Evening Stars (28 page)

Nina’s mouth fell open. “No, it’s not.”

“Why not? If you’re not in a committed relationship, you’re free to do what you want. I’m not saying it’s a good idea. I’m not sure you could handle it, emotionally, but it’s not wrong. Until you have the talk about being exclusive, you are free to be wild.”

Nina covered her face with her hands again. “That is so not me. I haven’t been on a date in forever and now this.” She straightened and lowered her hands to her lap. “Anyway, it’s not an issue. Dylan and I aren’t doing that. The kissing was just one of those things. Practically an accident.”

“I’ve never known you to be self-delusional before,” Averil murmured. “But, hey, if it helps you sleep at night, go for it.”

Her sister stared at her, but Averil didn’t care. She’d never seen Nina so rattled, and watching her now was very satisfying. If that made her shallow, so be it.

* * *

Nina carefully poured herself a glass of wine. She hadn’t eaten much that day. Her stomach was all messed up, and she still had that headache. Although her talk with Averil had helped her feel better emotionally, it hadn’t done anything for her physical symptoms.

It was the confusion, she told herself. Confusion about Kyle and Dylan and her life and where she was. The only good part had been leaning on her sister. For once she didn’t feel that everything was completely up to her.

She’d gotten home less than a half hour before. After showering and dressing, she had walked into the kitchen for her wine. Now she was going to sit quietly and sip until it was time to deal with dinner. She wasn’t sure what everyone’s plans were for the night and found herself hoping they would all go out and leave her in peace. Nothing sounded better than a—

Her mother charged into the kitchen and glared at her. “You had no right,” Bonnie began, her face flushed, her glare hostile. “You took my painting. I had a connection with
Evening Stars!
”

Nina felt the slap down to her heart. “Mom, we discussed this. There was no way to leave the painting here. Not after everyone knew about it.”

“It’s not your painting,” her mother reminded her. “It wasn’t your decision to make. This is just so like you, Nina. Everything always has to be your way.”

Nina quickly looked for an escape, only there wasn’t one. The unfairness burned, and she fought against unexpected tears. Crying? Really? Wasn’t she used to this by now?

Then she tightened her grip on her wineglass and stiffened her spine.

“No,” she said clearly. She liked the sound so much, she said it again. “No, Mom. I didn’t take your painting against your will. I cleaned up your mess, the way I’ve been doing it for my entire life. We had a discussion as a family, and we made a decision. I took care of the logistics. I don’t know if you’re embarrassed by your behavior or bored or what, but you’re not blaming this on me.”

Bertie walked into the kitchen and stood next to Nina. “Bonnie, what are you doing? We all talked about this. We all agreed what was best. You said you were fine with it. You shouldn’t take this out on Nina. She doesn’t deserve it, and you know it.”

Bonnie crossed her arms over her chest. “She’s so insensitive to my feelings.”

“And you’re acting like a five-year-old.” Bertie sounded disapproving. “Grow up. You’re the one who had to go tell the world, and these are the consequences. If you’re upset about the painting being gone, you only have yourself to blame, and you know it. Stop taking it out on Nina. She’s been your scapegoat enough over the years.”

Bonnie turned to her partner, her eyes wide. “Bertie, no.”

“Yes,” the other woman said firmly. “I love you, but that doesn’t mean I’m blind to your faults. You wanted to go on TV with the painting because it made you feel special. But your need for attention put this family in jeopardy. It’s a ten-million dollar painting, for heaven’s sake. You don’t screw around with that.”

Nina had heard Bertie upset with Bonnie before, but not like this. She held her breath, waiting for her mother to throw out Bertie or end their relationship. Instead Bonnie nodded.

“You’re right,” she whispered.

“This has got to stop,” Bertie continued. “The bigger issue is that Nina’s your daughter. You’re the parent. Act like it and stop putting me in the position of having to be the one in charge. I don’t want to be your mother, either. I want to be your partner.”

With that, Bertie turned and left the kitchen.

Bonnie pressed her hand against the counter, as if that was all that was holding her in place. She drew in several ragged breaths before looking at Nina.

“Well, that was awful,” she admitted. “I hate it when Bertie’s mad at me.”

Nina drew in a breath of her own. “I hate it when you blame me for doing what’s right. Especially when two days ago you agreed with the decision.”

“I know.”

Bonnie walked to the bottle of wine and pulled out the cork. She got down a glass, then poured herself a generous amount and took a swallow.

“She’s going to force me to act reasonably,” her mother said. “I’ve tried to explain I don’t want to be the responsible one.”

“No danger of that,” Nina told her. “Mom, sometimes you make it really hard on me. I’m tired of taking care of everything around here. Bertie has offered to help, and I’m going to let her. I don’t want to do it all anymore.”

Bonnie leaned against the counter. “I think you’ll find it more fun to let other people deal with the crap of life.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

She expected her mother to stalk off, but Bonnie only nodded. “I’m sorry I yelled at you before. You’re right. I did agree to let the painting go, only now I’m sad it’s gone.”

At any other time, Nina might have welcomed having the conversation about their twisted past, but not tonight. Her head hurt and she was tired.

“Mom, you and Bertie need to decide what to do about the painting. Ambrose can handle the sale, if that’s what you want to do. He has good credentials and recommendations, and his fees are reasonable. We can find an honest financial person to help with the investments. But the painting can’t stay in the vault forever. We can’t afford it.”

Her mother looked at her. “How sad. For you the painting is just one more responsibility to take on. If we don’t sell, you’re going to have to deal with it for the rest of your life.”

“Something like that.”

“I only wanted you to be happy,” her mother said with a sigh.

“I’m not unhappy.”

“But they’re not the same thing. I do love you, Nina. And I know sometimes that isn’t enough.”

For the second time in a few minutes, Nina fought tears. “I know you try.”

“Trying isn’t the same as succeeding, is it? Then we’ll make a decision.” Her mother smiled, then kissed her cheek. “And soon. I promise.”

Nina watched her leave and wished she could believe that promise. If wishes were horses... But she knew her mother and understood that there was a reason for clichés.

* * *

“The thing about G-force is that it sneaks up on you,” Kyle was saying as he headed for the bridge the following evening. “You think you’re doing okay, then, boom. You’re fighting to stay conscious. Not a good thing in a jet.”

He’d called the previous evening and asked Nina to dinner. She’d accepted, thinking that after a good night’s sleep, she would feel better. She’d gotten through the day okay, but in the past couple of hours, she’d started feeling worse and worse. Her stomach was queasy, and she would swear her head was pounding even more.

“Kyle,” she said when they stopped at a light. “I’m not feeling well. Can you take me home?”

She braced herself for a fight or at the very least, a long-winded explanation. Instead he glanced at her once, then made a right turn.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, even as he headed back across the island.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’ve had a headache on and off for the past day, and my stomach seems upset.” She thought about the patients that had been coming through the office and groaned. “Oh, crap. I probably have the flu.”

Kyle visibly shrank from her. “Didn’t you get a flu shot?”

“Yes, but it’s not a hundred percent effective.”

He mumbled something about being grounded and drove a little faster into her neighborhood. When they reached her house, he pulled into the driveway and climbed out.

He helped her out and walked her to the door. “Can I help?” he asked. “Get you something?”

While she appreciated the offer, she saw he was careful not to touch her. She had a feeling he was regretting the kiss he’d given her when he’d first arrived.

“Go,” she told him. “Drink plenty of fluids, make it an early night and I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“What about you?”

“I’m going to crawl into bed and wait for all this to be over. I’ll call you when I feel better.”

He hesitated for a second, then kissed her cheek before jogging back to his car. She went inside and shut the door behind her.

Bertie lay on the sofa reading. She looked up. “Back already?”

“I don’t feel very well,” Nina said. “I might have the flu. I’m going to get into bed and see if I can sleep this off.”

Bertie rose and crossed to her. The other woman touched her forehead. “You’re very warm. Have you taken your temperature?”

Nina thought about the fever and vomiting that came with the flu. How she would feel shaky and gross and weak. She groaned softly. “I don’t want to know,” she admitted. “Just ignore me for the next three days.”

“As if that’s going to happen.” Bertie turned her toward the hallway. “Go put on your pajamas. I’ll be in with some juice in a second.”

Nina did as she was told. As she walked she noticed how the hallway seemed really long and slightly uphill. Her stomach seemed to flip over a couple of times, making her grateful she hadn’t eaten anything since lunch.

She made it to her room where she managed to change into PJs. She washed her face and brushed her teeth, then fell into her bed. Some time later—it could have been minutes or hours, she was both hot and shivering. Her whole body hurt. But the worst was the roiling in her belly.

She turned on her side, hoping that would help, and nearly threw up. She pushed herself into a sitting position and told herself to breathe steadily, only it didn’t help.

The bedroom door opened. Nina stared at the tall figure for a second before she recognized Dylan.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, and was shocked at how pathetic her voice sounded.

“Bertie called,” he told her, crossing to the bed. He touched her forehead, then set a medical bag on the side of the bed and pulled out a thermometer.

“Go away. I have the flu.” She eyed the instrument and groaned. “If you stick that in my mouth, I’m going to throw up.”

“Not a problem,” he said. “It goes in your ear.”

She sank back on her pillows and closed her eyes. “Didn’t you hear me? I have the flu. What if you get it? Go away.”

He smiled at her. “Why did I know you’d be a lousy patient?” He rose and grabbed his bag. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back.”

She tried to tell him not to bother, only instead she had to scramble to the bathroom where she barely made it to the toilet in time to throw up.

* * *

Nina staggered back to her bed after her second session of vomiting and told herself that dying didn’t seem like such a bad idea. She was both hot and chilled, shaking, weak and generally felt like cat gack. Although thinking about cat gack was probably a bad idea. She’d barely crawled onto her mattress when Dylan appeared in her bedroom.

“Go away,” she managed, wondering if she had the strength to roll over and face the other way.

“Sorry,” he said, sounding disgustingly cheerful. “I’m here for the duration.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

She realized he was holding several shopping bags. He set them on the floor and started pulling out the contents. “Soup, crackers, antiviral, soda, juice.”

She tried to focus on what he was saying. “You can’t just buy an antiviral.”

“I’m a doctor. I wrote you a prescription, then filled it at the local pharmacy. When was the last time you threw up?”

She did her best to look fierce and annoyed but had a feeling she came across as pathetic instead. “About twenty minutes ago.”

“Let’s see if you can keep the soda down before we have you swallow the medicine. It won’t do any good if you can’t keep it in your stomach. Want some soup?”

Just the image of anything foodlike had her scrambling past him and heading for the bathroom across the hall. She lunged for the toilet and started to gag. Dylan joined her, carefully holding back her hair. Humiliation blended with bile and burned her throat, but there was no way to complain. Not until her tummy stopped contracting.

“Go away,” she managed when she collapsed onto the bathroom floor. “Just go away.”

“Sorry. That’s not going to happen.”

He helped her up and then half carried her back to her room.

For a couple of minutes he disappeared. She prayed he was gone for good, but no such luck. He returned with a glass and a couple of washcloths. They were damp and cool as he wiped her face, then her throat. He pulled up the sleeves of her PJ shirt and rubbed her arms, then put the second cloth across her forehead.

“Try to sleep,” he told her. “We’ll go for liquids when you wake up.”

“I’m not going to sleep,” she said stubbornly. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Stop saying that. You’re stuck with me. Accept the inevitable. Now close your eyes.”

She did what he said, mostly because she was so tired and felt so crappy. When she opened them again, she knew time had passed because there wasn’t any light coming in the windows. The only illumination came from a small lamp on her desk. Soft music played from the clock radio, and Dylan was stretched out reading on the chaise in the corner.

“Hey,” he said when he saw her eyes open. “How are you feeling?”

“Awful.”

“And your stomach?”

“Less gross.”

“Good.” He stood and crossed to the bed. He put his hand on her forehead. “Still warm.”

He sat on the edge of the mattress and held out a glass. “Can you drink this?”