Not Looking For Love: Episode 2 (6 page)

I sit on the top step, leaning against the banister, which creaks from my weight. Rain is pounding on the roof, erasing all other sounds, making me feel safe and secure, sheltered from the world. The hallway smells of yeast and butter, and, if I imagine very hard, fresh baked bread.

I don't know when I dozed off, but someone's shaking my shoulder now. "Gail, what are you doing here?"

I rub the sleep from my eyes. Scott's got his own phone on and the light spills over his face like moonlight.

I rise and take a weightless step toward him to rest my head on his chest. He's got his jacket zipped up, but his warmth is coming through the cool fabric, and the clean scent of rain mixes with his cologne, twisting my stomach in anticipation.

"I thought we could get to know each other better, if you still want to," I mumble into his chest.
 

His breath crackles in his chest. He wraps his arm around me and leads me to the door, digging in his pocket for the keys.
 

He lets go of me since we can't both fit through the door, pushing me gently forward with his hand on my lower back.

Once inside, he turns on the light and the sudden brightness pierces my eyes, making them tear up. He takes off his jacket and his smell hits me harder. But I could just lean against him tonight, I don't want anything more.

He's still just staring at me, like he's not even sure I'm really there. I need him to be sure, so I can be too.
 

"Do you want me to leave?" I ask.
 

"Honestly?" he asks, his eyes narrowed, black as pitch.
 

"Yes," I say, my voice barely above a whisper, because I don't want him to send me away.

"No, I don't want you to leave. But I'm a little afraid of what will happen if you stay," he says and smiles, but it doesn't really reach his eyes.

"I won't…I just want to stay here for a little bit."
 

"OK," he says, and brushes past me. I follow him into the living room. Everything still looks the same, except there are two piles of neatly folded laundry on the kitchen table, making the room smell like fabric softener. He digs in one of the piles, making it topple over.

"You should get out of those wet clothes," he says, handing me a grey sweatshirt.

"Can I shower first?" I ask. I'm shivering from my wet clothes, my skin icy.

He shrugs. "I wouldn't. Hot water's gonna make that bruise even worse."

I must look hideous. I touch my nose gingerly, but pain still explodes in my head.
 

"Don't touch it. Change."
 

I finally take the sweatshirt he's still holding out for me, and he walks into the kitchen.
 

Sliding off my trench coat, I notice the bloodstain. Likely it'll never come off. Maybe I should go into the bathroom to change, but it's a fleeting sort of idea, distant. I toss the coat over one of the chairs and pull my shirt off. Scott turns back to me just as I free my head.

His gaze travels up my stomach, over my breasts and settles on my neck. His lips are slightly parted and glistening. It's like he's touching me with his eyes, warmth and tingles crackling all over me. I'm not cold anymore, never would be again if he always looked at me that way.

The thought hooks into my heart and breaks the illusion, making me see visions of future deathbeds, my soul breaking again. But I won't think of that tonight. Still, I pull the sweatshirt over my head and remove my pants after it's already covering me. It hangs down to a few inches above my knees, and Scott's looking at the spot like maybe he wants me to walk over and wrap my legs around him. But it's his move tonight; I'm done acting like a slut.
 

He's holding an already wet rag in his hand, and his eyes break away from me as he runs the tap over it once more.
 

He walks over to me. "Here, put this on your face. I don't have any ice."

"Ed thought a steak would work too." I smile and take the rag, holding it against my face.
 

"That's disgusting. It does work, though, but I don't have any steaks either," Scott says, and adjusts the rag so it's covering up my whole nose.
 
"Where'd he take your car?"

"My house. I can't even begin to deal with that tonight," I say.

He wipes a drop of water off my cheek with his thumb. I take a step closer so our legs are touching. I want him to hold me and for once he does, wrapping his arm softly around my waist.
 

"I'd kiss you, Gail, but you look God awful." He laughs at the outrage that must be plastered on my face. "Relax. What I meant was that I'm afraid you'll bite."

"Speak to me like that, and I might," I say as I press closer to him. "Seriously though, I won't bite you anymore. Unless you want me to."

The scab on his lip hasn't completely healed yet, but it's already white and should disappear soon.
 

"I really don't." He smiles and his eyes are taking me to a sun drenched orchard in summertime, butterflies fluttering all around. I bite my lip in anticipation, but he doesn't kiss me. Instead, he guides me to the chair, and pulls me down into his lap, both of his arms wrapped around my waist. This works too. Beyond just staying like this, safe and warm, soft anticipation coursing thought my veins, I don't even know what I want.

 
"Were you out in the hall for long?" he asks.

I check my watch, shaking my hand so the charms of the bracelet Mom gave me aren't covering its face. It's after two. "A couple of hours, I guess. I came straight here after I took my car home."

I lean into his chest, my face so close to his we're barely a breath apart. "What took you so long to get here?"

He tenses a little. "I took Janine home and we talked. Seemed like she wanted to, back in the car."

"She did," I say. "I hope you worked it out."

"Not much to work out. Things are what they are," Scott says, his leg trembling slightly under me.

"You've known her for a long time, haven't you?" I ask.

"All my life really, she's my next door neighbor. We've been friends forever."

"She seemed very upset over something," I say, thinking maybe he wants to keep talking.

"It's been a bad year."

"Yeah?" I ask, not sure if I want to know about it. But if he wants to talk, I'll listen. Whatever works for me tonight.

"Her fiancé died last December," he says, and the words pierce my heart. But I knew death hung between them, should have expected something like this. "He was my best friend too, and I'm not really sure I can help Janine get through it."

"So you left afterwards? I understand that." I know the feeling exactly. It was the reason I couldn't go into my house tonight.
 

His whole body tenses up, and he holds me more firmly. "Something like that."

He doesn't seem like the type who'd run though. He's here holding me, and I'm a total mess, nothing anyone weak would want to deal with. The wet rag is no longer cool against my face, so I take it off and rest against his shoulder. I stare off into the kitchen, letting the silence drag. Death is a terrible, permanent thing that no one can do anything about. It gets into your pores, your cells, devours you whole, breaks you from the inside, and all you're left with is the realization that dead is dead, but it will stay with you everywhere for the rest of your own life, maybe beyond.

Tears well in my eyes and I shudder, my heart still fighting the inevitable death my mind knows must come.
 

"I'm sorry your mom is dying, Gail," Scott says, like he's reading my mind. "But it will get easier."

I'm not so sure he's right, but he must be, everyone keeps telling me the same thing. He did say easier though, so at least he's not pretending I'll ever be well again. My eyes rest on a small pile of sand laying next to a small plastic bottle that had snapped in half. A magnet is still attached to one of the pieces, and a tiny roll of parchment is stuck inside the other part. The button of my jeans that broke off last time is laying next to it.

I reach over and touch the sand, letting it slip through my fingers. "This must have been a really nice magnet before it broke."
 

It'd be like having the beach in you kitchen, and I want one.
 

"I guess. I thought I could glue it back together, but it's ruined," Scott says, picking up one of the broken parts. "My mom made a bunch of them, though, so there's gotta be more up in the attic."

 
"Really? Can we go get it?" I ask, straightening up and moving to stand up.

He pulls me back. "Not right now." There's an edge to his voice, but it's not for me, and his eyes look lost. "I kind of just wanna sleep."

"OK," I say.

He releases me and I walk over to the bed, sitting on the edge. The bouncing reminds me of the last night I was here, and heat grows between my legs.
 

Scott takes off his jeans, and tosses them over the chair. He's wearing one of those boxer briefs, which are hugging his legs perfectly, leaving very little to the imagination. Heat spreads into my stomach, and I scoot over to the far side of the bed to let him climb in beside me. He turns off the light before he does. Yellow light from the street lamp outside is the only thing illuminating the room now, and I'm not sleepy at all.
 

"Aren't you gonna lie down?" he asks, pulling the covers over himself and holding them up for me to get in.

I lie down next to him, and rest my head on his chest, draping my leg over his. I slide my hand under his shirt, just a little bit, feeling the ripples of his stomach.
 

His arm is resting against my side, firm and comforting, light as a feather. "It's been a long day, Gail."

I murmur agreement and close my eyes, but I don't take my hand from his stomach. If the world stood still like this forever, I wouldn't mind at all.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The cold grey light of dawn wakes me. My heart is racing and my breathing is shallow, as though I've just had a nightmare, but I don't remember dreaming at all. Scott is breathing evenly, his face turned away from mine.

Outside it looks like winter has come, and the street below is still completely silent, likely because it's Sunday. I feel like I'm being sucked in by the soft grey light and disappearing, until I hardly know who I am, what my name is.

At dawn the fabric that keeps us whole and complete in this world is at its thinnest, as fragile as a cobweb. I feel myself stretching for miles, the bed as insubstantial as clouds below me. Many people release their hold on life in the early hours of the morning.

My substance comes back with a whoosh, all the force of gravity behind it. Racing heartbeats are jabbing my throat, my head feeling like it might burst. I have to get home, have to know that my mom is alright.
 

I climb off the end of the bed, sending it wobbling. My jeans are still damp and one of the belt loops snaps when I pull them on. My teeth are chattering by the time I pull on my wet t-shirt.

"Where are you going?" Scott asks his voice, still thick with sleep. He sits up and rolls his shoulders, stretching his neck. "God, I hate sleeping on my back," he mutters more to himself than to me.

"I have to get home," I say, yanking the belt of my trench coat together as tightly as it will go.

He stands up, looking around for something to wear. "I'll take you."

"No need. I'll just take a cab," I mutter. Dawn brought more clarity too. I can't be dating, not when my mom is about to die.

He picks up a pair of sweats off the ground and pulls them on. "Nonsense. I can drive you."

I wait for him to put on his shoes and jacket, and then stride out of his apartment, my teeth still chattering.
 

"You're welcome to wear my shirt you know," he says.

And how would that look? Me rushing home to my mom, after I've just been out all night, wearing a guy's shirt.

I shake my head and run down the stairs, hoping it will warm me up.
 

Inside his truck it's freezing. I move to turn on the heat, but he stops me by laying his hand over mine. "I wouldn't do that. It works at first, but then dust comes out."

I nod, and curl my hands in my lap. We drive for the next few blocks in silence. He's still rubbing his eyes and yawning. I'm sitting perfectly still, my hands in my lap and my legs crossed, thinking of nothing.
 

"I'm sure it will be alright," he says after awhile.

"Yeah, well, I'm not," I snap. It shouldn't be alright. My mom dying should never be alright. The thought brings a new wave of racing heartbeats, and my vision is turning black at the edges now.
 

He looks at me from the corner of his eye, like he can't bear to face me or my anger head on and my frustration melts. I'm not mad at him, I'm mad at the world, fate, life, disease and death.
 

I rest my hand on his thigh. "I just can't think right now."

"OK," he says, and leaves it at that.

My car is still parked where I left it last night, and the light is on in the kitchen.

I open the door to get out, but Scott pulls me back. "Wait. Do you want to do something later?"

"I don't know." The words stick in my throat, catch on the ball of tears. "Maybe."

"I can call you," he says. "If you give me your number."

I recite it before I can change my mind.
 

"Hold on," he says and rummages through the glove compartment for a pen and paper, asking me to repeat it.

I do, but with more reluctance. I could just give him a wrong number and never see him again. But the way we keep running into each other, maybe that's impossible. And maybe it's meant to be. He waits until I'm inside and closing the door behind me.

"Gail, is that you?" my dad calls from the kitchen. The grandfather clock chiming six o'clock echoes from the living room.

"It's me," I call back. "How's mom?"

Dad emerges from the kitchen and gasps when he sees me. "What happened to your face?"