Before Ever After (22 page)

She rolled her eyes and turned toward the seat in front of her. What kind of person could be pleased in a moment like this? And what kind of person would choose to upholster a plane in scratchy, unattractive plaid?

“After thirty-two years,” Paolo continued, “I’ll be able to look into the mirror and truly know who it is I’m looking at. The pieces of Nonno’s puzzle are mine, too. All of his lives … all the people in them are part of whoever—or whatever—I turn out to be.”

The air roared out of the cabin. Shelley gasped and grabbed for an oxygen mask. She clutched at the empty space above her head. She wondered why no one else was panicking. She drew her arm back from the ceiling and slid down in her seat. It dawned on her that she had been the only one who had gotten the wind knocked out of her lungs.

Paolo had spelled out the terrible and enviable difference between them. They were on the same plane, seated inches from each other, but they had never been on the same journey. By discovering who Max was, Paolo was coming into his inheritance—his own identity. She, on the other hand, was drifting farther away from the life she thought she had, and there was no way to turn back.

Paolo took her hand. “Is everything all right?”

It was so easy to imagine Max’s fingers closed around her hand, Shelley thought, to curl up into a time when that was all she needed to feel safe. All she had to do was close her eyes. She fought hard not to blink. She needed to face the truth, that as warm as Paolo’s hand felt, she was alone on a oneway trip to the Democratic Republic of the Hopelessly Undone. She pulled her hand away and scavenged for scraps of courage to speak. Her lips were numb. “Should I continue with the story?”

Paolo drew his hand back. “Yes, of course. You were telling me about Austria.”

“We stayed in the country for one more night.” Shelley swallowed back the sadness of the unfolding memory. The tour’s next events were almost as painful as her new reality. “At least, five of us did.”

S
helley learned that she had a taste for old cock, but she liked the Mozart concert Max had taken the group to after their rooster-soup dinner even better. The strains of the concerto echoed inside her as they filed out of the Vienna Opera House.

“Did you enjoy yourself, luv?” Max asked.

“Yes.” She smiled at him.

“I’m glad you liked it.”

“Who wouldn’t? Mozart’s timeless.”

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps?”

“Mozart’s good,” he said, “but it’s really too early to tell if his music is truly immortal.”

Shelley was still trying to decide whether Max was joking when they stepped onto the street. They walked hand in hand in the cool evening. She was amazed by how Vienna had been transformed. It had softened, warmed by the glow of its streetlamps and the lights that illuminated every detail of its ancient architecture. It was the perfect backdrop, she thought, for the lovers who strolled in its streets.

Lovers
. Shelley slipped the word under a breath that was equal parts
wistfulness and fear. She looked at Max and wondered how it was possible to want something so badly and be utterly terrified by it at the same time. Why couldn’t he have warts?

“Where to next, Max?” Jonathan asked. “Back to the monastery?”

“We won’t be spending the night at the monastery,” Max said.

“Oh?” Jonathan said.

“I took the liberty of sending our luggage ahead to our new accommodations,” Max said.

Shelley looked up at him in surprise.

Max bent down and brought his lips a kiss shy of Shelley’s ear. “The monks wouldn’t approve of what I want to do with you tonight.”

Shelley strained her neck admiring the classical murals that adorned the ceiling of the Hotel Imperial’s two-story opulent lobby. It did not require much imagination to envision what the hotel had been like in its previous life as a royal palace.

“Are you sure this is our hotel, Max?” Brad asked.

“I certainly hope so,” Max said. “I just followed the directions the receptionist gave me when I called to make the reservations this morning at the Holiday Inn. Although I have to say that this place looks so much better in person than in the brochure.”

Vienna surprised Shelley again. It had been romantic as she walked through its streets, but now, as she looked over it from the window of the hotel’s one-thousand-seven hundred-square-foot Royal Suite, it was no less than ethereal. Illumined domes and elegant spires rose above the rooftops of the old city, challenging her to find the right words to describe their magic. She settled on a sigh.

“And we haven’t even seen what’s inside the mini bar yet, luv.” Max walked across the polished parquet floor to where Shelley was standing. He drew her hair from her shoulders and planted a trail of kisses from behind her ear down the length of her neck.

Pages of faded pink lists and yellowing scrapbooks fluttered in Shelley’s mind, their edges rustled by Max’s breath against her skin. Then they flapped in a hotter breeze. Shelley rushed to grab them. They slipped from her fingers, torn by the wind. She watched her defenses fly out the window and scatter over the ancient spires. She turned to face Max. An oversize bed dared her from behind him. She slipped her arms around him and pressed her lips to his.

Max pulled away and wrinkled his nose at the collar of his white cotton shirt. “I smell like soup.”

“I didn’t notice.” Shelley pulled him to her for another kiss.

“I really need a bath.” He took her hands from around his neck. He kissed her forehead and strode toward the bathroom.

Shelley threw herself facedown on the bed. She mumbled into a pillow, “Don’t mind me. My libido and I will be fine right here.” Just as well, she thought. She had strayed on this detour far longer than she had intended. This was the universe giving her the chance to jump off the train before it was too late.

“Did you say something, luv?” Max’s voice echoed in the marble bathroom.

“Nothing.” She pulled up the covers and muffled a groan.

“Shelley …”

“Yes?” She swore she would strangle him if he asked her to bring him his toiletry kit. She turned in the direction of the bathroom to see what Max needed. What she saw was what
she
wanted.

Max leaned, nearly naked, against the doorway, a towel draped loosely around his hips. “I was just wondering if you would care to join me.”

Shelley took a deep breath. She could always get off at the next station.

Buttons. They were wonderful things, Shelley thought. In the twenty-plus years that she had been pushing them in and out of holes, it was only now that she realized what they were actually for. They heightened anticipation in a way no zipper could hope to match.

She savored how Max’s fingers lingered over the tiny pearl buttons
that ran down the back of her blue dress. She drew a sharp breath each time his fingertips brushed against her increasingly bare back. The last of her buttons came undone. Only two thin straps kept her clothed. Max kissed them off her shoulders. Her dress pooled at her feet. She stepped out of it.

He took her hand and led her to the tub. Shelley sank into its lavender-scented froth. She sat between Max’s legs and leaned against his chest. He circled his arms around her.

She shuddered as pinpoints of electricity shot through where her wet skin touched his. She would live in this tub, she decided, happily subsisting on tap water and Max’s nakedness.

“Can we stay here forever?” she asked.

“We’d shrivel into prunes and run up an obscene hotel bill, but yes, technically we could.” He drew little circles on her shoulders with his thumbs.

Shelley flipped over, pressing her breasts against Max’s chest. She reached down between his legs. “As long as you don’t shrivel up over here, I think we could manage.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that.” Max drew her toward him until their faces touched. He teased her lips open.

Shelley moaned.

The phone in the bedroom rang.

“Mmmmm?” she asked.

“Mmmmm.” He ignored the phone.

Shelley pulled away and panted, “I think we should get that. It might be important.”

“More important than this? I don’t think so.” He kissed Shelley and held her to him.

The ringing stopped.

“See?” he said. His lips made their way to her breast.

Max’s cell phone rang from the bathroom’s marble counter.

“Max, I really think you should answer that,” Shelley said.

He sighed. He kissed her and stepped out of the tub. “Don’t go anywhere, luv.”

“I won’t.” Shelley studied the tension and release of the muscles in Max’s legs as he walked to the sink. It was like watching a lion pace. The image terrified and thrilled her.

He picked up his phone. “Hello? Maximus Coitus Interruptus speaking.”

Shelley’s laugh died on her lips when she saw the expression on Max’s face.

“I’ll be right there.” He put the phone down and grabbed a towel.

“What’s the matter? What’s going on?” she asked.

“That was Rose. Jonathan’s had a heart attack.”

A paramedic was hunched over Jonathan when Shelley and Max rushed into the room. Max gathered Rose to him. She clung to him, trembling like a tiny bird as they watched her husband’s chest rise. And fall.

The stark white lights of the emergency room washed out Rose’s face. Only her fingers had any color left. They were red from being wrung.

Brad took Rose’s hands and warmed them in his palms. “He’ll be fine, Rose.”

Rose nodded. She kept her eyes on her lap.

Coffee splashed on the floor across from her, spilling from Dex’s cup.

“Shit. Sorry.” Dex stopped pacing to mop up the spill with a napkin.

Shelley noticed that his hands were shaking. “You okay?”

Dex was as pale as the waiting area’s white walls. He sat down for the first time since they had gotten there. “Yes. I … just have this, um, thing about hospitals.”

“You really don’t have to stay,” Rose said. “I’m sure you’re all tired. Why don’t you go back to the hotel?”

“We’re not going anywhere.” Shelley put her arm around Rose. She felt brittle. Shelley loosened her grip and scanned the room for Max.

Max was sitting at the other end of the room. He looked back at Shelley without saying a word.

A doctor strode into the waiting area. He walked toward the tour group, keeping his eyes directly ahead of him.

Five steps, Shelley thought. Now four. Four steps left to hope. Rose stood up and split the difference. Shelley stopped herself from pulling her back.

“Mrs. Templeton?” the doctor asked.

“Yes?”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry. We did everything we could.”

Shelley waited on the couch outside of the bedroom. She watched Rose clutch Jonathan’s sweater to her chest through the half-open door. The image reminded Shelley of all the times Rose had all but disappeared in her husband’s large arms—except that now it was Jonathan who was folded and small. Shelley wondered how long his sweater would smell like him. Rose kissed the sweater and placed it in his suitcase.

Shelley leaned on Simon. “I can’t believe that Jonathan’s gone.”

Simon sighed.

Dex slumped on the sofa. “Poor Rose.”

“I don’t even want to think about what she must be feeling right now,” Brad said.

“Me, either,” Shelley said. Watching Rose was difficult enough. She seemed to be searching for her husband among his things. In a large white T-shirt. In an unfinished book. In a toothbrush left on the bathroom counter. Rose ran her fingers over every fold, crease, and curve, as though Jonathan might be hiding behind one of them. Shelley shared that hope, allowing it to fade only when Rose stowed away the last of Jonathan’s black cotton socks. He was everywhere and nowhere.

Rose rolled the suitcase out of the bedroom. The bag had always looked too small for Jonathan, Shelley thought. But now, as Rose dragged it behind her, it was enormous. It contained more than Jonathan’s things. Shelley could not imagine how much Rose’s grief weighed.

“I’m ready, Max,” Rose said.

Max walked in from the balcony.

Shelley averted her eyes from Max. His reaction to Jonathan’s death bothered her. He appeared concerned, even sympathetic, but as hard as she searched his face, she could not find even a hint of sadness in it. He had yet to shed a tear.

Rose had not cried, either, but Shelley trusted that she was still in shock. The most Rose had managed to say since the hospital was a polite “Yes, please,” when Max offered to make arrangements to fly her and Jonathan’s body back to London that evening.

“We’re going with you to the airport,” Dex said.

“Thank you, dear,” Rose said, “but I think I’d like to be alone.”

“Of course.” Simon took her hand. “But at least allow us to accompany you downstairs.”

Rose smiled and squeezed his hand. She turned to Max. “Max, my sister is asking which airline I’ll be taking. She’ll be picking me up at the airport.”

“I’ve arranged for a private plane for you.”