Listed: Volume II (4 page)

Paul
looked in the oven and saw the lasagna was hot and bubbly. He realized he was
ravenous. “Sure.”

Emily
handed him a bunch of romaine lettuce. “Here. Wash that and chop it up, and
I’ll figure out what we have for toppings.”

While
Paul worked on the lettuce, Emily diced tomatoes and cucumbers. Then she grated
parmigiano reggiano as he made a simple vinaigrette. Their salad was done by
the time Paul pulled the lasagna out of the oven.

When
he saw Emily pull out two plates and set them out on the kitchen bar, he
suggested, “We can eat on the terrace if you want. It’s a nice evening.”

Emily
seemed delighted by this suggestion and immediately piled up the plates with
forks, knives, napkins, and placemats to take outside. He grabbed the salad and
bread and carried them out to the wrought-iron table on the large terrace.
While Emily set the table, he went back to the kitchen. He’d been going to get
the lasagna, but he made a detour into the wine closet. Without thinking, he
grabbed a decent bottle of Chianti—not very expensive, maybe forty
dollars—since that was what he normally paired with lasagna.

But
when he walked out of the closet, he could see Emily on the terrace through the
glass doors. She was lighting the candle in the glass hurricane and smiling as
she admired the effect.

Paul
went back into the closet and got a much better bottle of Chianti.

He’d
grabbed two wine glasses in one hand when she came back in the kitchen. When
she looked at him curiously, he showed her the bottle of wine. “Good?”

Her
mouth twitched irrepressibly as she read the label. “Looks great.”

Drawing
his brows together, he studied her face. He couldn’t tell if she was just
brimming over with pleasure or if she was laughing at him for some reason. “You
can choose something else if—”

“No,”
she interrupted, her face transforming with a wide smile as she picked up the
lasagna with two hot pads. “That looks perfect. Thank you. Now let’s eat. I’m
starving.”

Pleased
that she approved of his wine choice, he followed her out to the terrace.

Paul
enjoyed dinner more than he could have expected. Ruth had outdone herself with
the lasagna. Emily seemed particularly impressed with his vinaigrette, saying
she was never using salad dressing out of a bottle again. The evening was crisp
and pleasant, and the sun was setting in pinks and oranges behind the
cityscape.

They
talked about skydiving. Then about what Emily wanted to do next from her list.
Then Emily gave him advice on how he could better decorate the terrace, including
twinkly lights on the potted trees.

The
only flaw in the dinner was that he kept noticing Emily’s cleavage in her
too-low neckline. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was the aftermath of the
adrenaline, but he was having much more trouble than normal keeping his eyes
from lingering there.

When
they finished eating, they sat in companionable silence for a few minutes,
looking out at the view. Emily gave a long, pleased sigh, and something
unusually husky in the sound made Paul’s body give a hard clench of interest,
much stronger than any physical response to her he’d experienced before.

Startled
and unnerved by his reaction, he picked up the wine to pour out the rest of it
and hopefully distract himself from reactions he shouldn't be having. He’d had
about three glasses of wine, so he knew Emily must have had much less, even
though he’d topped off her glass several times.  He started to pour most
of the rest of the Chianti into her glass.

Then
he noticed her lips were twitching again as she watched him.

He
finally realized what she found so funny.

“Damn
it,” he choked, jerking the bottle back, “You shouldn’t be drinking this!”

Emily
burst into a delicious ripple of uninhibited hilarity. “I was wondering when
you’d notice,” she gasped after a minute, evidently trying to control her
laughter but failing miserably.

“Why
didn’t you tell me?” he demanded, embarrassed and unsettled by such an obvious
gaffe. What the hell had he been thinking?

“I
wanted wine with the lasagna,” she explained, her lovely face glowing with her
attempts to suppress her amusement.  “And you were so cute serving alcohol
to a minor.”

Paul
glared at her, deciding she was having far too much fun with his mistake. But
his glare—which had intimidated many over the years—just made her laugh even
harder.

He
couldn’t hold onto his resentment for long, not in the face of her transparent
amusement. He hadn’t heard her laugh so uninhibitedly since her father had died
two years ago, not even when she’d been skinny-dipping in the lake.

She
must have seen his face softening because she looked at him with something warm
and almost fond in her eyes. “After all, I had champagne on our wedding day, so
it’s not entirely unprecedented.”

“But
that was in France,” he muttered. “Where it wasn’t illegal.”

He’d
started drinking when he was fourteen, and it had been a lot more than a glass
of wine with dinner.

Emily
was different, though.

She
burst into another ripple of laughter and reached over to pat his hand.
“Seriously, Paul. How much chance do you think there is that I’ll take up
binge-drinking or fall into a lifetime of alcoholism?”

Her
voice was light, almost teasing, but her words reminded him of a reality that
he’d let slip from his mind for the last hour. He felt a heavy sinking in his
gut as he recalled that she would never reach legal drinking age at all.

Emily
met his eyes, and her laughter transformed into something poignant and aching.
“Thank you, Paul,” she murmured. “The wine, the whole meal was really…special
to me.”

He
nodded, not having any idea what he should say. He just picked up the Chianti
bottle and split what remained between their two glasses.

Apparently,
Emily didn’t need him to say anything. They sat in silence, looking at the
sunset, until the wine was gone.

*
* *

Paul tried to work again
after dinner, but he kept getting distracted. Eventually, he gave up on work
completely. At nine-thirty he left his office with several sheets of printed
paper.

He
wandered the apartment until he found Emily in the media room.

She
was curled up in a corner of the sofa, covered with a cashmere throw, and she
was wearing pale blue pajama pants and a little white camisole with lacy
straps, one of which was slipping down her shoulder.

She
smiled when she saw him. “I should be reading Shakespeare, but I gave up.”

Paul
glanced at the television screen and recognized
Casablanca
. She was only
a few minutes into it.

“I’ve
never seen it,” she explained. “It’s not on my list, but it seems like
something you should see.”

He
sat down next to her on the couch. “I can’t believe you’ve never seen
Casablanca
.”

“So
says the ultimate patrician. Clearly, I’ve lived a very plebian life.”

Her
tone was wry, but he didn’t like the sentiment, and he shot her a disapproving
look.

“What
do you have there?” she asked, gesturing toward the papers in his hand.

“See
for yourself." He handed them to her with a pleased smile, looking forward
to her reaction.

He
wasn’t disappointed. It took a minute for Emily to scan over them, but then she
gave a little squeal of excitement. “We can go to Egypt to see the Pyramids? So
soon?”

He
nodded and was about to respond, but then Emily threw herself at him in a hug.

She
was evidently quite a hugger, since, in their short time together, she’d hugged
him more than anyone ever had except his mother. Paul wasn’t sure what to do
with such open, unconstrained displays of affection, and her first hug had made
him feel too awkward to enjoy. But the more she hugged him, the more he liked
it.

He
hugged her back, breathing in the herbal scent of her shampoo and the feeling
of warmth, closeness, fondness that her simple embrace conveyed.

After
a moment, however, he became aware of the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra.
Her soft breasts were pressed up against his chest, and her camisole seemed to
be tissue-thin.

Paul
pulled away from her gently, making sure to keep his eyes from slipping down to
see how much of her breasts were visible through the thin material.

She
beamed at him, completely unaware of the inappropriate detour his mind had
taken. “I didn’t think we’d be able to go so soon!”

He
forced his brain back to the topic at hand. “There’s no reason why not. I’ve
made all the arrangements.” He recovered the itinerary he’d put together and held
it out for her see. “We can go to New York on Friday—it’s less than a two hour
drive—and spend the day there on Saturday. We can do the Empire State Building,
since that was on your list.”

She
curled her lip. “Don’t scoff. I was twelve and that seemed exciting.”

He
chuckled. “I’m sure it did. I did some research, and there’s a production of
Henry
V
running that’s supposed to be excellent. It’s the entire play, so it’s
long, but it might be more fun than reading—”

His
explanation was interrupted with another hug.

Torn
between amusement and concern over his body's responses, Paul was briefly
paralyzed, not sure whether to hug her back or pull away.

She
didn’t seem to notice. “I can’t believe you’re doing all this for me. Thank you
so much.”

He
shrugged off her gratitude and tried to refocus on the itinerary.

When
they finished going over it, Emily set the movie to begin again and they
watched
Casablanca
together, since Paul wasn’t getting any work done
anyway.

After
it was over, Emily turned on the news.

Paul
glanced over at her a few minutes later and was surprised to find she was
asleep, curled up in a little ball on the couch.

She
looked young and incredibly innocent, with the intelligence, humor, and
tenacity in her eyes concealed by her closed eyelids. Her lashes were long and
thick, fanned out against her smooth skin. The outline and shading of her
nipples was clearly visible through the thin, white cotton.

Her
arms were bare, and it was cool in the room, so he pulled the cashmere throw
farther up to cover her.

Paul
had spent most of his life lashing out against everything he hated about the
world, searching for anything that might numb him against wounds that wouldn’t
heal.

He
had no practice in focusing on someone else. And, despite his vast experience,
he hadn’t really
lived
—anymore than Emily had.

She
didn’t look sick, but she was. And two weeks of her last three months had
already passed.

Sitting
on the couch with a growing ache in his chest, Paul realized something he
hadn’t consciously been aware of before.

He
was going to miss her when she died.

Paul was really busy
for the two days before they went to New York.

Emily
didn’t see much of him at all on the Wednesday and Thursday after their
skydiving expedition, since he was gone from the apartment for most of the day,
working in his company office or having meetings or something, and then he
didn’t leave his home office most of the evenings.

Emily
didn’t complain or even mention his absence. She missed him a lot after
spending so much time with him for the last couple of weeks, and she found
herself quite lonely in the apartment by herself. But Paul had gone to
incredible lengths to make wonderful things happen for her, and she could
hardly begrudge him the need to spend his time working or having fun on his
own.

She
wasn’t going to be a silly, self-centered girl who whined that the man who had
married her, taken her skydiving, and was flying her to Egypt on Sunday wasn’t
spending enough time with her.

So
the only time she interrupted him was to ask if he wanted to have dinner with
her. On Wednesday he said he had too much to do, so he just ate a sandwich at
his desk. He came out and had chicken stir-fry with her on Thursday, though.

He
was quiet at dinner, and he’d reverted back to the perpetually gentle look,
which bothered Emily more than it should have. On Tuesday evening, she’d had
such a wonderful time eating with him on the terrace. He’d seemed relaxed, like
he thought of her as a friend and not as a project or an object of pity. It hadn’t
lasted past the night, though.

Emily
refused to take it personally. He was probably stressed out by his difficult
new job. His change in behavior surely couldn't be connected to
her
. She
couldn’t think of anything she might have done to upset or offend him.

She
was disappointed by his standoffish mood, however, and honestly a little bit
hurt. She’d felt close to him on Tuesday, and then it seemed to disappear.