Endless Possibility: a RUSH novella (City Lights 3.5) (12 page)

“You deserve more than what’s left of me.”

“There’s so much.”

Even then, Charlotte had seen what I couldn’t. And right then, under the falling water that felt like rain, I allowed myself to think that maybe she was right.

Marit found an agency with services for the blind. She procured a new white stick and a pair of sunglasses, while I napped. I was putting on my suit when she returned, and heard her suck in a small breath.

“That is a very nice suit, Noah,” she said.

“Thank you, Marit,” I replied. “I’m sure you look very nice too.”

She made a noncommittal sound. “So, this is weird,” she said, after a moment.

“What is?”

“Well…It’s not every day that girls like me meet men like you.”

“Blind bastards, lying in parking lots, bleeding all over themselves? Yeah, we’re a rare breed.”

She laughed, but it faded quickly. “Noah, before we go out in public together, I think you should know that I’m not really the type for dinners and concerts. I mean, while I was out, I went home and dressed up. And by ‘dressed up’ I mean I put on black pants instead of jeans and a shirt that doesn’t have a comic book character on it. I’m about eighteen kilos overweight, I have dreadlocks and piercings. Tattoos all up my arms—”

I stopped and looked toward her. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Just…fair warning.”

“Well, thanks for the
warning
,” I said lightly, “but I don’t even know what a kilo is.”

“I just mean, we look about as mismatched as can be, you and I, and I think it’s only fair that you know that. I know this is not a date,” she added seriously. “I’m not putting that pressure on you. You love Charlotte and I’m not going to sit around wondering why you didn’t call me tomorrow. But you are…very handsome, Noah. And kind. And it’s not every day that a girl like me meets a man who is both, and spends the day with him. It’s a little…strange. I’m afraid I’m going to embarrass myself.”

“First of all, Marit, you didn’t
meet
me,” I said, my neck craned to tie my tie. “You found me left for dead in a parking lot. If one of us is going to be embarrassed in this little scenario, it sure as hell isn’t going to be you.”

She scoffed a laugh. “Well, since you put it that way...”

“Secondly, you saved my ass this morning. You saved my entire trip. I don’t know how to repay you but to buy you dinner and take you to listen to Charlotte. And even that is more of a favor to me. I’ve been to sixteen concerts in the last month, alone. It’d be nice to share her talent with someone…to have someone appreciate her a little, like I do.”

“That sounds lovely,” Marit said, and I could hear her smile.

“So…we’re good?”

“We’re good,” she agreed, and I knew that was the truth.

“Is it straight?” I asked, indicating my tie.

“No.” She approached and her fingers tugged and straightened. The earthy smell of whatever oil or perfume she wore was strong but not unpleasant. “There. Come on, Noah Lake. Let’s go before we’re late to your date with Charlotte.”

I reached out and she put the crook of her arm to my fingers. And yeah, there was more of her to hold but so fucking what? Marit was an angel of mercy and it didn’t matter what she looked like. She was beautiful in my mind, and could have been as gorgeous as Valentina in real life, but neither of those facts got her any closer to my heart.

Charlotte owned that particular piece of me. Hell, she owned all of me, heart and soul, but thanks to Marit, instead of heading to the airport in defeat, I was back on that long dark road to where Charlotte was waiting. Saint Marit, that’s what she was, and always would be.

We arrived at the Koninklijk Theater Carré, and took our seats in the corner, uppermost row.

“My nose is bleeding,” Marit joked. “This is where you always sit? So far away?”

I smirked. “I didn’t buy the seats for the view. And I can’t let Charlotte see me.”

“Well, I’m going to get a pair of those fancy glasses so I can see
her
. The violin players are all bunched together. What does she look like?”

“Do you have a program?”

“Yes.”

“If she’s doing a solo tonight, you’ll see her,” I said, and wished I could borrow Marit’s eyes just for the night.

“She’s playing the andante to Mozart’s Sonata in A for piano and violin.” Marit shifted toward me. “Is that a good one?”

I smiled. “You’ll see.”

The concert began and we didn’t speak again until Charlotte took the stage. Then Marit grabbed my arm. “Oh, Noah,” she whispered. “She is so very beautiful. I can see from here. She glows.”

I nodded and clenched my jaw, thankful I had new sunglasses to conceal my eyes. But when Charlotte began to play, I couldn’t hold it back. How close had I come to ruining this? Her music was so achingly beautiful, her talent so rich and vibrant. I felt Marit clutching my arm, sniffling now and then, and the ice in me that had begun to crack back at the hotel shattered completely.

I grabbed for Marit’s hand and squeezed, my other hand holding my head as I bent over, wracked by sobs I tried my best to keep quiet.

I broke open, broke apart, and let all the rage and pain and bitterness go. It was too hard to hold on to, and I couldn’t do it any more. I thought I was holding on to my old life, but there wasn’t anything left of it. Only ugly residue, and that, I finally realized, wasn’t worth holding on to.

Everything I thought I knew about what it meant to be a man was stripped away. What remained was what it meant to be a man who loved a woman as much as I did. To be a human being experiencing this life in all its ugliness, its beauty, its pain and hate; good and evil; love and death.

So yeah, I sobbed like a goddamn baby, but I’d never felt more like myself—whatever that was, or whatever it was going to be—than at that moment.

After, Marit took me back to the hotel. I tried to get her phone number or email to keep in touch, but she refused.

“You’re like a UFO sighting,” she said. “You crash-landed in my parking lot and we had an adventure, but now you have to go back.” She laughed shyly. “I could tell people what happened but no one would believe me.”

I gripped my new white stick and felt the reassuring weigh of my new phone in my pocket. “Thank you, Marit. I can’t thank you enough.”

“So…remember when I told you it was crazy, what you were doing?”

“Change your mind?”

“No,” she laughed. “But it’s kind of heroic, Noah. I don’t think you see it that way, but maybe you should.”

I smiled. “I think you read too many comic books.”

“Probably,” she said, and I could hear her voice retreating down the hall. “But I love them because in the end, the hero always gets the girl.”

Through the next few cities, I noticed the change. Copenhagen, Warsaw, Prague…None of it was easy. Not one minute. But the frustrations didn’t weigh me down until they buried me. I got pissed now and then, but the anger didn’t consume me. I let the experiences in and I took the best of them with me, discarding the rest and starting over fresh with each new day. I talked to people now. I chatted, laughed; had lunches and coffee.

In Prague, a young Swiss couple on their honeymoon walked with me across the Charles Bridge, describing the city’s beauty in both French and English, with the hopes I would see it even more clearly in two languages.

In Warsaw, a little old lady helped
me
cross the street, and then took me to her flat for borscht and bread. I spoke not a word of Polish and she not a word of English, but she gabbled at me the whole time. When it came time for me to leave, she kissed me goodbye on both cheeks, and I felt my chest tighten. Apparently, I’d become a huge sap, and I was glad Ava wasn’t there to see me blink my eyes dry or I’d never have heard the end of it.

In Berlin, I asked the concierge at my hotel for a quiet place I could stroll away from crowds, and he rattled off a list of famous landmarks.

“Wait, say that last one again,” I said.

“Charlottenburg Palace?”

I grinned like an idiot. “Yes, there. I’ll give that one a try.”

The tour was weeks away from ending but I felt peace swell in my heart, washing away all the bitterness and anger. But I didn’t think to meet Charlotte until the end, in Vienna. I had to make sure this peace wasn’t transitory, that I wouldn’t wake up one morning and feel as angry as I had in Rome, or panicked as in Barcelona, or the horrific nothing of Amsterdam.

I never did.

The only black spot was the migraines. They came with more frequency than usual, but I managed them. I managed everything instead of fighting it, and while it was still incredibly difficult and stressful, I knew I was going to make it.

And then I woke one morning to feel the sunrise streaming through my Munich hotel room. I felt the gold and orange of the sun on my skin. A new day. The tour moved on to Salzburg on this day and then to Vienna to conclude the tour. But I couldn’t wait anymore. I didn’t need to. The time had come. Tonight, in Salzburg, I would attend Charlotte’s show and then after…