirt and meandered along. She passed a couple of researchers from the oncology sector that she recognized and spoke to them briefly. They addressed her professionally, but friendly, without pretense. They’d seen her quite often, recently, sauntering in and out of 703. Not necessarily, sneaking per se; but discreet. A polite discreet; as not to disturb the dreary peacefulness on that floor.

  She and Bellamy had polite talks every now and again. She’d vent and he’d sit back in his chair and listen. He was a good listener, she’d discovered; allowing her to be almost fully capable of spewing out every single, minuscule emotion, sense of rejection or otherwise, without judgement or a heady dose of unwarranted feedback.

  Ten-year-old Marta Benedetto nearly ran her over in a wheelchair when she stumbled onto the thirteenth floor. “Oops. Sorry, Miss Natalie.”

  Natalie patted her full head of raven curls, smiled agreeably and made her way to the nurse’s station.

  Head Nurse, Wendy looked up at her when she approached, clicked her teeth, and returned her eyes to her clipboard. “You’re late, Greene.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “Marital Bliss keeping you away from us?”

  “I suppose you could say that. Are you doubling my list of duties as punishment?”

  Head Nurse Wendy sighed. “Quite the contrary. I’m on strict instruction from Dr. Meyer to have you accompany her and take notes while you sit in on one of Dr. Lambert’s surgeries.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Head Nurse Wendy lifted a sheet of paper and ruffled it in front of Natalie’s eyes. “Says right here in the memo: ‘When Greene arrives, have her come to my office for prep.’ So I would suggest that you head that way.”

  She didn’t think to breathe the entire stroll from the nurses’ station to Dr. Carrie’s office. She only paused briefly to pull out her cell phone and briefly text her husband’s the details of her random endeavor.

  He replied promptly: Well, looks like your secret is out and your future is set. Good job, baby. Headed to the office. Expect a phone call from me around lunchtime. I love you.

  There was no mistaking that, no matter the medium, knowing that Bra
ndon Greene loved her still made her shiver.

  She floated into Lambert’s office. Dr. Carrie was sitting on the edge of his desk with a peculiar ease of familiarity. And Dr. Pierre Delacroix Lambert had a desk phone to his ear, speaking jovially to someone in French. His parlance was fluid, confident, native.

  And then there was Bellamy, idled against a window, acknowledging her presence first and shrewdly. She met his gaze briefly, he smirked, and her lips fluttered in response, as though to mock his gesture.

  He stood erect, unfolded his arms, and placed his hand on his father’s shoulder gingerly. “She’s here.”

  Lambert gazed up. “Ah, ma chére, Natalie, enter!”

  Natalie timidly stepped forward. She wasn’t sure what to expect. Suddenly she had stepped beyond an invisible boundary, no longer surveying, part of something that had always been bigger than her.

  She licked her dry lips and tasted the moment – it was clean, fresh, new and odd. She retracted all thoughts and feelings of taking off running, out of Lambert’s office and back down the hall to her solitude.

  She met Bellamy’s eyes once more. They seemed more comforting this time.

  Lambert replaced the phone in its cradle and stood to his feet quickly, startling Natalie with his enthusiasm. Even with an overgrown, spontaneous husband at home, the excitable nature of a man still affected her nevertheless. “Have you heard, my dear?”

  Natalie smiled warmly as Lambert placed his hands on her arms in a respective manner. “Yes. Please, tell me more.”

  Dr. Carrie’s assured grin catches her attention. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

  She does just so.

  Lambert stands before her. “We had ideas, but we weren’t sure. So we dropped it.”

  It was a rather peculiar way of starting a sentence. Not in the least bit detailed as she originally questioned. She liked to believe that her new journey would be met with an eager gush of words in Lambert’s delectable French brogue. But nothing quelled her anxiety over the whole endeavor, and she raised herself to the edge of the comfy armchair in anticipation of inevitable ruin.

  Lambert, taking a cue from her quizzical expression, took her hand into his. “I just caught wind that you were quite a brilliant first year medical student at Duke University.”

  A cloud of confusion formed around her, unseen by anyone else in the room but her. And then came the fury, as she darted her eyes in Bellamy’s direction, recalling a conversation, or a monologue rather. How crazy she was to believe that she had been speaking to herself, exuding it, addressing the regret and stress of it all and moving on.

  Bellamy did not meet her gaze this time – he did not move. She gripped the sides of the armchair to steady herself. She was about to come undone.

  “I was enrolled as a medical student at Duke, yes. Brilliant, I am unsure of. I failed miserably in the pursuit of something I felt like I’d been created for.”

  Lambert nodded. “And yet, here you are, working in a hospital.”

  “It was folly.”

  “You saved my grandson’s life. Not by immaculate intervention, but by your knowledge of general healthcare.”

  “I was in the right place at the right time. I cringe at the thought of letting a child suffer.”

  “You could have summoned a nurse. One of the on-call doctors…”

  “There wasn’t time. By the grace of God, I knew what needed to be done, and quickly.”

  “And your husband?”

  “What about him?”

  “What does he think?”

  Natalie sighed. “We’ve had conflicting ideals on the subject.”

  “Natalie…ma cherie…”

  “Lamb…would you excuse me for a moment?”

  “Of course, my dear…”

  She was in the corridor again, chilly and irresolute, and she was heading somewhere, barely dodging the nurses and attendees to the left and right of her. Suddenly the sterile smell of the interior made her sick.

  “Nat…”

  That was Bellamy’s voice – soft-spoken and articulate. He was coming after her. Damn it, she needed fresh air.

  “Don’t you dare…”

  She petitioned for someone to keep the elevator doors open, in anticipation of her quick escape, but Bellamy came right behind her, sliding in between a somber family of six. Natalie quickly slid to the back, bracing herself against the wall, desperate for air, lulling her flaring sensibility under the languid drone of the elevator music.

  Damn you, Bellamy.

  His back was to her. “Nat…I’m…”

  “Don’t. I can barely breathe as it is. Just don’t.”

  The elevators opened on the ground floor, and the interior shuffled out. The sun was hidden behind a series of clouds, but the air was temperate. She meandered down a narrow sidewalk tipsily and inhaled it deeply.

  She could hear the irritating rhythm of footsteps behind her. “Natalie, stop walking.”

  So, she did. And she turned to face him, arms folded across her chest. “How could you?”

  The question seemed to startle him, and he retracted, releasing a visible breath in front of her.

  “Well?”

  “I thought it was the best thing at the time.”

  “You were asleep.”

  “I never sleep.”

  “What?”

  “I never sleep. I closed my eyes and pretended that I was sleep. That was the only way I could get you to open up to me.”

  She pondered her next words carefully. Anything that suggested wanting to know why would prove futile.

  He took a step toward her cautiously. “I’m sorry. I did what I thought was best.”

  “By doing what exactly, Bell? Intruding on a private conversation that wasn’t intended for your ears and telling your father about it?”

  “Why…yes.”

  “You have no idea what I’ve been through the past year.”

  “Yes, I do. You told me.”

  She grumbled something and dropped her hands. “It’s not fair.”

  “What’s not? You living out your future the way God intended? This is not about me or what I said. This is about you. And you’re being a chicken-shit.”

  “How dare you?”

  “Me? What about you, Nat? You lied to your husband about working, and you’ve been lying to yourself for months about where you truly belong. Who’s really at fault here?”

  “It’s not as simple as you think it is, Bell. I’m married. I have responsibilities to my husband, to our marriage, to the baby growing inside of me.”

  “Who are you trying to convince? Because it sounds like another monologue.”

  “Fuck you.”

  She believed he anticipated her turning away from him and running away. But she stood firmly in front of him, stalling his half-cocked effort to come tumbling after her.

  It was the first time in the months following the day Natalie Chandler Greene met Bellamy Lambert, that she’d ever seen him remotely disheveled. Then they gazed idly at each other, staunchly, stubbornly…openly.

  “Tell me, puppeteer. You have a handle on my life. Tell me what I should do? Tell me how I should react?”

  “I think you already know the answer to that question, Nat. All you need was a push in the right direction.”

  “The only person who could ever truly motivate me, is a man I’ve known for nearly ten years. He is the only person that has stood up for me, fought for me, and been my own personal hero since I was seventeen years old. He is the only person I would ever think to consult over something like this.”

  “Then why haven’t you? Why were you so afraid to tell him about working here? Hmm? Why are you so afraid to move forward without him? What’s it going to take?”

  “Because I don’t know a fucking life without him in it!”

  It was then that she began to walk away. She was thoroughly finished with the tête-à-tête.

  But she stopped. He was still standing there, watching her amble aw
ay from him. She could feel is pale green eyes on her back.

  She turned to him. His hand was casually hooked into the pocket of his linen pants. He was arrogant, the son of a bitch, standing there, anticipating her.

  Her lips quivered as she parted them. “You know nothing of this feeling. You know nothing of love. You know nothing of being in love. Don’t presume to tell me how to handle my own fucking heart.”

  And she disappeared from his view.

  SHE WAS SITTING AT A COFFEE BAR TWO BLOCKS DOWN THE ROAD WITH ZULY, piecing over a half-eaten chunk of focaccia.

  She was peculiarly distracted, lost in her own thoughts, sickened by her own stubbornness.

  She wanted to blame it on something – her hormones, her lack of sleep the night before, Brandon’s snoring, Brandon’s bossiness, pressure from her mother.

  But she couldn’t. She wanted to part ways with how she’d acted in the hospital courtyard with Bellamy, but she couldn’t. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  But she’d missed an opportunity. A big one. One that could’ve changed the course of her life forever.

  But she thought about Harper and Brandon, and how much they meant to her, and she retracted into herself again.

  “Jesus Christ, Nat, you’re a zombie today.”

  Natalie locked eyes with her loud, Cuban, lesbian counterpart and sighed. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. Just spit it out.”

  She dropped the piece of bread. “I should’ve stayed in bed with my husband this morning like I started to. Everything’s been fucked up ever since.”

  “I’m confused. You wanted to stay in bed and fuck Brandon…”

  “You’re oversimplifying.”

  “Well…I’m not a mind-reader.”

  “Fair enough.” She ran her hand up her forehead, shutting her eyes tightly. “Staying with Bandon this morning would’ve kept me safe.”

  “You’re sounding strange. What happened?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Are you trying to be this cryptic?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Well…”

  “I told Bellamy everything.”

  With enlarged eyes, Zuly leaned forward. “Everything like what?”