by Serena Grey
“He obviously wants you back.” She offers.
“Yes but…” I sigh. “I don’t know if I can trust him. For him, it’s all about sex.”
“Honey,” Bea chuckles, “A guy who looks like that doesn’t have to drive thirty minutes for sex.”
“So you think…” I don’t say the words, they mean too much.
“Yeah, I think he does love you, a guy who’s not interested forgets about you as soon as he’s out of the door.” She says with a sniff, “Trust me, I know.” She smiles reassuringly. “But give it some time, Sophie. Think about it, and maybe talk to him okay? Before you make any decisions.”
The next day, I finish early from work and take a cab to David’s office in Seattle. It occurs to me, as I stand on the sidewalk in front of the impressive building, that in the short time David and I were together, I never came here. I shake my head. On the surface, that’s another argument for the fact that our marriage wasn’t really a marriage at all, and even though I know now that the main reason why we never really went out together had to do with issues David was facing with his company at that time, it still feels odd.
The security guard directs me to the main reception, where I get some curious glances form the front desk personnel. I expect them to call, to confirm from someone in David’s office that he would want to see me. However, the efficient looking girl in charge hands me an access card almost as soon as she hears my name, even though I used my maiden name.
“Why don’t you show Mrs…Ah…Miss Bennett to the elevators?” She asks one of the security guards.
So they know who I am, I think as I follow the guard to one of the elevators. Had David always anticipated that one day I’d come here wanting to see him, and taken steps to make himself accessible to me? I frown, more confused even than last night. When it comes to David, I don’t know what to think anymore.
A pair of glass security doors slide open almost as soon as I step out of the elevator, and I walk into the large reception area. The receptionist smiles a greeting at me, but before I can talk to her, David’s assistant, Linda Mays, emerges from behind another set of wide glass doors, impeccable as always in a white silk blouse and another beautiful pencil skirt.
“Hello, Mrs. Preston.” She says, her smile almost managing to crack her efficient manner.
“Please,” I shake my head. “Sophie.”
She shrugs elegantly, “Well come in.” She says, leading me inside the office floor. “Mr. Preston has been in a conference call, but it should be over in a few seconds,” She gives me a look, “So he doesn’t know you’re here, yet.”
I nod, wondering if David will be pleasantly surprised or whether he’ll feel the opposite. I follow Linda to a door at the end of the floor, past an office where a guy in a suit and nerdy glasses is talking emphatically into an earpiece.
“That’s Cole.” Linda tells me, gesturing towards the guy, “He’s Mr. Preston’s other assistant.”
The guy looks up at us and smiles, but keeps talking into his earpiece.
We stop in front of an opaque glass door. Linda glances at her phone screen. “You can go in now.” She says, surprising me with another small smile.
“Thanks.”
She leaves me standing at the door. I take a deep breath and push it open, stepping into David’s office.
It’s larger than any office I’ve ever been in, with about three different seating areas each one larger than my living room. There’s a huge screen with various news channels showing all at once, and a huge desk, which dominates the room from the center. It’s an office for a successful man, a powerful one. A man who can have anything he wants, anyone he wants.
What am I doing here?
I step farther inside the office, letting the door swish shut behind me. David is seated behind the desk, his back to me, and his face turned towards the glass windows that look out onto the city.
“Yes Linda?” he says, not bothering to turn around. He sounds tired, and I get the feeling that he would rather be alone.
“It’s me David.”
He shoots out of his chair, turning to look at me, his expression turning from surprise to wariness, before the shutters come down, and his face is unreadable again. “What are you doing here?” he asks.
Last night you said you love me, David, is that true?
The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t say them, instead, I shrug. “I wanted to talk.” I say lightly, “and I thought it would be nice to see where you work.”
“Did you?” He regards me coolly, his impassive mask already making him look distant, as if just yesterday he didn’t say the three little words that made my heart almost explode.
I nod.
“Well now that you’ve seen where I work,” He says, “What do you want to talk about?”
I move forward, towards the desk. “I’d like to know that this won’t end like our ‘talking’ did at the restaurant.”
His eyebrows go up, and he chuckles, eyes glinting dangerously. He seems so in control, so relaxed, while I’m still reeling from what he said last night. He leaves his place behind the desk and walks towards me until he’s so close I can feel the heat from his body. I stiffen automatically. Being this close to him does things to me, things I shouldn’t even be contemplating.
“I wouldn’t touch you unless you ask.” He says with a shrug, turning to go back to his desk. “I was just about to leave.” He continues. “So you should tell me whatever it is you want to say. Although,” he pauses. “If it’s another request for me to stay away from you, perhaps you shouldn’t bother. I’m done banging my head against that particular wall.”
I can’t believe what he’s saying. He can’t mean that he’s just going to let go, even after last night”
You said you love me David.
I swallow. “I…” Why am I stammering? “Where’re you going?”
He shrugs indifferently. “Home.” He replies, “Where did you think?” He gives me a look. “Perhaps there’s something about being around you that exhausts me.” He adds wearily. “I’d ask you to come with me, but I wouldn’t want to scare you.”
“I’m not scared.” I reply. “You said you wouldn’t touch me unless I asked.”
“And you believe me?”
“Shouldn’t I?”
He shrugs again.
“Well then… since I’m sure I won’t ask, there’s no reason why I should keep you here when we can talk at… your apartment.” I smile at him.
Downstairs Steve is already waiting outside the front of the building. As soon as he sees us, he opens the door of a black SUV parked behind him on the sidewalk. I follow David inside, smiling in reply to Steve’s greeting. I notice that when his eyes fall on David, his expression turns to one of concern.
Once we’re inside the car, I turn to David, and notice that he’s sweating.
Why is he sweating? I can’t be having that much of an effect of him, can I?
“Are you all right?” I ask.
He turns to me, his eyes momentarily unfocused. “I’m fine.” He says tersely.
The drive to the apartment is short. As I climb out of the car. I falter for a second, assaulted by the memories and emotions rising in my chest as I take in the familiar building.
David walks ahead of me, then stops and turns around. “Are you coming?” he asks.
I nod and follow him. He doesn’t touch me, and I find myself missing the way his hand would linger at the small of my back when we walked together. It feels strange, being so close and yet so far.
The doorman beams at me, smiling as if I haven’t been gone for months. I smile back at him, trying to keep up with David, who, as usual, makes straight for the elevators.
“How does it feel to be back, Mrs. Preston?” David asks mockingly, as we start to ascend.
I shrug. “I’m not back.” I say.
He smiles without humor and turns away from me. I notice that he’s leaning on the metal railing and despite how
cool it is, he still has a sheen of sweat on his skin.
“David...” I say, concerned. “What’s wrong?”
He laughs bitterly. “Nothing.” He says sharply, dismissing my question, “Everything is just perfect.”
Upstairs, the familiar apartment is empty. I look around the familiar space, trying to keep my emotions in check. “Where’s Mrs. Daniels?’ I ask.
“It’s her day off.”
“Oh.” I watch as he drops unto a couch in the living room and closes his eyes.
“Would you like something to eat?” I ask.
He opens his eyes and gives me a measuring look. “You’re being such a dutiful little wife today, honey,” he says drily, “So concerned for my welfare.” He snorts. “How can I say no?”
I ignore his tone and go into the kitchen to find something for him to eat. Mrs. Daniels always has something in the fridge ready for the microwave. I find a dish wrapped in tinfoil with fish and some sort of sauce. Working fast, I warm it up and put it on a tray.
Back in the living room, David seems to have fallen asleep.
I set the tray on the dining table, keeping one eye on him. He’s breathing deeply, his chest rising and falling slowly. After I set the table, I go over to him. There’s still a layer of moisture on his face, which looks drawn and tired. He’s still wearing his tie and jacket, and for a second, I wonder if I should take them off him.
Of course I should, I decide, it’s ridiculous to feel so nervous around a sick person.
As soon as I move closer and reach for his tie, his hands shoots up and grips mine, pulling me down until I’m sitting on his lap.
“What happened to not touching?” he asks roughly, his hands moving to my waist, holding me still so I can’t get up. “Or are the rules different for you?”
“You looked uncomfortable.” I explain, trying to stay calm, to ignore the raging tumult in my mind at the sudden, unexpected contact. “I was only going to loosen your tie.”
He releases me with a sigh, and I get up quickly. His eyes follow the scent of food to the dining area and he grimaces. I watch as he gets ups, shrugging off his jacket and pulling at his tie as he walks over to the table. For a moment, he stares suspiciously at the food, as if he suspects me of trying to poison him. Then he sits and starts to eat, slowly, without any appetite. It’s so unlike him that I’m tempted to call a doctor.
“Aren’t you going to join me?” he asks.
I’m more interested in watching him, but I pick up a fork and take a few bites. I’ve missed Mrs. Daniel’s cooking I realize, savoring the taste of the home cooked meal.
He pushes his plate away after a while and leans back in the chair.
“Maybe you should go lie down.” I suggest.
“I thought you wanted to talk.” He says. “Don’t worry about my feelings, Sophie. I can take whatever it is you want to say.”
What does he think I want to talk about? I frown. “It’s not important.” For now, I’m more concerned about his present state than whether he meant what he said last night “We’ll talk some other time.”
He doesn’t argue. He sways a little as he gets up but waves me away when I try to help him. After he goes inside, I busy myself with cleaning up, unsure of what to do. I don’t want to leave him while he’s in such a state.
After I finish with the washing up, I go into the bedroom to find him. I can’t help being assaulted by the memories as I walk along the familiar hallway and open the door to the room where we spent so much time making love.
David is lying across the bed, still clothed. He didn’t even bother to remove his shoes. Worried, I hurry towards him. He is already asleep, but still sweating profusely. I touch his forehead and my fingers recoil in shock. His skin is burning.
I try to remember what I know of caring with someone with the flu or flu like symptoms. It’s not very much. I take off his shoes and start on the rest of his clothes.
“Go away.” he mutters.
“You’re ill.” I reply firmly.
“For God’s sake just leave me alone.” He mumbles, before drifting off again.
I try to make him as comfortable as I can before I search his emergency contact list for his doctor’s number.
“I think it might be the flu that’s been going around.” The doctor says, when I describe the symptoms. “I’ll be over shortly. If you can, just try to keep the fever down.”
I ignore David’s mutterings as much as I can while I mop the sweat off his forehead and neck with a damp cloth. I can’t hear everything he’s saying, but I hear stubborn and woman so many times that I’m sure he’s talking about me.
When the doctor arrives, he confirms what he’s already said over the phone. “Make sure he has lots of fluids,” He advises, “and he should be fine in a day or two. Call me if he has difficulty breathing, starts to vomit…” I listen as he reels off a list of symptoms.
After he leaves, I watch David sleep. He’s tossing and turning, restless. I find myself wishing that there was more I could do for him. It surprises me, this urge to nurture, but maybe it shouldn’t. I already know that I love him. It’s only natural that I would want to take care of him.
I spend all night trying to keep the fever down, and it’s almost morning before I fall into an exhausted sleep on one of the armchairs in the room.
When I wake up, I look around, disoriented for a moment before I remember where I am. My neck is aching cruelly from being cramped in the chair while I slept. I get up and stretch, realizing that it’s already light outside and that David is no longer on the bed. I only wonder where he is for a moment before he emerges from the door that leads to the bathroom.
Naked. He’s totally, completely, and perfectly naked.
I gulp, trying not to stare as my eyes rush up his body, past his perfectly sculpted muscles and all the way to his face, the only safe place to look. He still looks tired, less ill than yesterday, but nevertheless, devastatingly attractive.
“You look tired.” He tells me.
I shrug. “I am, a little.”
“Maybe you should rest,” he mutters, walking over to sit at the edge of the bed, “I’m just going to lie down for a minute.”
“Don’t worry about me.” I tell him, but he’s already lying down again and falling asleep almost immediately. I look at my watch. It’s only past seven. I should call his office and tell them not to expect him. I should call the store too and tell them that I won’t be coming in. There’s no way I can leave him like this.
In the living room, I make the first call to Linda, and tell her that David is ill and won’t be coming to the office. While I’m making the second call to Larry, Mrs. Daniels walks into the living room.
“Mrs. Preston!” she exclaims in pleasant surprise. “You’re back.”
‘No, I’m not.’ I almost say, but I stop myself. “David is ill.” I tell her, watching her face crease in concern. “He has the flu.”
She shakes her head in an expression of wonder. I suppose that, like me, she has never seen him sick before.
“I’ll make some soup.” She offers.
I smile gratefully. “That would be perfect.”
After I make my calls, I take a shower and find something to wear from my old clothes, which are still in the walk-in closet. When Mrs. Daniels brings in the soup, I wake David up to eat. He’s so weak his fingers shake as he picks up the spoon.
“Let me.” I say, taking the spoon from him. He doesn’t object, but watches me suspiciously as I feed him.
“I’m sure I can feed myself.” He says, without making any effort to take the spoon from me.
“I’m sure you can.” I agree, hiding my smile.
Some hours later, he wakes up and asks for more soup. I feed it to him again, wondering at the half smile on his face.
“Why’re you smiling?” I ask suspiciously.
“Nothing.” He says with a chuckle.
“The fever must have fried your brain.” I say teasingly, “If
you’re smiling for no reason.”
He sighs, “My brain was fried the day I met you, Sophie.” He replies cryptically.
I pause, and then force my hand to continue moving the spoon towards his mouth. ‘Don’t say things like that!’ I want to yell at him. Don’t say things that make me hope, because I don’t want to hope. I want to know that you love me.
Afterwards, he falls asleep again. I suppose he must have been pushing himself very hard to fall so sick, so fast. With nothing else to do, I watch him sleep. Already he seems stronger, his breathing even. I should go, I think. There’s no reason left for me to be here.
Yet I’m reluctant. I don’t want to leave him. I remind myself that we never got a chance to talk. I should wait until he’s strong enough, then I’ll ask him whether he meant what he said outside my apartment.
And then what.
What if he says that I heard wrong, that he didn’t really mean it. What if he rejects me all over again?
No, I should go, I decide. I’m only staying because I want to remain in the illusion that nothing is wrong, that we’re still together. Sighing, I go to find my bag in the living room, and then go into the kitchen to tell Mrs. Daniels that I’m going.
She takes one look at my bag, and her motherly face falls. “You’re leaving?” She asks. There is no censure in her voice, but disappointment is clear on her face.
“I... yes.” Why do I feel the need to apologize? “David’s much better now.”
She nods slowly. “Of course.”
“I think you should make him something a little more substantial than soup for dinner.” I continue, eager to escape the feeling that I’ve somehow let her down. “I’ll just go check on him before I leave.”
David is sitting on the edge of the bed when I enter the room, his hair wet from the shower. He’s pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms, but his chest is bare. His eyes are sharp and alert, all hint of tiredness gone. They rake me when I enter the room, taking in the bag I’m carrying.
“You’re leaving.” He states tersely.
“Yes.” I say cautiously. Why am I the one feeling bad about leaving, when he’s the one who pushed me away in the first place? I swallow. “You’re obviously feeling better.”