Terminal 19

by L. R. Olson

  “I’ve missed you,” I whisper.

  Slowly, she turns. Those gorgeous eyes meet mine. In Norway, I’d often wake before her, just to lay there, waiting for her to open her eyes so I could see what color they would be that day. They’re gray this evening. A stormy, beautiful gray.

  “I…I don’t understand,” she says. “Why are you here?”

  She looks confused, haunted. It’s so damn hard not to reach out, touch her, draw her closer. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Realization dawns in those hazel eyes. “Your mother? Did she share my private information?” I start to respond but she shakes her head, her anger mounting. “Not in here.”

  She turns and starts toward the door. Her steps are quick. For a brief moment I meet her sister’s gaze. She looks worried. I follow Hope outside. The cool night air whispers temptingly around us, bringing relief to my heated flesh.

  “You should have told me,” I say the moment the door closes.

  She pauses, facing the street, her arms crossed protectively around her. She looks so damn vulnerable I want to draw her into my arms. Tell her everything will be okay. “I couldn’t tell you.”

  “Hope, don’t you understand?” I step closer. “I wouldn’t have left you. I won’t. I—”

  “Exactly.” She spins around to face me. Tears well up in her eyes, sparkling like raindrops on her lashes. It physically hurts me to see her cry. “You would have pitied me, and I wouldn’t have known if you were with me because you wanted to be, or because you felt sorry for me.”

  I cup the side of her face. “Hjertet mitt,” I whisper. Touching her is like touching Heaven. “I didn’t invite you to Norway, to my home, to meet my mother, because I felt pity for you. I didn’t beg you to skip Sweden and stay with me an extra week out of the goodness of my heart. I did it because I want you. Need you. I love you, Hope.”

  I can feel her stiffen against me. She hesitates, looking so uncertain that it tears at me piece by piece. “And now that you know about me? About my lies? My half-truths?”

  “My feelings haven’t changed. You’re the same person. I’m the same person.” I press my forehead to hers and breathe in her scent. How I’ve missed that scent. “I made it clear that I wanted to be with you then, and I do now. No matter what.”

  And just when I think she understands, she pulls back, shaking her head and stumbling away from me. There’s a desperation to her gaze that worries me. She looks like an animal trapped, a wild creature about to bolt. “Just stop.”

  I take in a deep, calming breath. “I want to be with you, Hope. I’ve wanted to be with you since the moment I saw you in the café. When you looked into my eyes, that attraction was instantaneous.” I step closer to her, drawn to the woman. I feel it. I know she feels it. That connection. “I wanted to be with you when you confronted me at Rosenborg for following you. When you trusted me enough to let me take you to Norway. When—”

  “I’m not dying, okay!” She shoves her hands against my chest and pushes me away. Stunned, I merely stand there, sure I’ve misheard her. “Over a month ago I found out I’m in remission. And I’m trying to get my life together. I’m trying to figure things out. I don’t need to be with someone who feels pity for me!”

  Remission? Blood roars to my ears. I sway, feeling lightheaded. The shock I experience quickly fades into euphoria. Remission? She’s not going to die.

  “So see,” she whispers. “You don’t have to be here. You’re free to go.”

  She tries to move around me, and I’m so shocked, I almost let her go. I come to my senses as her shoulder brushes my arm and I reach out, grasping onto her hand. She stumbles into my body. She doesn’t fight me, but sinks into my arms. Her heart beats sure and strong. Her very heat, her very aliveness pulses against me, seeps into my cells.

  “You’re in…remission?”

  She swallows hard and looks up at me, her gaze so full of sorrow and pain and suffering that I want to slay dragons for her. Would do anything, everything, if it would just make her smile. “Yes.”

  I don’t speak. I’m too stunned. Not dying? I jerk her closer and wrap my arms around her…tightly. The blood pounds through my veins so hard, I feel dizzy. “You’re going to be okay?”

  She gives a little half shrug. “I hope, but who knows? It could come back. Which is why I’m telling you…you don’t have to be here. I’m letting you off the hook. Hell, I don’t want to have to deal with this bullshit, why should you?”

  I pull back, gripping her shoulders, unsure if I should be offended or amused. “Why should I? Do you think I don’t know what I want? That I don’t know my own feelings? Do you honestly believe I flew across the ocean just because of guilt or pity?”

  She hesitates, looking uncomfortable. “Why are you here, Christian?”

  “Why?” I laugh because she’s absurd and ridiculous and I love her anyway. “Because I love you, Hope. I know I can’t save you, I know there are no guarantees. But I can love you while you’re here…if you’ll just let me.”

  She searches my eyes, her own gaze wary, yet I see the gleam of wonder, of hope, inching its way across her features, and I know I’m close. So damn close to having her completely again. “And what happens if I get sick?”

  “Then we be thankful for whatever time we had together.” I reach up, tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear, my fingertips lingering along the delicate shell. “Hope, there are no guarantees. There is only today. Just today. Spend today with me.” I hold out my hand. “What do you say?”

  Epilogue

  Live

  Live Well

  “Excellent choice. He’s a new artist, and I have no doubt the world will soon be clamoring for his work,” I say, giving the older woman a smile. It’s a rehearsed speech, but true. Valerie, the gallery owner, only shows artists she believes in completely, and her instincts are usually spot on.

  As the woman reaches into her purse Ben gives me a quick grin. He’s thinking about the commission we’ll be receiving. I grin back. Ben got me this position when I was complaining about how hard it was to find a job as an American with no college degree. We’ve started up our club nights again, although most times it’s just me, Christian, Ben and his boyfriend. Fiona is gone and Jessica too busy with Sebastian.

  “Will you be taking the piece now,” he asks in his sophisticated French accent. I swear people would buy anything from him just because of his accent. He knows nothing about art, but they believe he does. “Or would you like it sent to your home?”

  She pets the small, white dog she has tucked under her arm. She’s rich, and bored. Our perfect customer. “I’ll have it shipped.”

  “Wonderful,” he says. “Let’s head to the back and we’ll fill out your paperwork.”

  The woman sashays toward the office, leaving behind the scent of expensive perfume. I glance at the clock. Noon. “I’m going to lunch.”

  “Have fun!” Ben leans closer. “You deserve it after that sale.”

  He’s right. It took all of my charm, and I’m not exactly swimming in charm, to get that woman to relent. He scurries after her, looking so chic in his fitted charcoal suit. He’s not about to let her out of his sight until he swipes that credit card.

  With a grin, I grab my camera bag from behind the counter and head toward the door. The gallery is modern Europe, the white walls doing their best to show off the bright works of art. It’s so quiet and sophisticated and makes me feel like an adult. Working here has forced me to be social.

  I step outside and smooth down my black, pencil skirt. The air is crisp, wet from the shower we had earlier. Everything smells so clean, so fresh. Spring in Europe is amazing. It’s like the perfect movie I don’t want to end. I check my phone as I head down the sidewalk.

  Meet you in the park. Say around 12?

  I hurry my steps. The wind tugs at my polka dot blouse, and teases my hair. When I’d arrived months ago in Copenhagen I wasn’t sure what I’d do with my life. I was a lost ship, bobb
ing on a sea of possibilities.

  A year ago, the idea of moving to Europe seemed like a ridiculous dream. Impossible. Oddly enough, everything has settled into place, almost as if I was meant to be here. Perhaps the clues were here all along, but I wasn’t open to them, wasn’t looking. I’m starting to realize now, that anything is possible.

  Mom wasn’t exactly happy about my decision to move, but I’m an adult. A healthy adult, and I think she knew it was time to let go. Really, she just wants me to be happy. It doesn’t hurt that I’ve already bought my ticket to visit them this summer. To appease my mom and my doctor, I still go to the medical clinic to have blood drawn and scans taken, but those days are few and far between.

  I cross the road and enter the park. Rosenborg looms in the distance, always there, always stately, always waiting. And it will still be here when we’re all dead and gone. But that thought doesn’t depress me as it used to. Nope. I’m living in the moment. Taking things day by day.

  A mother pushes a buggy down a path. Two old men sit chatting on a bench. On the grass a couple relaxes, stealing kisses. Behind them a family is having a picnic. The tourists started arriving a couple weeks ago. They come in surges, here one moment, gone the next. I hope they have time to truly appreciate the city, soak it in, instead of scurrying from site to site.

  Despite my worry that I’ll be late, my steps slow. A mass of purple and white crocuses travel like a carpet runner toward Rosenborg. Birds are chirping. A soft breeze shifts through the park, fluttering the recently unfurled leaves.

  I lift my camera and take a picture. The air smells delicious here, like rain and sweet blooms. I sink onto a bench and close my eyes. I just want to rest in the moment. To breathe in the possibilities. Peace settles around me, a lightness that warms my soul, that makes me feel free.

  Right, the breeze seems to say. This is so right.

  “There you are!”

  The familiar voice makes me smile. I open my eyes and jump to my feet just as she reaches me. “Gabby!”

  We throw our arms around each other, hugging tightly. The wall is gone now. Completely destroyed, ruined and I don’t mind in the least. My emotions flow unheeded and pure. Who knew…I actually like to hug?

  I pull back. “It’s been forever.”

  “I know!” she says.

  The man at her side laughs. “You just saw each other a month ago.”

  His English accent is so sexy that it adds to his appeal. He’s tall, with light brown hair and a regal appearance that is at a complimentary opposite to Gabby’s excited warmth. He rakes his hand through his hair, then wraps his arm around Gabby’s waist as she leans into him and smiles. She’s practically aglow when she’s with him. He’s sarcastic and charming and treats her amazingly well. I love him. I love them together. Who would have thought that I’d one day have couple friends?

  “Like she said,” Gabby adds. “It’s been forever.”

  He shakes his head in exasperation.

  “I heard about your sale!” she says, as we all settle on the bench. “That’s great!”

  I shrug, feeling sheepish and shy. “It wasn’t much, but it was something.”

  She takes my hands. “It’s amazing.”

  I grin. Knowing one of my photographs is hanging in a library definitely makes me feel as if I’ve accomplished something. Even if it is just a small library in a small town. “Thanks.”

  “Did you sign up for classes?” Mark asks.

  I nod. “Yeah, just two, but it’s a start.”

  “It’s a great start!” Gabby exclaims.

  She’s always been, and will always be, my cheerleader. She’s the kind of friend everyone should have. Everyone deserves. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her in a bad mood. If I can be half as awesome as she is, I’ll be content.

  “Well,” she says slyly. “We have another surprise.”

  I watch her curiously as she pulls a magazine out of her bag. “I saw this at the airport.”

  My heart leaps in my chest. Is it already out? I take the Travel the World magazine and flip it open to where she has a post-it. Two pages. Three beautiful, crisp, clear photos of Florida beaches. My photos. And underneath those photos...Hope Reynolds.

  “It’s me.”

  Gabby and Mark laugh. I blush. My mom is going to freak out. She’ll show all the neighbors within a ten mile radius. They can’t even begin to understand how wonderful it feels to know that my name is out there. That no matter what happens…I’ll go on in some way. Sure, the pay isn’t great, but I don’t even care.

  “I just can’t believe it,” I say. “I know they accepted them, but it wasn’t real until I saw the magazine.”

  “You should be in there,” Mark says. “You’re talented.”

  And I grin because I know he means it. He has no reason to kiss up to me; he’s blunt and honest. Coming from anyone else I might not be sure. “Thank you.”

  “And…” She glances at Mark. He nods. “They’re buying your Norway photos. For the December issue.”

  I squeal and throw my arms around Gabby again. Money, I’m making real money. I have a career. I have friends. I have a life. I’m not stupid enough to think I could have done this all on my own. I had help. No man is an island, right?

  We might die alone, but to live, to truly live, we have to surround ourselves with others.

  ****

  I know he’s home even before I hear him. My body comes to life, sparking with electricity when he’s near. There’s a strange connection between us that used to make me uneasy. The kind of connection I’ve never had with anyone before. We’ve never talked about it, but I know he feels it too. I’ve learned to accept it for what it is…inexplicable magic.

  I remain curled up on the window seat that overlooks the cobbled road below, a book on my lap. Even though it’s chilly, the windows are open to allow fresh air inside. Scandinavians love fresh air, and I’m not going to complain. In the distance are steep roof peaks and just a hint of the trees near Rosenborg.

  Who would have thought that a woman like me would end up moving to Europe? Would live in a cute little apartment a couple blocks from a castle? Who would have thought a woman like me would be given a second chance to fall in love?

  I sense him enter the living room of the one-bedroom apartment we share. It’s not big, but it’s enough to hold a window seat, sofa and a small piano. He brings with him the scent of rain and clean, warm, male. With a grin, I turn to face him. He’s leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, watching me with that crooked smile in place. My heart leaps with joy.

  Six months. We’ve technically been a couple for about six months now. For four months we’ve been living together. It was awkward for me to share an apartment with someone at first, but now I can’t imagine living with anyone else, living anywhere else.

  When he showed up at my exhibit last year, I thought I’d dreamt him into existence. Gone insane, because there was no possible way that he’d flown all the way to Florida for me. But he had. He’d crossed oceans for me. He’d accepted me as I am…good and bad, healthy and unhealthy. He hadn’t given up on me. On us.

  I lift my book. “I’m finally reading Walden.”

  He moves across the room. The jeans and thin gray sweater he wears hug his muscled body. “I see that.”

  Even though I know he’s going to kiss me, I’m never prepared. How can I prepare? He leans over, his scent whispers to me, and then his lips mold to mine. A soft, gentle kiss. A warm shiver races through me. I will never get used to his touch, his scent, his mouth. “Ben said you sold a painting today.”

  “Maybe.” I grin. I’m not going to be rich anytime soon, but between my job and my photography sales, I can at least contribute toward the rent of our little, wonderful apartment. “And Gabby brought me this.”

  I grab the magazine that’s on the small side table nearby. He settles next to me on the window seat and flips it open. That lop-sided smile appears. “They’re beautiful.”

&n
bsp; The very day we’d moved into our apartment, he’d hung my photographs on the walls. I’ve never once doubted that he is thrilled for me every time I accomplish something. My wins are his wins. I take the magazine and place it on the table. “And I made lasagna.”

  He draws his fingertips down the side of my face in a gentle caress. “It was my turn to cook.”

  I set Zach’s book on the table, next to my magazine, then lean into him, pressing my mouth to his. “You Scandinavians and your sexual equality.”

  He leans back in the window seat and pulls me closer. “Of course, we take feminism very seriously.”

  “Is that why you made me be on top last night? Equality in and out of the bed?”

  He grins. “Something like that.”

  I settle against his chest. Nestled together on the window seat, we watch the scenery below. Locals head home from work. Tourists mingle outside, taking photographs. When he leans down, I reach up, wrapping my arms around his neck. He kisses me long and hard while the soft, spring breeze whispers through the windows, fluttering the curtains. While the tourists chat outside. While church bells chime. While bicycle bells ring.

  Devastating.

  There’s something about his kiss that absolutely devastates me. That pierces my soul, that hums through my cells and makes me feel alive. When he pulls away, he’s quiet, thoughtful. I know there’s something wrong. He brushes the hair back from my face, tucking it behind my ears.

  “Are you worried about your recital?”

  He shakes his head. “No. I’m looking forward to it.” He takes my hand, playing with my fingers, although I don’t think he realizes what he’s doing. He’s lost in thought. “They’ve given Sebastian about a week to live.”

  I don’t respond. There’s nothing to say. Instead, I rest my head on his chest, listen to the steady beat of his heart, and stare outside. He tightens his arms protectively around me. We’re quiet for a few minutes, letting the heaviness settle around us. We know this could have been me. I can’t stop thinking about Jessica. Jessica with the sad eyes. Will she return home? Will she be able to find happiness again?