Listed: Volume II (3 page)

They
glared at each other for a minute, and then he saw her mouth tighten with
irrepressible irony. He couldn’t help but half-smile back. “Okay. The only
other thing I'll say is that it won’t happen again.”

“Good.
And I won’t run away again. So we’re even.”

She
seemed to think that resolved matters, so Paul had no choice but to give the
subject up.

They
drank more coffee and read the newspapers in companionable silence, until
Paul’s phone rang a half-hour later.

He
walked out of the kitchen as he took it, but when he returned he was quite
pleased with himself. “I got your skydiving scheduled for Tuesday,” he told
Emily, who’d glanced up at his return.

Her
eyes widened. “So soon? I thought it would have to be later in the week.”

“I
can reschedule if you want. I just thought you’d want to do it as soon as possible.”

“I
do.” She swallowed visibly. “Thank you. And maybe it’s just as well that I
don’t have so much time before it happens, so I can't work myself into a panic
about it.”

Paul
sat down with his newspaper again. "You'll do fine. It won't be nearly as
frightening as you think."

"You're
coming with me, aren't you?"

For
as long as he’d known her, she’d always tried to act invulnerable—like the only
person she could rely on was herself.

He
wondered what he'd done to deserve the trust in her eyes. All he said was,
"Of course."

***

Paul had gone skydiving
for the first time when he’d been eighteen, and since then he’d logged over a
hundred and fifty jumps.

For
a couple of years, he’d been obsessed with it. He’d tried a number of other
extreme sports—bungee jumping, caving, cliff diving, extreme skiing—but nothing
had attracted him like skydiving.

He
understood what most people were looking for in such activities. He understood
the compulsion of the challenge, the rush of adrenalin, the heady sense of
defying limits.

Paul
hadn’t taken up skydiving only for those reasons, though. He was sure a
psychiatrist could analyze him and develop a complex theory about his
adolescent rebellion against authority and his emotional insecurity—caused
primarily by a tyrannical father who didn’t love him.

Looking
back now, Paul could put it more simply. There was a moment, after the doors of
the plane would opened, as he was poised above a blinding height and about to
let go of anything secure, when he’d felt like he was going to die. That had
been the point back then.

Paul
had jumped out of a plane a hundred and fifty-two times in his life because he
just hadn’t cared if he died.

His
life had changed a lot since then, but as they took off for their jump on
Tuesday, every detail of the experience was familiar. The vibrations of the
plane, the loud roar of the engine, the throbbing pulse of his blood, the
faint, bitter beginnings of adrenalin in his mouth, the weight of the gear on
his back. It all felt the same as it used to.

Except
now Paul had a wife who was sitting beside him.

And
he didn’t really want to jump.

He
was going to, of course. Jumping wasn’t that big a deal to him, and Emily was
counting on him to be with her in this. Because of his training and experience,
Paul was licensed to jump solo, although technically this was his recurrency
jump and had to be done in the presence of an instructor.

There
was absolutely nothing challenging to him about the jump today, but he wasn’t
really having fun.

Emily
was scared and trying not to show it. She was doing a pretty good job, but Paul
could see her hands were trembling and her face was very pale.

She’d
seemed excited this morning, and she’d enjoyed the instruction she’d gotten
earlier, but, once they’d gotten into the plane, her very natural fear had
caught up with her. Paul had been chatting with her casually in an attempt to
distract her, telling her about some of the jumps he’d taken with Mike and Russ
a few years back. She was trying to focus on what he told her and smiled or
murmured at the right spots, but he could tell her nerves were making it hard
for her to think about anything except the jump.

Paul
had learned to skydive from Mike and Russ—the best instructors in the region.
They worked out of a drop zone just outside of Philadelphia, and Paul had done
most of his jumps with them. Naturally, he’d arranged to schedule Emily’s
skydiving experience with them as well.

Russ
was already hooked up to jump tandem with Emily. He was in his “zone,” as he
called it—staring out at the sky and ignoring any and all attempts to talk to
him. But Mike was making jokes, trying to help Emily relax, and he kept giving
Paul amused, ironic glances.

Paul
knew why.

Mike
thought his old friend, who had once been as wild as they came, had gone soft
and domestic, and he was getting a big kick out of that incongruity.

Paul
was doing his best to ignore it.

“I
couldn’t believe when I heard Paul was getting a job and settling down,” Mike
said, grinning at Emily after a pause in conversation. “But, now that I see
you, I finally understand his reasons.”

Paul
rolled his eyes.

Mike
was about thirty but still had a baby-face that he tried to hide with
ever-present stubble. He slanted a taunting look at Paul. “Maybe if I settle
down, I can find myself a pretty wife too.”

“Wouldn’t
do any good,” Paul said. “None of the pretty girls would want you.”

Emily
laughed at his comeback, but her laughter sounded a little forced. He scanned
her face closely, noticing again how white she looked and hoping she was
actually going to enjoy this.

When
she saw him observing her, she murmured hoarsely, “I must have been insane to
want to do this.”

“You’ll
be fine. It’s just the first step off that seems so hard.”

She
nodded a little jerkily. “Don’t let me chicken out at the last minute.”

“I
won’t. I know you want to do this.” He didn’t say any more, since Mike and Russ
were right there, but both he and Emily knew what he referred to.

When
he saw her hands twisting restlessly together, the sight bothered him.
Responding to an inexplicable compulsion, he reached over and covered them with
one of his.

It
was only intended to be a brief, supportive gesture—since he understood her
nervousness and felt bad for her—but Emily clung to his hand with one of hers
and wouldn’t let it go.

So,
quite unintentionally, Paul ended up holding hands with her for the few minutes
until the plane was in position.

Mike
seemed to find the hand-holding hilarious, if his mocking looks were anything
to go by. He no doubt believed that Paul was showing himself to be a clichéd,
sentimental sap after all.

There
was absolutely nothing Paul could do to clarify the matter. He couldn’t tell
Mike the truth about his marriage, and he couldn’t even pull his hand away from
Emily’s the way he wanted, since it seemed rather heartless to deny her the
support she needed.

Paul,
however, felt very awkward, sitting there and holding her hand as they waited
to jump out of a plane. There was a strange clench in his chest that he didn’t
like and didn't understand.

Fortunately,
it wasn’t long before Mike went to open the door, letting in a familiar blast
of wind. “Ready?” he asked with a broad grin.

Emily
gave a little whimper, so soft Paul barely heard it, but she didn’t hesitate as
she and Russ moved into position in their tandem gear. She gave Paul one last
look over her shoulder.

He
supposed he should have been able to think of something comforting and
inspiring to say, but he couldn’t think of anything. So he just nodded and
smiled. Said, “I’ll see you on the ground, and we can cross it off the list.”

She
smiled back at him, and then she and Russ were jumping.

Paul
stared at the open door of the plane where Emily had just disappeared. Now that
he was no longer distracted by her, he felt the familiar, almost painful
pounding of his blood.

Mike
had been looking down at Russ and Emily and counting seconds since their jump,
but now he looked up at Paul with a grin. “Still remember how to do this?”

Paul
ignored that and moved into position.

“I’ll
be right behind you. So, if you freak out, no worries. I’ll come and rescue
you."

Paul
gave that comment the sneer it deserved. Then he stared out into the vast
emptiness of the sky, felt the blast of wind against his face, experienced the
familiar dizzying sensation of being completely out of control, nothing to hold
onto, on the edge of death.

He
used to crave this feeling like a drug.

He
jumped, realizing something had definitely changed. He had unfinished business
in his life. He had real responsibilities. He had someone who depended only on
him.

And
he didn’t want to die anymore.

*
* *

Paul stared at his
computer screen and tried to focus on the email he was supposed to be writing.
He was still experiencing the effects of the adrenalin rush from skydiving
earlier in the day, however, and he just couldn’t seem to concentrate.

He
was half-exhausted and half-wired, and neither feeling made it easy to work.

He
was looking blankly at the screen, with unmoving hands poised over his
keyboard, when he heard a tap on the door to his home office.

He
spun the chair around and saw Emily peeking in. He couldn’t help but smile at
how hesitant she looked, as if she were afraid he was hard at work instead of
desperately trying to type out a single word. “What’s up?” he asked her,
gesturing her to come in.

“Sorry
to bother you,” she began, peering at his computer screen out of either
curiosity or anxiety about disturbing his work.

“No
bother. I was mostly just spinning my wheels. How are you feeling?”

“Great,”
she said, beaming at him with that bright Emily-smile. She was wearing
well-worn jeans and a casual, wine-red top that had a neckline a little too low
for his liking. “I still feel kind of buzzed. How long does it take to come
down from the adrenalin?”

“It
depends. But I guarantee, when you drop, you’ll know it.”

She
laughed, and he could still see the lingering thrill from the jump in her eyes.

Emily
had been out of her mind with excitement after skydiving. When he’d first seen
her after they’d both reached the ground, she’d launched herself at him in the
fiercest hug he’d ever received. She’d sustained the exhilarated high all the
way home, demanding that Paul drive faster and that he switch his boring music
to something much wilder and louder.  Paul had run on the treadmill when
they’d gotten home—since he knew exercise helped to even out his body
chemistry—and Emily had taken his advice and gone for a swim, since she said
rather heatedly that she hated running in place.

Since
then, he didn’t know what she’d been doing.

“Anyway,”
she continued, looking a little hesitant again, “I didn’t know if you were
hungry or anything, but Ruth was nice enough to make me a lasagna to warm up,
and it’s just about done. I didn’t know if you wanted to have dinner with me or
just work or if you needed to go out or…whatever.”

Paul
stared at Emily for a moment, wondering why she thought he might need to go
out. It wasn’t like he was going to date other women while he was married to
her, and there was little else that would pull him out on a random Tuesday
night.

“You
don’t have to,” she added hurriedly, when he didn’t immediately answer. “Ruth
made it for me to be nice, since I was telling her it was my favorite when I
was younger.”

“I’ll
join you, if you don’t mind. I usually just lose track of time and end up
grabbing something before bed.”

“That’s
a terrible habit,” she chided, as they left the office and walked together
toward the kitchen. “And how can you forget about dinner?”

The
truth was Paul was usually alone, and so he’d gotten out of the habit of
keeping a normal schedule. He would eat something at the computer or standing
in the kitchen. Until he’d married Emily, he’d almost never sat down at home
just to eat.

“Oh,
God, it smells good,” she murmured throatily, closing her eyes as they entered
the kitchen. “Ruth was so sweet to make it for me. Did you know that both of
her sons are chefs?”

“No,”
Paul admitted, wondering how Emily somehow knew more about the woman who cleaned
his apartment and stocked his pantry than he did. “In Philadelphia?”

“Yeah.
She told me where Johnny was, but I didn’t recognize the name of the
restaurant. But Sammy’s at Gino’s. They have the best Chicken Marsala there. Apparently
her sons want to open a restaurant together. They just don’t have the money yet
to pull it off.” While she was talking, she puttered around the kitchen,
pulling out a fresh baguette from the bread cubby and sorting through produce
in the refrigerator. “Did you want a salad?”