by Karen Rock
A man in a tux and a top hat stepped forward and pressed a button on the metal apparatus holding up John’s mahogany casket.
Oh, no. It was happening. She whirled, but Eli’s hand halted her headlong flight.
“Please stay.” His eyes were urgent. Tender. “We need to talk. I need to apologize.”
She wanted more with him, wanted to believe in a future together. But right now she couldn’t think past this moment.
Panic had her breath coming in short, hard gasps. “I. Have. To. Go. Sorry.” She tugged her hand loose and sprinted for the redbrick sidewalk that would lead her to the cemetery’s gates. She’d catch a cab. Put her head under a pillow. Rebury the memories today had brought to the surface. This was why she never came to her clients’ funerals. It was her shameful secret. But a reaction like this was exactly what she’d been protecting herself from all these years.
“Daddy, Christie’s scared,” she heard Tommy lisp behind her as she angled past the family.
“Yeah, Dad. Mary will take us home.” Becca’s voice registered, the concern in her words evident.
Her chest tightened even more.
“We’ll get to ride in her cop car!”
“It’s her husband’s, Tommy.”
The voices faded as Christie dashed through the crowd away from them. Footsteps pounded behind her. Beyond embarrassment, she picked up speed while a somber tune wailed. Salty tears streaked down her cheeks, her red blotches in full bloom. Eli couldn’t see her like this. And the rest of John’s support group couldn’t see her like this, either. She was the upbeat one. The optimist. The keeper of the faith who held everyone else together, for crying out loud. The believer in miracles. No one could ever know how she was scared to death inside. That those views were a mask used to cover childhood scars. She hated feeling like a fake, but right now...
If the shoe fits, she heard Gran’s voice say in her head.
“Christie, wait!” Eli called once she’d clattered onto the walkway. Don’t turn back, she told herself.
But she looked.
Eli’s face was pinched with pain as he jogged in a jerky gait that favored his right leg. Odd. She’d noticed him favoring it after jogging. Now it looked worse. Her heart lurched. How could she run from him when he was in pain? His determination washed away the lingering anger she’d felt at his harsh words.
“I’m sorry for what I said. For the comfort I wasn’t able to give you the day John died. I was mad but not at you. When I wrote his eulogy, I also meant it for you, for us. You see, I—I— God I suck at this.”
She put a finger to his lips. “I can’t talk here.”
“But why?” He slid a hand down her bare arm. “You’re shaking.” Understanding flashed in his eyes. “Is it your brother?”
She nodded mutely and swallowed over the lump in her throat.
He put an arm around her and steered her to the car he’d rented, the one they’d picked her up in earlier. They slipped inside the cool dimness, the tinted windows obliterating the sun.
“Driver, would you give us a few moments?” Eli asked the man sitting at the wheel.
“Sure thing.” The gray-haired man in uniform slipped out of the car, the door closing behind him with a soft click.
The smell of new leather filled the small space. She leaned against the buttery-smooth seat, grateful to be away from that haunting scene. Not so glad to have Eli here to witness her imminent meltdown. She’d held it together for the sake of the kids, but now that she was alone, her emotions rose with a vengeance.
She sobbed and gasped, snuffled and cried. Every feeling she’d bottled inside exploded, flowing from her with the force of a woken volcano. Eli held her hand and blotted her chin with a tissue but otherwise made no move to stop her outpouring.
Finally, when her well of misery ran dry, strong hands cupped her cheeks, lifting her face. His eyes were dark with concern.
“You’ve never told me much about him. Your brother.”
“Bill,” she whispered, the smell of ozone from the firecrackers he’d adored floating in on memory’s wings.
“How old was he when he died?” Eli shifted so that she was cradled against his body, her back resting against his broad chest. The steady rise and fall of it soothed her.
“He was eighteen months older than me, so nineteen and a half.”
“That’s young. You were both young.”
Christie nodded then swiped at another wash of tears.
“You once told me you didn’t love him as much as he deserved. What did you mean by that?”
Her chest squeezed so hard she thought her ribs would crack. “That I wasn’t very nice to him. Toward the end.”
His arms only banded around her tighter. Was it her imagination, or did she feel his lips against her hair?
“Tell me,” he urged in a low voice.
“It’s hard.” She buried her face in her hands. This wasn’t something she let herself think about, let alone discuss.
“Be brave, sweetheart.”
An endearment? Didn’t he understand just how disgusting a person she was?
She twisted in his arms. His face was so familiar she could have traced its lines in her sleep. Maybe, before he made the mistake of starting to care about her, he should know the truth. Know her. It was exactly why she’d avoided serious dating. But Eli had slipped in behind her defenses and now she had no choice but to show her true colors, as ugly as they were.
“Do you want to know where I was the night he died?”
Eli’s gaze didn’t waver. “Yes.”
“Bill’s condition deteriorated in my senior year. He’d had leukemia for over three years, and most of my high-school experience had been spent working odd jobs to pay his bills, watching him when my parents took extra shifts and caring for him when his condition worsened.”
A rough hand smoothed back the damp hair at her temples. “That sounds very unselfish of you.”
Her hands clenched the hem of her black dress. “Not really. I loved Bill. He was my best friend.” Her chest heaved before she continued. “But in my senior year I started to resent him. Everyone was excited about ending their four years of high school, talking about fun times, and I felt as though I’d missed out. Suddenly I started accepting party invites, going out on dates, skipping work to hang out with friends.”
Eli tried to pull her back into his arms, but she scooted farther away. “That sounds normal. What teenager wouldn’t want those things?”
“But I wasn’t normal. Our family was going through a crisis and I checked out. Without my money, Dad and Mom worked sixteen-hour days. Hospice came along, but it wasn’t the same. We weren’t a family anymore, and it was my fault. Mine.”
She swallowed back another sob. For some inexplicable reason, she wanted him to feel the same revulsion for her choices that she did.
Car doors opened and shut around them. Engines revved and tires crunched on the gravel drive. The funeral had ended. Would Eli want to terminate this messed-up conversation, too?
“I did the same thing to my family, Christie. You know that.” Eli’s dark eyebrows met. “No one is perfect.”
“True. But I wasn’t just imperfect, Eli. I was a selfish monster. The night Bill died was my senior prom—and my birthday. Not that my parents remembered. I was mad that the only thing my mom said to me all day was a reminder to say good-night before I left. Bill was having a bad day and would appreciate a little company.”
She ran her hand through her hair, remembering, too late, that she’d put it in a loose chignon.
“I’m guessing you didn’t stop in.” The timbre of Eli’s voice was soft and low.
A bitter laugh escaped her. “Right. I heard him call out as I took a last look in the hall mirror. When a car honked outside, I ran off
without even yelling a goodbye.” Pain stabbed her chest as if it had just happened. As if she had just realized she’d missed her last chance to see her brother.
She gulped back tears.
“You were jealous of the attention he was getting.” The way he said it made it sound more like a statement than a question.
She squeezed her eyes shut. No amount of work she did with cancer patients could ever erase the despicable thing she’d done, the thousand ways she’d hurt her brother—the whole family—the months leading up to his death.
A firm hand tipped up her chin, rough thumbs brushing away the wetness from her tears.
“I hated him,” she whispered.
There, she’d said it. For the first time— finally—an admission she hadn’t even made to herself. She’d loved her brother and yet she had deeply resented him. But most of all, she missed him. John was right. There were no do-overs.
A trembling took hold of her, a bone-deep chill. Eli caught her in a tight embrace, his hold relentless as she pushed against his chest. Eventually, the shivering subsided and she relaxed in his arms.
“When we got back from the after-prom party,” she finally continued, “an ambulance was in my driveway. And instead of feeling upset, I was mad. Can you believe that? Even then, I felt so angry that once again he’d ruined something special.”
Eli’s voice sounded muffled as he spoke into her hair. “You were in shock.”
She pulled her head back and looked at him, his face so blurred it might have been behind a waterfall. She swiped at her eyes. “I was so self-centered. My mother did everything for the funeral while I lay in my room. They made me go to the funeral and I didn’t cry until they lowered him into the ground. Suddenly I wanted to jump in there, too. I deserved to die. Not him. I was the horrible person. Oh. God. Not him.”
A fresh round of sobs broke free and she buried her head into Eli’s chest, mortified to share this with him. He handed her a hankie when she quieted. “Why are you being so nice to me? I’m terrible. Mean-spirited. Uncharitable—”
“Inconsiderate, thoughtless, unkind, insensitive—” Eli cut in. “I know. I’ve been all of those things, too. But don’t you see? We’re human, not saints. We mess up. Make mistakes. The important thing is that we try not to repeat them.”
“I work hard at it every day. But it’s not enough. It’s never ever enough to be sorry about the past.” She turned her cheek and rested it against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.
“You need to stop apologizing,” he surprised her by saying.
“How can I when I can’t ever make up for what I did? For what I didn’t do.”
“You can’t change the past, and neither can I. So let’s work on the here and now. Maybe we could just be better people today. Be here for each other. How does dinner tonight sound...just you and me?”
Shock made her squirm around and look up. “Why would you?”
“‘Because the heart wants what it wants or else it does not care.’” He quoted Emily Dickinson. “I wasted too much time not caring—living half a life—until I met you, and I can’t go back.”
“But I’m—”
“Starting to bug me.” He cut her off with a swift, melting kiss. His mouth was firm on hers, unyielding, then he pulled her tight against him. She could feel the rapid beat of his heart, taste the tart sweetness of whiskey on his mouth. She wound her hands into his hair and felt his broad fingers cupping the back of her head. Her heart hammered, and there was a rushing sound in her ears, like beating wings.
She must have made some noise because he pulled back, his hands now on either side of her face, his eyes an exuberant blue.
“I’ve wanted to do that forever.”
She ran a tentative hand up his muscular arm. “Even now?”
“Especially now. May I pick you up at eight? We have lost time to make up.”
When she nodded, he laughed, a sharp, happy sound. He swooped in for another heart-stopping kiss. When he pulled away, her hand rose to her pounding heart.
A knock sounded on the window. Christie scrambled back to her corner of the seat and pinned back her fallen hair.
When Eli lowered the glass, their driver’s face appeared. “May I drive you two anywhere?”
“Just the lady, if you would, thanks. I need to catch a cab to Brooklyn.”
Eli raised the divide and pulled her into a breathless embrace. When he released her, he said, “Will you be all right? The Vaccaros asked me to stop by and say a few more words about John, but I can go home with you instead.”
Christie shook her head. He’d comforted her and now John’s family needed him.
Eli’s eyes searched hers. “I’ll see you in a few hours, then.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I’ve never been surer.” And with a wave he stepped out of the car and closed it behind him.
Christie collapsed against the seat. What had just happened?
“Where to, ma’am?”
She shook her head. Disoriented. Where was she going? For the first time, she hadn’t a clue.
It felt as though she’d taken her first step on a high wire. Her heart’s desire waited across from her. As long as she didn’t look down, she’d make it.
If she was a believer, a real one now, she’d trust in Eli not to let her fall.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“YOU LOOK BEAUTIFUL.” Eli pulled out a tan leather chair for Christie then moved to the opposite side of their white cloth-covered table. And she was. Under the rainbow prisms cast by Cipriani’s elaborate silver-and-crystal chandelier, she glowed. Her turquoise off-the-shoulder dress exposed the graceful expanse of her neck and set off the rich auburn hair she’d worn loose and full. Never had her green eyes looked deeper or more mesmerizing.
“And these are for you.” He handed her the wrapped package of red roses he’d hidden in his folded suit jacket. It had felt awkward carrying them that way, but the look of delight on her face was more than worth it.
She buried her face in the blooms then looked up, her white teeth flashing in the well-lit room. “They’re beautiful. Thank you so much. But—” her brows came together as she peered once more into the bundle “—they must have cost a lot. There are two dozen.”
“And you deserve ten dozen, at least, but that’s all they had left at the shop.” He shrugged his jacket back on. “I was late getting back from the wake.”
She reached across the table and rested her soft hand on his wrist. “How was that? I’m sorry I didn’t go with you. It was selfish not to. I could have—”
“Put on a smile instead of dealing with your feelings—the real ones? Do you think John would have wanted that?” He slid his hand into hers, loving the feel of her silken touch. It comforted him beyond imagining. It had been a bit rough at the wake. Telling stories about John had brought out laughter and tears among the attendees. Mostly, he’d missed his good friend.
She peered down at her flowers. “I should have paid my proper respects.”
“You did. Going to your first funeral since your brother’s...that took a lot of guts. John would have appreciated it.” He held her eye, wanting her to acknowledge that she’d been brave. Her breakdown was a breakthrough, her tears a step forward rather than a setback. Even he understood that, and he wasn’t a counselor. When she finally nodded, he continued. “As for the wake, mostly it was storytelling. Some really good ones. I’ll share them with you, but another time. Tonight let’s focus on us.”
Christie nodded again and gave his hand a quick squeeze.
“May I start you with something to drink while you look the menu over?” A man dressed in black slacks and a white dress shirt lifted their water goblets and poured water from a pitcher wrapped in green linen.
“Do you ha
ve sweet tea?” Christie smiled up at the waiter then quirked an eyebrow at Eli. He held in a laugh. A trendy New York dining spot like this would be the last place to serve their country favorite. Then again, it was the city.
“A Long Island Iced Tea?” The waiter had to raise his voice as a noisy group of what looked like Europeans and models pushed by, jostling him against the back of Eli’s chair. The server apologized, but he wasn’t to blame. Space at Cipriani’s was at a premium.
The lavishly decorated restaurant was long, narrow and filled to capacity with chatting, well-dressed patrons seated in slotted iron-backed booths, small, round tables or at the dark wooden bar. Lighting strips, elaborate antique mirrors and photographs taller than the patrons adorned the walls, while a dropped ceiling contained a collage of snapshots ranging from Sophia Loren to the city of Florence. The restaurant practically screamed Italy—a place he planned to take Christie someday. He smiled at the thought of them together on the coast of Tuscany, the jeweled waters matching her eyes.
“And you, sir?”
He blinked up at the waiter and gathered his thoughts. “A glass of red, the...ah...” He squinted down at the black leather wine list. “The 2007 Sassicaia. Actually, make that a bottle and two glasses.”
“Very good, sir.” The waiter gave him a polite smile and slipped out of the tight space.
“Is that a good wine?” Christie unfolded her napkin and draped it on her lap. “I’ve only had the kind out of a box.”
He couldn’t help laughing, his spirits fizzing like champagne. “Don’t think that would make the list here.”
She glanced around at the expensively clad diners then down at herself. When she raised her head, her face held a small frown.
He caught her hand in his. “You are the most gorgeous woman in this room.”
Her sigh sounded amused. “How do you always know what I’m thinking?”
“Lots of time and effort.”
She lowered her water and wiped the peach-colored smudge she’d left on its rim. “And how’s that working out for you?”