Everything Between Us (17 page)

But when he walks in, carrying his toolbox and looking more gorgeous than I remembered, my dignity slides away, shed like a snakeskin. What’s underneath is too powerful to be contained. I rise, wanting to run to him and throw my arms around his broad shoulders. As beautiful as he is, I can see the circles under his eyes, the lines of worry around his mouth. “How’s your mom?”

He sets his toolbox on the floor. “She’s recovering. They took the breathing tube out last night.”

My hands flutter around the hem of my shirt. “Did they … did they get it all? The cancer, I mean …”

“I think so.” He rubs his eyes, like what he really needs is a nap, not an inquisition. “She’s going to have chemo, but they’re going to wait until she’s recovered.” His expression crumples and he turns away. “The surgery really took it out of her.”

He starts to open his box and retrieve his charcoal pencils, but I reach out and lay my palm on his back. He freezes up, his muscles tense.

“I’m so sorry, Daniel. You didn’t have to come here today.”

He bows his head, his blond hair curling against the back of his neck. “I wanted to, though.”

“Why?” I whisper.

He turns to face me. “The answer is really complicated, Stella.” He closes his eyes. I wonder if he’s had an hour of real sleep since he left here on Sunday.

Adoration for him fills me up.
I’m falling in love with you
, I want to say, because those are the only words big and profound enough to explain it. But since I can’t say it, since the last thing he needs is to deal with my stupid feelings, I take his hand and lead him over to the chaise, and he doesn’t resist. I sit down and pull him with me.

“You look too exhausted to do anything right now,” I say to him, and I guide his head to my shoulder. I keep expecting him to rear back, but I think I’m right—he really is too wrecked for anything but this. Talking is too much, sketching is too much, thinking is too much. Probably coming here was too much, but apparently he felt the need, so here we are.

“I’m sorry,” he says as he sinks onto me, his breath skating over my collarbones, giving me chills.

I thread my fingers through his shaggy hair and lay my other hand on the side of his face. “You have nothing to be sorry about.” I want to be his haven. I want it more than anything else.

 The sensation of Daniel’s powerful body relaxing against mine is the most amazing thing. I feel like the best person in the world, to be able to offer him this, even if my sole role is “pillow.”

His eyes are still closed, but his fingers are stroking at my ribs, a simple, reflexive kind of movement. “What have you been up to?” he asks quietly.

I’ve been missing you
, I think at him.
Reliving how it felt when you were inside me. Remembering how you looked when you came in my arms. Touching myself and pretending you’re the one doing it to me. Wishing I could fast forward to the moments I’m with
you
. “Reading, mostly. Baking a lot.”

“Yeah? Like what? That apple cake you made in the skillet was amazing,” he murmurs sleepily.

I slide my finger down his nose, tenderness and desire making it impossible not to touch him. “I’ve made two cakes, three dozen iced cupcakes, one failed soufflé, a crème brulee, and four batches of scones. I tried to make yeast doughnuts but splashed hot oil on my arm.”

He opens his eyes and slides the sleeve of my shirt up, sighing when he catches sight of the tiny red dots along my inner forearm. And then … he gently kisses the inside of my wrist and lays my hand back on the side of his face. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t explain, doesn’t apologize. He’s too tired for that, and I’m not going to ask him what it means. Instead, I keep babbling. “I’ve been driving Willa crazy—sending her to the grocery store at least twice a day. But she seems happy enough when she gets to take the results home. She has four kids, and they eat a lot, I guess.”

“You’re like a one-woman bakery.” His chest trembles with amusement, and I decide not to mention the brownies.

“I’m not … I … enjoy it. And cake is like edible happiness.”

He lets out a huff of laughter, and his arm tightens around my waist. “God, Stella, I missed you,” he whispers hoarsely.

“I missed you, too,” I whisper back, stunned. His rough, unshaven face scrapes at my neck as we hold on tight, but I don’t know what this means. I’ve never been this confused, and I have no idea what I’m supposed to say. He finds me funny, I know. He likes hanging out with me. But I don’t know if it’s any more than that, and I’m terrified to put myself out there. Because he lives in the world, and I … don’t. Self-hatred crashes over me, unexpected and intense. Why am I like this?
Why
did I have to meet him now? Why not last summer when I was brave and able to walk in the sun, when I could go anywhere I wanted? Why fucking why fucking
oh God I have to get out of here.
The tension coils through me, and my heart pounds. The urge to run overwhelms me. I wriggle away from him and stumble back as soon as my toes hit the carpet, my breath sawing from my lungs. It’s going to happen, right here. I’m going to fall apart in front of him
no no no
…

He sits up and watches me, his red-rimmed eyes full of wariness that wasn’t there a second ago. “Stella—”

I put my hands out. “No. No, no, I’m sorry.”
Please not here not now not with him …

He stands up and comes toward me, looking stricken. “I didn’t mean to freak you out. You’ve just been on my mind, and I can’t pretend you haven’t. I don’t know what to do with this feeling, but it’s there and it won’t go away.”

“What?” It’s the only word I can push off my tongue. My heart is choking me. I have to run, have to get out, but he’s saying something I need to hear.
This is so unfair.
I try to control my breathing, but
I can’t.
It’s like an avalanche—there’s no way to stop it.

He takes a hesitant step toward me, and I’m torn between running and pulling him into my arms. “Tell me that night was about more than an experience for you,” he blurts. “Tell me it meant more than that.
Please.
” He covers his eyes with the heels of his palms. “Never mind. God, I’m such a fucking mess.”

“It was everything,” I mouth, unable to get any volume into that terrifying admission. My fingers are tingling. I feel like I’m going to faint. Or throw up. I can’t throw up in front of Daniel.  
I have to get out of here before it’s too late.

 “Knock, knock,” sings a voice from just down the hall.

Daniel’s hands fall away from his face, revealing his wide eyes.

My lips go numb as I spin around to see my mother come around the corner and sashay into the room. I didn’t expect her until after lunch. “Mom.”

She puts her arms out. Her hair is perfect. Her makeup is perfect. Her nails and clothes and skin and shoes are perfect. She pulls me into a hug, but she’s looking over my shoulder. At Daniel.

“Welcome home,” I choke out. And then, knowing I can’t hold it together anymore, I push myself away from her and run. Down the hall, straight to my room, into my bathroom, where I collapse onto the floor near the toilet, certain I’m going to puke my guts out. My vision is tunneled, foggy except for a pinpoint of clarity. My thoughts are as scattered and jagged as my heartbeats. The oily, suffocating wave of terror swallows me up and smashes me against the rocks, crushing me utterly. But I don’t get to black out, because that would be too easy. I don’t know how long it lasts. Probably no longer than a few minutes, but it feels like hours. Slowly, the certainty that I’m dying recedes, allowing humiliation to follow on its heels. Daniel saw me freaking out. But right before, he was asking me something. He looked like he needed something from me desperately.
I missed you
, he said.
Tell me it meant more
, he said. It wasn’t a game. He was too wrecked to play. It was real. He was saying he feels something. For
me
.

And I had a fucking panic attack before I got to tell him I feel the same way.

I push myself off the floor and yelp when I see myself in the mirror, my cheeks tear-stained, my eyes red and puffy. Maybe Daniel’s still here, though. Maybe he’s chatting with my mom. Neither of them has come back here, so perhaps they didn’t notice how freaked out I was? Would it be possible for me to walk him to his car, to apologize? I’m not ready. My breathing is barely under control. But my want for Daniel is so compelling that I splash water on my face and head back down the hall, determined to set this right.

He’s not in the enclosed porch, and neither is my mom. The polished hardwood floor is warm beneath my bare feet as I pad past the kitchen and into the breezeway. Instantly, the tiles sting my soles with cold, but I hear Daniel’s low voice in the mudroom, so I increase my pace. He’s still here. We can figure this out.

I reach the row of coat hooks and peek into the alcove.

My mom’s arm is around Daniel’s neck.

Her other hand is on the front of his jeans. Squeezing rhythmically.

His mouth is on hers.

I must make some noise, because my mom leaps away from Daniel with a little scream, like I’ve set off a firework. Wiping her mouth, she whirls around. “Estella! I thought you were in your room, sweetheart!” she squeaks.

Daniel stands behind her, and I can’t read the look on his face. He’s staring at the floor. He looks no less devastated than before, but he seems a lot more disconnected, like he’s gone away somewhere and left his body behind.

My mother appears right in front of me. “Come on,” she says in a slightly breathless voice that still manages to have an edge. “We have to catch up.”

She steers me around, her fingers closing on the patch of speckled, burned skin on my forearm. I gasp with pain, but I still hear her say to Daniel, “I’ll see you Friday, then.”

I don’t get to hear if he replies, though, because she pushes me back into the breezeway and guides me toward the house. “Sorry,” I mumble, my stomach churning. She was kissing him. He was kissing her back. Her hands were on him. He wasn’t stopping her. I …

I should have expected this.

“I had the most wonderful week,” Mom says airily as she leads me to the kitchen. “And now I want to hear about yours. Willa, green tea, please. In the dining room.”

“Yes, Mrs. Bierens,” says Willa. “Anything for you, Miss?”

“Water,” I croak as my mom drags me past, tearing my eyes away from the little basket filled with individually wrapped brownies on the counter. Each one is tied with a ribbon. I’m an idiot. Mom sits me down in my usual seat and settles in across from me. She’s had some kind of treatment done to her face—her eyes are super bright, but that’s the only part of her that moves.

“I know you might have just seen something that upset you,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Oh,” I say, my cheeks flashing hot. Are my feelings for him that obvious? “I’m … uh …”

“Your father is in Germany with Elsa, one of the company reps handling the new Bierens contracts there,” she says peevishly. “He thinks he might be in love with her and wanted the space to figure it out. You might as well know that. I was lonely, honey. I’ve been so lonely.”

She thinks I’m upset because of Dad, not because I’m falling in love with Daniel. I almost start to laugh, but Mom’s eyes are shiny. I think she’s going to cry, maybe, but it’s difficult to tell.

“I know it’s been hard for you,” I say, barely able to form a sentence through the crazy jumble of thoughts in my mind. Willa comes in and sets a tray in front of Mom. As she prepares the tea, I try to re-organize myself.

Daniel might have feelings for me. I don’t know how big they are, but it’s more than a game to him.

I didn’t get to tell him how I feel, because I panicked.

My mom is back, and based on what I just observed, she has every intention of picking up her affair with him.

He didn’t look like himself just now. He was kissing her, yes, but … he looked so broken, standing there in the entryway with my mother’s lipstick on his face. In fact, that’s the only reason I’m not sobbing right now. He looked like he needed to be saved.

His gallery show is Friday night. That’s when he’s going to see my mom again.

But what if … no, I can’t. I can’t do it, and I can’t believe I’m even considering it.

“So tell me what you’ve been doing with your time,” my mother says softly, stirring her tea.

“Reading. Baking.”

“What about your lessons with Daniel?” Her eyes meet mine, and I see it, a flash of sharp curiosity.

“I can draw a tree,” I say, grabbing for my water glass.

“That’s it? It’s been two weeks.” She sets down her spoon. “I’m obviously paying him too much.”

“I … drew a car the other day. Daniel’s a good teacher. I’m just … not very talented.”

She pats my hand. “We can’t all be artists, sweetheart. But you like the lessons?”

I swallow the half-hysterical giggle that tries to burst from my mouth. “Yes.”

“Good. I was talking to a psychiatrist at a facility that has a lot of art therapists on staff, and it’s in the most scenic little village in—”

“What are you talking about?”

“You need help, Stella,” Mom says. “I’ve been thinking about it this past week.”

“I survived the storm of the century without your
help
,” I reply acidly. Of course, Daniel was by my side, but I won’t mention that. When Willa saw our nest on Monday, she obviously thought I’d gone completely insane. I hope she doesn’t mention it to my mom.

Mom sighs. “Our driver told me about the blizzard when he picked me up from the airport. Willa was supposed to stay with you.”

Great, now I’ve gotten our housekeeper in trouble. “She tried to, but I made her go home.”

Mom sips her tea. “Hmm. But you still haven’t left the house, have you?”

There it is, the test of my sanity. Will I leave the house? Will I stop being a pathetic recluse and rejoin the real world? I know I can’t, but suddenly, I think I
have
to. And not because my mom is basically threatening to institutionalize me. I can fight that. I know she can’t just ship me off. I’m twenty, and I’ve done enough internet research to know I have rights, and I can speak for myself. She can try, but … well, I’ll deal with that when I have to.