by Karen Ferry
At the end of the day, she is the one person I will be able to lean on when I feel the world crashing down on me the way it is at this very moment.
I am never letting her go, and I hope and pray that she won’t ever want me to.
Andreas begins to stir, and I put my hand on his, gripping it tightly.
“Prof? It’s me, Daniel . . . We’re here . . . Emma’s here, too. Can you hear me?” Leaning a bit closer, I watch as his eyelids flutter, and it feels as if it takes an eternity before he opens them and turns his head slowly. Blinking, he coughs, and the wheeze snaps my heart in two like a twig that’s being trod on.
“What . . . ? What happened?” he asks me, voice weak and tired. I don’t have any words right now. I’m afraid I’ll start crying soon if I open my mouth to answer him, and I shake my head, unable to answer him.
“The doctor told us that you had a heart attack while at the shop, Mr. Andersen,” Emma says quietly and comes to my rescue. She steps out from behind me and sits carefully down on the bed.
She puts a hand on top of mine, linking the three of us together, and I stare into her eyes, hoping that she can see how grateful I am for her presence.
“Aaah, I was afraid something like this would happen,” Andreas sighs.
My head snap back so that I can watch him more closely.
“What do you mean?” I ask him. Gone are the tears threatening to spill from my eyes. A nagging suspicion begins to take root instead. “Uncle? What aren’t you telling me?”
He lifts his other arm, trying to place it above our grip, but the movement is clearly too much for him, because it falls limply to his side, and he grunts.
He ignores my question and grumbles, “Well, this . . . this has definitely put a damper on my...my plans for the future.”
I narrow my eyes at him, but before I can ask him any more questions, Emma butts in, “That’s hardly important now, Mr. Andersen. Forget about your plans and please concentrate on getting well again, okay?”
She gives me a warning look, and I bite my tongue.
“I’m sorry, Prof. Emma’s right, all that can wait until later.”
Feeling his hand tighten on my own, he spits out, “No! It can’t! Emma . . . ” He turns to her, eyes pleading, and gasps, “Emma . . . You need to know this before . . . before it’s too late.”
Alarmed about the state he’s getting himself into, I press the alarm button by the headboard of his bed to ring for a nurse while trying to calm him down, and Emma stands from her seat and walks to the other side. Andreas’ eyes follow her, though, and seeing the tears dripping on her cheeks breaks my heart into tiny fragments. It hurts to watch her torment.
“Please, Uncle, please calm down,” I beg him and stand up quickly before I lean down so he can see the desperation I am feeling in my eyes.
“But, Daniel . . . ,” he protests feebly, and I know why he is panicking; I remember his plans about handing over the bookshop, his pride and joy, to Emma. It seems so long ago since he was standing in my kitchen, being all cryptic about it, when, in fact, it has only been a few short weeks.
“I know, Prof, I know,” I whisper back. It seems that I’m finally breaking through to him, because he closes his eyes and lets out a defeated sigh.
“Just don’t . . . don’t forget, Daniel. Promise me?”
“I promise . . . ”
Emma is standing in the doorway, no doubt waiting for the nurse to come and help us, when Andreas calls out to her.
“Emma, dear?”
“I’m here, Andreas,” she answers and scurries back to his side.
The last thing I thought I’d ever hear right now is my uncle’s attempt to laugh, and yet, here we are, witnesses as he chuckles weakly.
“Did it really have to take . . . to take a heart attack before you started calling me by my name, Emma?” he breathes.
For a beat, he’s greeted by silence, but Emma recovers quickly as usual.
“Well . . . ” She looks down and takes his hand again before meeting his gaze, eyes shy all of a sudden. “I guess we’re close to family now so I think it’s time I dropped the formalities, don’t you?”
My cheeks hurt from the wide smile I beam at her, proud as hell, and she blushes when she catches it.
Andreas nods slowly. “Indeed we are, my dear.”
Finally, a nurse walks briskly into the room, and I try to cover my relieved sigh by coughing. I’m not really listening as Emma begins to explain why we rang for her . . . I’m too lost in my own misery to take in what the nurse says to her while she examines Andreas further.
I’m exhausted, and, for the first time in my life, scared as hell that one of the closest people in my life is going to die before it’s his time.
Chapter 36
We took a taxi home when the nurse practically ordered us to leave Andreas to rest, but I know we’ll return tomorrow. Daniel didn’t say a word at all, and I understand his silence; he was clearly in shock about the state of his uncle, and so was I.
I’m drained, emotionally spent, and I suppose it’s no wonder, really, due to the events of the past 24 hours. Once we reach our home, Daniel remains silent and pays the driver, and we walk hand in hand upstairs. In silent agreement, I follow him inside his flat and quickly kick off my ballerinas and remove the hair tie holding in my wild curls.
I blow out a breath and wrap my arms around Daniel. His arms surround me and he presses his cheek against my hair, inhaling deeply.
“What a day,” I sigh, nuzzling closer to him, and I love the way he squeezes me briefly.
Answering me on a yawn, he nods, and I take a step back to take him in.
“Are you hungry? I could order us a pizza or something else?” I ask him.
He smiles, every feature on his face exhausted, clear for me to see.
“No, thank you,” he shakes his head. “To be honest, I just want to go to bed and you in my arms. Is that okay?”
I nod and kiss him quickly.
“Of course. I’ll just get ready for bed, okay?”
“Sounds good,” he replies and rubs his neck, a thoughtful expression in his eyes.
“What is it?” I frown, a bit concerned.
“Just wondering what we’re going to do with the shop while Andreas recovers,” he murmurs and lets his arm fall. “But let’s worry about the details tomorrow, sweetheart. A good night’s rest will probably help clear my head.”
I nod and kiss him again. This time, though, I linger, the tip of our tongues meeting briefly, before I unwrap myself from his embrace and leave him to do my nightly routine.
Once I’ve removed all my makeup, I take a good, long look at my face now that it’s free of its mask.
I know that Daniel doesn’t really care for all the black, and he hasn’t mentioned it in weeks now, but that hasn’t stopped me from wondering if he still hates it. To be perfectly honest, I can’t remember why I wear such heavy eyeshade anymore . . .
Perhaps it’s just become a habit of sorts?
Or have I unconsciously seen it as my armour when out in public?
Either way, maybe it’s time I start experimenting with a different kind of colour palette. I’ll ask Suzy to teach me a few new tricks.
But there’s a time and place for everything, and, right now, my place is next to Daniel.
I hurry to brush my teeth -- yes, I keep a toothbrush here -- and then leave the bathroom.
I find Daniel lying in bed already, arms behind his head as he seems lost in thought once more. I leave him to it and quickly strip until I’m naked and then remove the blanket to crawl in. He breaks free from whatever it is that keep the wheels turning in his head, and while his gaze is heated as always, the crease lines around his mouth are evidence of his tiredness.
I kiss the tip of his nose and say, “He’ll be okay, honey.”
“I hope so,” he answers quietly and swallows loudly. There are shadows of fear in his eyes, and my heart hurts for him. I want to take away his pain mo
re than anything else.
I caress his cheek with my thumb and whisper, “Rest, honey. We’ll work through everything in the morning.”
He nods and I turn my back on him so we’re in our usual sleeping position: spooning. My favourite.
Shortly after, I can feel his hand brush away my hair, followed by his lips. He kisses the ten stars tattooed on my neck, causing my body to erupt in goose bumps as usual, and I sigh and kiss his hand before placing it above my heart.
“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Daniel murmurs sleepily from behind me.
“Night, darling.”
I doubt it takes even a full minute before we’ve both drifted off to sleep.
The weekend passes in a blur, and although Daniel and I still spend our days together, between visits to the hospital and managing the shop, it feels as if we’ve hardly spoken more than a few words to each other. And don’t even get me started on the lack of intimacy between us . . . it’s at standstill, on an indefinite hold. To be honest, I’m not entirely sure why he’s distancing himself from me, but I don’t know how to approach him about it. I’m just as concerned about Andreas’ health as he is, of course, and I do understand the worry and turmoil Daniel must be going through -- I know how close they are -- but . . . well.
I miss him.
Moreover, I’m getting more and more nervous about us meeting my brother. My feelings towards Steven have not changed the past month, but much of my years-long anger has faded...
His betrayal still hurts like a bitch, though, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to forgive him for not believing in me.
For not protecting me once he learned the truth about Tom.
Will I ever be able to look my brother in the eye without the past coming back to spit in my face?
I hope so . . . If not for my own sake, at least for our parents’. The rift between us has probably hurt them more than I am able to comprehend, and I pray to the higher beings above that my future children will have a much better relationship with each other.
Wait, hang on . . . MY children?
I’m sitting at “Goat and Cow’s Tattoo Parlour” right now, scribbling down my thoughts in my ever-present journal when that last one causes me to stop.
Since when have I ever wanted children?
The answer is right there before me: since I met Daniel, and a slow smile creeps across my lips.
Well then . . . I’ve come a long way since he literally stumbled into my life.
“Emma Davenport?” a female voice shouts from the desk, breaking me free from my inner musings, and I stand up.
“Yes?” I answer and approach the gorgeous brunette who called out to me.
“Kristian is in the back, ready for you,” she tells me, and I turn my head in the direction she points before smiling at her.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” She leans conspiratorially towards me. “I can’t wait to see your tat.”
I laugh and walk away, almost skipping, and the familiar excitement about finally taking the first steps to having the dream catcher tattoo inked permanently on my skin thrills through me.
I may not suffer from the nightmare each night like before, but I still want the reminder on my skin. But it also serves another purpose than taking my bad dreams away from me -- every time I look at it, I will be reminded of the importance of chasing my dreams in the future.
Because now? Now I have the courage to follow them, make them come true.
When I see who the tattoo artist is, though, I stop dead in my tracks.
Shite . . . Of all the places in Copenhagen . . .
I clear my throat and knock on the doorframe, and he turns around. Once he sees me, his face lights up in a split-eating smile.
“Emma! Hi! It’s been a while,” he greets me and walks towards me. I don’t even know what to say when he puts his arms around me and kiss my cheek.
Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck!
Never in a million years did I think that I’d run into one of my past hook-ups, and especially not one who made it clear that he wanted more than just the one night we shared.
Just my rotten luck.
I pat him awkwardly on his back and he takes a step away.
“Oh, yes, hi . . . ,” I stammer and wish with all my heart that I could vanish into thin air right now.
“How are you?” he asks me and takes my hand to lead me further into the room to a leather bench.
“Good, good,” I answer absentmindedly, hoping with all my might that he won’t bring up the note he left on my kitchen counter.
“I was wondering if it was you when I saw your name in the calendar,” he continues and sits down on the chair opposite me, turning to face me. “You never got in touch with me,” he muses and rubs a fist over his heart. “Ouch.”
I shrug and take off my leather jacket.
“I told you at the club that I only did hook-ups,” I answer, avoiding his eyes as I sit down.
“True,” I hear him grumble and sigh a little before venturing a look at him.
He’s smiling sadly at me. “I guess I just hoped you’d break your rules for me.”
Oh gosh, this is so awkward . . . I cringe and smile apologetically at him.
“Sorry . . . “
An uncomfortable silence settles between us, and I turn my eyes to all the photos of clients getting ink hanging on the walls.
“Are you happy?” Kristian suddenly asks me, and I frown at him.
This is such a strange question coming from a man who didn’t even spend 12 hours with me.
“What an odd thing to ask . . . ,” I avoid his question, tucking a few stray hairs behind my ear.
He smiles gently at me. “I guess I wasn’t as drunk as you were when we met,” he mumbles, and it causes me to narrow my eyes suspiciously at him.
“I wasn’t that drunk,” I protest and cross my arms defensively.
He looks exasperated at me. “Of course not. I’m not into necrophilia, you know; if I’d thought for one second that you were completely sloshed, unable to make your own decisions, I’d never have gone home with you.”
Trying to unwind the tension in my shoulders, I nod. “I know. I didn’t mean to imply anything . . . you were very . . . ” Hesitating, I tilt my head. “ . . . sweet,” I finish, and even I can hear how lame it sounds.
Luckily, Kristian simply grins and then turns in his seat to grab a large notepad and a pencil.
“Any chance you want to have coffee with me after we’re done here?” he asks me, catching me off-guard completely.
Oh, shit.
“Kristian . . . ” I breathe out and he waits patiently for me to either refuse or accept him. “I’m sorry, but . . . since our night together, I’ve met someone . . . ” My voice trails off when he frowns unhappily at me.
He tries to cover it up, though, and gives me a lopsided grin before he sighs and fiddles with a few sheets of paper.
“He’s a lucky guy . . . ,” he mumbles and clears his throat.
“I hope he feels that way,” I whisper, and the way Daniel has been avoiding me the past few days enters my mind again.
“Well, if he doesn’t know how to appreciate a woman like you, you know where to find me,” Kristian says, winking at me, and I laugh for the first time that day.
Now I remember why I had sex with him; he’s a really good guy.
After my laughter has died down, I smile back at him. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” he assures me, and then inhales deeply. “Okay, you want to have a dream catcher inked on your ribs, right?”
I nod eagerly, happy to be back on track, and I begin to describe the design I want him to do for me, and he listens attentively at me. The sound of the pencil on paper is soothing, calming my nerves, and all I can think about is how significant a moment in my life this is.
I’m closing one door in my life only to open a window.
The first one is my past . . . the next is my future.
&n
bsp; And I can’t wait to face it.
After I left Kristian, I went to the hospital to visit Andreas, bringing a game of chess with me. He has been complaining about being completely bored, so I thought this might cheer him up. Luckily, all his tests have come back looking better than we feared, but it’ll take a long time before he’ll be able to come back to work again.
I’m sitting on a chair beside his bed, pondering my next move, when Andreas calls my name and I focus on him. He seems to be in a contemplative mood today, so serious and definitely not as chipper as usual.
“There’s something important I need to talk to you about,” he starts, catching my attention further.
I lean back and stare at him more closely.
“What is it?” I ask him.
“Before I tell you, I want you to know that Daniel is already aware of this -- has been for a while, actually -- but I made him promise me not to mention it to you. So don’t be mad at him for keeping this to himself, okay?”
“Okaaay,” I answer slowly.
Where the heck is this going?
“Good. The thing is that I have known for some time now that my health wasn’t as good as it used to be, and so I have been thinking that it might be a good idea for me to retire . . . ”
“Retire?” I interrupt him. “But . . . what about your shop? It’s your dream, your passion! You can’t turn the key and close it for the last time!”
He raises a hand from the duvet covering him. “Now, now, don’t worry about that. I’m getting to that part.”
“Sorry,” I grimace.
Me and my big mouth . . .
“As I was saying,” he continues, a twinkle in his eyes. “I know you love the place, my dear, and I want to hand over the reins of running it to you.”
A whoosh leaves my body, completely surprised by his words.
“Me?!” I ask him incredulously, pointing a finger at my chest. When he nods in the affirmative, I slump, completely taken aback by his generosity.
“But . . . I don’t know how to run a shop,” I reply feebly, thoughts running wild in my head. “I have no business degree, I don’t have your experience, and I don’t even live here!” Panicked, I get up from my seat to pace, ignoring his chuckle.