by Densie Webb
“Mack!” She can’t hear me. “Mack!” I come up behind her and gently tap her on the shoulder. She lets out a high-pitched squeal and levitates off the floor.
She turns around to face me. “Oh my god, Andie,” she says, slapping her hand against her heart, “you scared the crap out of me.”
“Sorry. You were busy ‘gettin’ jiggy wit it.’ ”
“So now you know what I do when you’re not here.” She plops down on the sofa to catch her breath. Stacks of boxes are piled in the corner. She’s getting ready to move on to her new life. In Chicago. With Chester. Movers are scheduled for later today and her flight leaves tomorrow. I’ve already told her I can’t see her off at the airport. I’m not strong enough to watch her disappear from view. We’ll say our goodbyes tonight.
I head to the kitchen. “I’m going to make a fresh pot. You want some?” I’m faking it, acting like this is just another day, though it’s anything but.
“Sure, I’ll take another cup.”
While it’s brewing, I stare out the kitchen window. There’s a clear view into the window of the apartment across from us. A couple is dressed for work, kissing before they head out to face the day. She straightens his tie. He reaches around and affectionately squeezes her butt. A normal couple, making it through every day with everyday joys, everyday worries. Will that be Vincent and me? It’s hard to imagine, but if hope can make it happen…
“Listen, Andie, there’s something I wanted to tell you,” she says from the living room. “I thought you might want to tell your boyfriend.” I hear the smile in her voice.
She walks over to the kitchen doorway.
“Tell Vincent what?
She leans into the room; the smile is gone.
“I saw his friend Nicholas last night.” She utters it like an apology.
I lean against the kitchen counter for support.
“Chester and I were checking out this place down on Bleecker and he was there slumped over the bar.”
“Did you talk to him?” I ask, as calmly as I can. Please don’t say you talked to him. Mack doesn’t know just how dangerous he is right now.
“Yeah, but just for a minute. Andie, he didn’t look good. He kept ordering shots, but he didn’t seem drunk. I wondered if he might be using. He was disheveled, like he hadn’t run a brush through his hair in a week. At first I thought maybe it was some homeless doppelganger, until he said something to the bartender and I heard the accent.”
“What did he say?”
“Not much. I asked if he remembered me. He said yes, but he was acting so weird, like he was keeping his distance. Anyway, he asked me to give you a message to pass on to Vincent.”
“Okay.” My heart is racing.
“He said, ‘Tell Vincent I’m still trying.’ ”
“That’s it?”
“Yeah. Do you know what he was talking about?”
“No, but I’m sure Vincent will. What was the name of the bar?”
“Cheese something. Chester will remember.” I’ll text it to you.”
I have to tell Vincent, but I don’t know if he’ll run out to find Nicholas and bring him back or if he’ll be paralyzed with guilt for not being able to save him. I can’t picture the Nicholas that Mack described. If this is what Vincent constantly battles within himself, then maybe defeat is inevitable without the cure.
He had described to me his own inner struggle as ocean waves crashing against a lighthouse, each wave a test of strength. But even the most stubbornly solid structure eventually succumbs to strong winds, waves, sea spray. And time.
Mack leaves to take care of some last-minute details and I’m left sipping my coffee until it gets cold, ruminating over everything—Mack packing up and moving to Chicago with her newfound love, the chance for Vincent to jumpstart a new life with me. My altered future. Nicholas’ downfall.
So much for taking control.
****
When I get to the office, I look around, expecting to find Peter wandering the halls.
“Tyler, can you bring up the latest layout for the issue in about twenty minutes so we can review? I have to make a phone call first.”
“Not a problem.”
I go into my office, set my things on the desk, take out my cell and call Peter.
“Hello?”
“Peter?”
“No,” he says, his voice trembling. “It’s Zach.”
“Zach, this is Andie. Is Peter okay?”
He whispers. “No.”
That single word tells me the horrible truth. I take a deep breath.
“He started running a fever in the middle of the night. I took him to the ER and they kept him for a few hours, brought the fever down, but then…they sent us home.” There’s a silent pause. “He just wanted to take a nap. He…he went into cardiac arrest in his sleep. My Petey’s gone.”
Zach begins to sob
“Oh, Zach, I’m so sorry. Just…just let me know if there’s anything I can do.” It’s such a lame thing to say. But it’s what people always say, even when they know with a gut-wrenching certainty there’s nothing they could possibly do to make anything better. “Please let me know when the service is. I want to be there.”
I slog through the workday, with Peter never far from my mind. Tyler is even quieter than usual, but we somehow manage to get the work done. When Patty sticks her head in the office after lunch, I expect her to at least ask about Peter. Instead, she says, “So, are we on schedule for the issue? When can I expect the galleys?”
It hits me like an anvil dropped on my head from four stories up. I want to say in a snide tone, “Peter’s dead, by the way.” But I don’t. “Everything’s on schedule. You want me to come by later and bring you up to date?”
As the day is winding down, Vincent calls. The soothing sound of his voice is exactly what I need.
“I’d like to send a car to pick you up, so you don’t have to take the subway,” he says.
“Why?”
“I’m just anxious to see you.”
I want to tell him about Mack running into Nicholas, but I’ve already met today’s quota for revelations and heartache.
I’m emotionally wrecked and running late. I push through the revolving doors and as I step out onto the sidewalk, I spot a black sedan, a driver slouching against the hood, smoking a cigarette. When he spots me looking around expectantly, he throws the cigarette to the curb, stands up and straightens his cap. He discreetly holds up a small sign “Antoinette.” As the driver opens the door for me to get in, my phone rings. I slide into the back seat and dig out my phone from my purse and look at the number. It’s Patty.
“Hello?”
“Andie, listen, we have a problem.”
The world according to Patty—there’s always a problem. Peter basically told me as much that first day when we ran into each other in the hallway outside her office. I let her run through her litany of worries and occasionally say, “okay,” “you’re right,” “of course, I’ll take care of that.” But, I’m going to worry about all that tomorrow. When she finally winds down, I see that Vincent has texted, but we’re already pulling up to his place. The driver double parks, jumps out, and opens the door for me.
I pull my wallet from my purse, but he smiles. “No, ma’am. Mr. Dubois has taken care of it.”
Mr. Dubois takes care of pretty much everything.
Chapter 53
Vincent
Kit, the young man who has delivered flowers for us for the last five years was late this morning. That’s when it dawned on me that nothing for the shop would be for “us” any longer. No longer a Vincent and Nicholas esprit de corps. Andie’s entry into my world has severed that “us” and created a new “us.”
Kit had wandered in an hour late, bags under his eyes, his long hair unbrushed, insisting his mother was in the hospital. My hunch was that he was hung over. Right then I didn’t care about his truth. I just wanted to load the van with the day’s orders and lock up. I had a d
elivery of my own to make.
“Kit, when you’re done with the deliveries, drop the keys through the mail slot. I’m going out for a few hours.”
“You got it,” he said, clearly relieved he still had a job.
I left him to it and wandered down Broadway. I had passed by a certain jewelry store many times on my way to and from the shop. I had glanced at the window display and was filled with envy as happy couples crossed the store’s threshold. Their happiness always triggered my own memories of courtship and love, inflaming my eternal sadness. But not today.
Today, someone would watch me, covet my joy. Last night, I offered Andie only the promise of a vial of brown liquid as a symbol of my love. But tonight, I will surprise her in the amber ambiance of candlelight and champagne—the way it should be.
I stand in front of the display, before pressing the button and being buzzed in. The door slowly closes, clicks and locks behind me.
“Good afternoon, how may I help you?” The salesman, dressed smartly in a dark suit, a starched light blue shirt, a navy tie, and what look like expensive shoes, stands guard over the jewelry case. He would be horrified if he knew that neither he nor his security guard could stop me if I decided to look them in the eye and take whatever I wanted.
I wouldn’t, of course, but it’s odd to think that soon that power will be gone. I’ve always congratulated myself each time I didn’t use my powers to take advantage of the defenseless. But soon I will be one of them, only I will not be oblivious to the powers of evil that exist in the world, lurking, waiting.
“There is a ring in the window, the emerald-cut diamond with teardrop rubies on the sides.”
“Ah, yes. One minute.” He walks briskly to the window, unlocks the case and leans in. He carefully removes the ring display, double checking to be certain the case is locked and gingerly makes his way back to me, as if the ring were fragile, breakable.
“Is this the one?” he says as he slides it over to me with a grand gesture.
“Yes. Yes it is.” It’s perfect.
I reach out and stop short. “May I?”
“Of course.”
The delicate ring looks terribly out of place in my hand, but I can picture it perfectly on Andie’s slender finger.
“I’ll take it.” I reluctantly give it back to him.
He places it back in the box, shuts the lid and sets it aside. “Would you like to see the price?”
He discreetly writes on a piece of paper and slips it in my palm. I barely glance at it. It would be a bargain no matter the cost.
“Yes, that’s fine.” I pick the box up again and open it. The pure white diamond with perfect clarity and the dark, blood-red rubies surrounding it is an ideal symbol of our unlikely coupling.
He hands me a form. “Just think about what you would like to have inscribed, fill out the form and we’ll take care of it.”
I don’t have to ponder the words. I know exactly what I want to say to my beloved.
I fill out the form and leave the store to choose a magnum of champagne, a dozen tapered ivory candles and a beautiful silver Dansk candleholder for the occasion. When I return to the jewelry store, Andie’s ring is ready and the gentleman who had helped me is clearly pleased with himself as he presents it to me on a velvet tray to inspect the inscription.
He stands, his hands clasped together in anticipation.
I rotate the ring to read the words, tu es à moi et je suis à toi written just as I had instructed. The inscription in the platinum band is lovely, as if it were hand scripted by me. I imagine the intake of her breath as I slip the ring on her finger.
“Thank you.”
He smiles and nods slightly as much to acknowledge his success as my pleasure.
“The ring box?” I ask, assuming he will provide the one he first brought out with the ring.
“Yes, we have several to choose from.”
He bends down to open a cabinet beneath the display and sets a container on top of the glass. In it, a large selection of ornate boxes of every imaginable size, shape, color and design.
“We work with local artists. Each is one of a kind.”
I spot it immediately. A silver globe—of the moon. It snaps open at the middle to reveal a black velvet cushion for the ring. I want to offer her the universe, but the moon will have to do.
He slips the ring inside and displays it in his palm to show me.
“Let me be the first to say, ‘Congratulations, Mr. Dubois.’ ”
****
I walk into my closet to peruse my wardrobe; unsure what one wears on such an occasion these days. The last time I proposed, I wore a tailcoat and vest, a high collar and a cravat. I’ll have to tell Andie. It will surely set off her laughter.
This shouldn’t be so difficult. I finally decide to wear the same simple white T-shirt and jeans I wore the first time I convinced her to join me for a drink at Lizzie Borden’s. The first time I kissed her. The kiss that led us both to this moment in time.
Once dressed, I set the stage, placing two cut crystal champagne flutes on the table, putting the slender candles in the holder, lighting them, and arranging the black orchids I brought from the shop—they’re not the black orchids, but they perfectly symbolize the threshold we are about to cross together.
I open the ring box once, twice, three times to be sure it won’t stick. Each time I envision the look on Andie’s face as she first sees it, it makes me indescribably happy. I set the box on the table, behind the vase and glance at the time. She should be arriving soon.
I text her. When she doesn’t respond, I call, but it goes to voice mail. She should have been here by now, even considering traffic. I decide to call one more time before I blow out the candles, and I hear the ringing just outside the door. The key I gave her turns in the lock and she walks in, as she answers the phone, “I’m sorry I can’t talk right now. I’m at my boyfriend’s and he’s the jealous type.”
She drops her things on the floor and comes to me. Only when she is here in my arms do I understand how incomplete I feel without her. She stands on her tiptoes and desperately places her lips on mine.
She backs away. Her lip quivers as she says, “Peter died last night.” Her tears well up. My timing is horribly wrong.
“What happened?”
“Zach says Peter went into cardiac arrest and…that was it. I can’t believe it. He was just in the office…” She wipes the tears away and stands straighter. “But, maybe it saved him from a lot of suffering, you know?”
“I’m so sorry, Andie. Truly.”
She shakes her head. “Will you go to the service with me?”
“Of course.”
Her phone rings. She looks over her pile of things on the floor, says, “It’s Patty. No way.” She kisses me again, longer this time; I taste her sadness. When she finally breaks away, she glances at the table.
“Very nice.” She gives me a valiant smile. “What’s all this for? Were we supposed to be celebrating?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact we are.”
Chapter 54
Andie
He pours us each a glass of bubbly, hands me my glass, holds his up and looks at me, his eyes full of love. I feel I could sprout wings and fly, fly away to a place where neither of us will ever again suffer unimaginable loss, never be abandoned, never again be hurt. Somewhere where my parade of fears would be stopped dead in its tracks.
“My timing is not ideal, but…” He stands up straighter and clears his throat. “Antoinette Rogé, there is only one happiness in life, to love and be loved. To love someone deeply gives you strength. Being loved by someone deeply gives you courage. You are my strength and my courage. I carry your heart in my heart.”
He clinks his glass against mine. I can’t stop staring; his too-perfect features still have the power to startle me.
“Andie,” he leans in and whispers, “it’s not a toast until you drink.”
I take a sip, but I’m too overwhelmed to swallow. I
set the glass on the table, cover my mouth with my hand, and force the champagne past the lump in my throat. “Vincent, that was—"
He smiles, puts his finger to my lips silencing me.
He reaches behind the vase of black orchids, the significance of which hasn’t escaped me, and pulls out—a silver moon?
“It’s beautiful, Vincent. I reach out, but before I can take it, he is down on one knee, opening the delicate orb. Nestled inside is a ring.
“Antoinette Rogé, will you do me the honor of becoming Mrs. Vincent Arnaud Dubois?”
He slips the stunning diamond and ruby ring on my finger, kisses my hand.
A single tear rolls down my cheek. He stands, puts the two halves of the moon back together and places it in my hand.
“To the moon and back, my love.”
I hold my hand out to get a better look at the ring. It’s unique, but somehow a timeless classic.
“I love you, Vincent Dubois. Too much, I think.”
“There is no such thing as ‘too much.’ ”
I lean in and whisper in his ear, “But I’m keeping my last name.”
He smiles and shakes his head before he says, “Shall we?” He bows, extends his hand and pulls me to him. He places his hand on my waist and guides me around the room to an unheard tune before burying his face in my hair and kissing the back of my neck. I want to push aside the pain of the past, postpone the future. I just want to savor this moment. Peter’s death has reschooled me in one of life’s ugliest lessons—happiness can be snatched from your hands in an instant, no matter how tight your grip. Now is the perfect time to begin our life together
****
Lips to lips, tongue to tongue, skin to skin. The ring, and what it symbolizes, has upped the voltage. As we lie in bed, my head resting on his chest, I hold my hand up in the air, so we can appreciate the ring together. Each time I look at it, I feel a surge of emotion for what Vincent is willing to endure so that we can be together. I never imagined anyone could love me this much.