Nocturne (36 page)

“I am, Gregory.”

My reply was a little impatient. “What’s going on, Madeline?”

She sighed. “I just got home from a particularly maudlin evening out. With your wife.”

That caused me to sit up. And hit my head on the upper bunk. I cursed and dropped the phone, which I heard bouncing against the carpet to who knew where while I fumbled around in the darkness.

A sudden flash and horn racing by, then receding into the distance, marked a train going in the opposite direction. For a few moments our train was buffeted by wind and turbulence from the other one, and then it was gone.

I got on my knees and searched around until I found my phone. It was underneath the bed. Groaning, I put it to my ear and leaned back against the bunk, still sitting on the floor. “Madeline, you there?”

“I’m still here, Gregory. Did you fall, or jump out the window or something?”

“Hit my head on the upper bunk. What did Karin have to say?”

Madeline responded in an aggravated tone. “She’s your wife.”

“I’m painfully aware of that.”

She sighed quite audibly. Then she said, “After your performance last night, she believes you’re sleeping with Savannah.”

I was silent. I couldn’t tell anyone. I was married. But I couldn’t lie either. Not to Madeline, who had been my friend for fifteen years, who had been Savannah’s mentor. I couldn’t lie. So I didn’t say anything. Which, unfortunately, told Madeline all she needed to know.

“You love her, don’t you?”

I closed my eyes and pressed my head against my knees.

“Gregory ... how did you do this to yourself? You, of all people.”

I just groaned. Then rode for a few more seconds, the silence punctuated by the sound of the rails clattering below. Then I said, “What did you say to Karin?”

“Well ... it was a long night. And ... she’s not having an easy time of it, Gregory. You know ... I knew from the beginning you didn’t love her. It really wasn’t fair that you married her. And now ... when she just found out she’s infertile? You’re my friend, and I love you, Gregory. I want the best for you. I want you to be happy. I want her to be happy. But your timing sucks. You’re breaking her heart.”

I leaned forward again, my mind focusing in on one single word in her monologue.

“
She just found out
what?”

Madeline didn’t answer.

“Madeline. What the fuck did you just say? She just found out what?”

Her answer was so quiet I barely heard. “Gregory, she can’t have children.”

My thoughts exploded into a hundred different directions at once. If she couldn’t have children, then
why the hell was she hounding me about having children?
What the hell? For that matter, what prompted this revelation? It’s not as if we were trying to have children.

Were we?

“I don’t understand,” I said, my voice dry. “When … did she have a doctor appointment?”

“Gregory ... are you saying … you didn’t know?”

“Of course I didn’t know,” I hissed. “I’ve never wanted children. And she
knew
that.” It didn’t make any sense. Why would she go get testing without telling me? For that matter, why does anyone get fertility testing unless they’d been trying to have a baby?
Had she?
She was on the pill ... that much I knew. It was one of the first questions I asked when we were dating. But now I was asking myself if she’d decided to stop taking them. If she’d decided to have a baby without discussing it with me. Had she only brought it up because it wasn’t working?

What the hell is wrong with her?
A wash of rage and guilt and confusion ran through me in a muddled mess, and I didn’t have the first clue what to think or feel.

Madeline was silent at the other end of the call. So I sat, watching the occasional light flash by, listening to the tracks rumble underneath the car, and then the door to the sleeper opened up, hitting me in the side.

“God
damn it!”

In the bright light from the train hallway stood Nathan. Who gave me a murderous look as he stared at me, sitting on the floor in the car.

“Madeline, I’ve got to go,” I said, scrambling to my feet.

“Wait!” she called out.

“Seriously ...”

“No,” she replied, her voice firm. “You listen to me for a moment.”

“Now is awkward,” I replied.

Nathan was swaying in the doorway. He didn’t look drunk. But he did look furious.

“Gregory,” she said. “I’m not going to judge you. I’ve known you and Savannah for a long time. And ... when she was a student I did my best to keep you apart. Because it was my responsibility. But … it’s been obvious for a long time. But my support ends …” She paused, and I heard her sniff. “My support ends if you hurt that girl. Do you understand me?”

I closed my eyes. Then I said, “Yes, Madeline. I understand. I’ll call you in the next day or so, all right?”

“Good night, Gregory.”

We hung up. Just in time, because a pugnacious Nathan Connors pushed his way into the room and slung his bag onto the top bunk.

“Nathan,” I said.

“I want to talk with you, Fitzgerald.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Whatever for?”

“You screwing Savannah.”

Something about his obnoxious little face, or the contemptuous wording he used, infuriated me. Not to mention the fact that she’d spoken to Nathan, of all people, about it. I'd been right to be concerned she'd choose him to speak with. I’d have been happier if she’d picked just about anyone else on earth to confide in.
Anyone
else.

“Don’t you dare speak about her that way,” I said.

His cheeks were red, his eyes wide, aggressive. “That’s a fucking laugh, Fitzgerald. You break my friend’s heart, and you tell me not to
talk
about her in a way that
displeases
you?”

I leveled my gaze at him and said, “Nathan, I really don’t have time for this right now. You’re standing in between me and the lounge car.”

“You leave her alone,” he said. “You don’t talk to her. You don’t touch her. You don’t fucking hurt her.”

I’d had enough. I’d awakened that morning in absolute bliss, with the love of my life beside me, only to have
my wife
destroy that moment. My wife,
who
was busy trying to get pregnant without asking me
. I’d been yelled at, watched Savannah run off into traffic, I’d hit my head, been kept up on a train half the night, been forced to room with a too young and far too irritating member of this orchestra, and now I had to listen to
this?
I was done.

“Get out of my way.
Now.
”

He stepped back. The menace in my tone was unmistakable. I held a finger up in his face. “The fact that we’re colleagues does
not
make you my equal, Mr. Connors. You will never speak to me that way again. I care for that woman more than you can possibly imagine.”

His eyes narrowed, and he took a breath to speak, but I pushed him back. “Don’t cross me, Nathan.”

He muttered, “If you hurt her, I’ll ruin you, Fitzgerald. Your precious fucking career will never survive it. I guarantee you that.”

I leaned close to him and said in a low tone, “Just remember when you make threats, that I was sitting in my seat with the Boston Symphony before you were even old enough to
care
about girls and their feelings. I have enough pull to make
your
fucking career miserable. Now back
the
fuck
off.” Then I backed up, opened the door to the sleeper and walked out into the corridor.

I wasn’t proud of myself. I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t anything but pissed off and sorely in need of a drink. Five minutes later I found my way to the lounge car. Two minutes after that I’d tossed back my first gin and tonic and ordered another. It was late, and I was tired, and we had a long day ahead of us tomorrow. I was regretting accepting a seat on this roving tour. I was too old for this crap, and the last thing I needed to deal with was Nathan fucking Connors back in my room.

I shook my head. The hell of it was ... if it was true? That Karin had just found out she was sterile, or infertile, or whatever the hell they call it? Then I was stuck with her, at least for the time being. Because what kind of bastard leaves his wife when she's heartbroken?

I stared at my drink. And tried not to think about it. Because one thing I’d always been was someone who could look in the mirror with pride. But twice now ... both times with Savannah ... I’d destroyed that. The first time, when I didn’t risk it. When I didn’t go after her. When I told James I’d cut off contact. It broke her heart, and it broke my soul.

The second time ... hard to believe it was only twenty-four hours ago. Twenty-four hours to ruin my life. Twenty-four hours to break her heart. I loved Savannah, and I’d do anything, anything at all, to have her in my life.

And she was the one thing I couldn’t have.

I tossed back my second drink then leaned my head on my hands for just a moment, rubbing my eyes. I kept them closed, leaning that way. Then I heard a voice.

Her voice.

She sounded exhausted, her voice rough, gravelly almost.

“Another gin and tonic for him. Red wine for me.”

I lifted my face from my hands. And Savannah sat down across from me.

Gregory

E
very few minutes a light flashed by
, the railcar rocked periodically, and the wheels rattled with their own rhythmic beauty as the train sped through the darkness. I don’t know how much further we travelled before we spoke. It could have been a hundred yards, or it could have been a hundred miles. I stared at her, rocking a little in my seat as the car moved.

She had dark circles under her eyes, which didn’t suit her at all, and her face was even more pale than normal. She sat back and sipped her wine and seemed to study me.

“Does this mean we’re speaking again?” I asked.

“We never stopped speaking. I just needed time to think.” As she said the words, she looked almost drained of emotion. She let out a long sigh, and I must have mirrored it, because her mouth quirked up on one side in a tiny smile.

“Tired?” I asked.

“I didn’t get much sleep last night,” she replied, raising one eyebrow. Her tone was light, and she looked at me over her plastic wine glass as she said the words.

I swallowed, sudden tension in the air. Did this mean she was over her sudden anger? Or ... what did it mean? Why did she joke about something so intense? So deeply personal between the two of us?

The hell of it was, the night we’d just had together? It was … everything. It meant everything. It was so much more than sex. So much more than anything I’d ever experienced, even more than our fumbling first night five years before. More than I’d even imagined.

I couldn’t get a grip on my feelings, because every time I thought of her, I was overwhelmed. Every time I thought of
last night
I was overwhelmed.

Every time I thought of her whispering,
I love us.

“Sometimes I don’t understand you,” I said.

She snorted, raising one eyebrow and looking at me with an expression that bordered on amusement. Then she took a long drink from her wine. “Did you seriously just say that, Gregory? You don’t understand
me?
”

I shrugged. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I want you to tell me what you’re thinking.”

I sighed, then leaned forward and took a sip of my gin. “What I’m thinking, Savannah, is that … last night ... was the happiest I’ve ever been in my life.”

She frowned and shook her head. “You didn’t look so happy in the morning. When your wife called.”

I shook my head impatiently. “That’s not as simple a situation as you might think.”

“What’s complicated about it?”

I sighed. I didn’t know how to answer, because it was a mess. I didn’t love Karin. I should never have married her. I’d done it in a moment of heartbreak and loneliness, two years after Savannah left, knowing I’d lost her forever. Not even realizing that I’d condemned myself by doing so.

There was no right answer. There was no excuse. And no matter what happened with Savannah, no matter what happened with Karin, the fact of the matter was, I was the one who was wrong. Every single step of the way. I wanted Savannah so badly it was like a wound that wouldn't heal. I didn’t know how to fix it. I didn’t know how to make it right.

Then, before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “I can’t promise you anything.”

“You
what
?” she asked. Her tone of voice implied irritation. Disgust.

“Listen to me,” I said. Fumbling. Confused. Unsure of myself.

“I’m listening,” she said, “but you aren’t making any sense.”

I swallowed and closed my eyes. Then I opened them and met her eyes. She shifted in her seat, and as I spoke the next words, I had the feeling that I’d taken a headlong rush off a cliff.

“You’re my heart, Savannah. Not in it. Not a part of it. I’m consumed by you. Obsessed by you. I need you in my life any way I can have you. Don’t tell me you don’t feel the same way.”