Saint Nicholas (20 page)

Productively, I’d never felt better. Everything that was holding me back was gone, and a new novel idea came to me one night after making love to Sarah, if making love was what you would call it. I’m partial to the term ‘animalistic passion’. I didn’t tell her about my idea, but that wasn’t so unusual. I liked to keep those things to myself until I knew they had some substance to them.

I talked to Helena and told her the good news. She was devastated to learn that Ma had lied to me all those years, but she was ecstatic that Sarah was back in the picture and promised to come visit the first chance she got. Things were going pretty well for her out west—she met a guy, was having fun, and her classes were
extremely bitchin.’

“You’ll be the next Penelope Cruz in no time,” I’d said.

“Penelope Cruz? Fuck that, I wanna be Morena Baccarin when I grow up.”

“Who?”

“Never mind.”

As for my mother? Well, I managed to forgive, though never forget. Our relationship was still a little rocky, and she had yet to face Sarah because of all the stuff going on with her father, but I promised that once things were better, we’d all get together and clear the air a little more, which I think she appreciated because ever since that day she hasn’t stopped sending me recipes on Facebook.

Don’t ask me, I just smile and nod.

I poured Sarah some more wine and cleared the table for her. She’d spent most of the day hidden away in her father’s room while I cooked dinner for us. She looked exhausted, and I wanted nothing more than to throw her on the couch, set her feet on my lap, and give them a good rub, but I knew she wasn’t in the mood.

“Thank you,” she murmured as I snatched her empty plate.

I kissed her on the head. “Any time.”

Her father moaned from down the hall and she sighed, frustratingly burying her face in her hands. I went to her, crouching down and wrapping my arms around Sarah’s back. She slumped against me.

“I feel so defeated,” she said.

“I know, but we’re almost through it.”

She took a deep breath, exhaling with, “You know, I kind of like the sound of that.
We
.”

“Yeah?”

She pulled away, kissing me on the cheek. “Yeah, it has a nice ring to it.”

My eyes twinkled back at her. “Maybe one day this can have a ring on it,” I said, brushing her finger.

She smiled, “Maybe. Thank you for dinner, by the way. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know I didn’t have to. I wanted to. You’re going through a lot right now, and I just want to be here for you as much as I can.”

“When you’re not pecking away at the computer, right?”

I laughed. “Right.”

“What are you writing, anyway?”

“Just a novel. I have an idea for a new Blake Steel book that I think people are really going to dig.”

“That’s great!”

“So far it is, yeah.”

She sipped at her wine while I finished cleaning. I knew she was happy for me because I was writing again, but I couldn’t help but think she was a bit disheartened that her own ambitions weren’t going fulfilled. Novel Idea had been put on hold for the time being so all her focus could be on her dad, and Carter had gotten busy at work so he wasn’t able to help her as much as far as business proposals and budgeting costs went. I knew once everything settled she’d jump back into it, but for now it pained me to see her so heartbroken over everything.

I pulled my chair closer and sat down so Sarah could rest her head on my shoulder.

“How much time do you think he has left?”

“I don’t know. Soon.”

It’d been five months since her father came home from the hospital, and it’d been the most grueling five months ever. Lately he’d been slipping in and out of consciousness and was so doped up on morphine for the pain that whenever he was awake he’d be spouting nonsense. Seriously. Stuff about tractors and ballroom dancing. It was weird, if not a little eerie.

He moaned again and Sarah moved to go help him, but I stopped her.

“I’ll go,” I said. “You go sit on the couch. I’ll give you a foot rub when I’m done.”

“Saint Nicholas,” she grinned. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Luckily you’re never going to have to find out.”

I blew her a kiss from down the hall and went to check on her father.

The bedroom window was covered in a drop cloth because the light hurt his eyes, so the room was shrouded in shadows ninety-nine percent of the time, and smelled like a roadside rest stop. We’d tried to put up as many air fresheners as possible and change his sheets once a day, but it still didn’t abate the stench much.

“Hey Mr. Danniels,” I said, quietly approaching the bed. If he was sleeping I didn’t want to wake him, but these days he had his eyes closed so much that it was hard to tell.

He reached out a hand, groggily mumbling, “Sarah.”

“No, it’s Nicholas,” I took his palm in mine and gave it a light squeeze. “Is there anything you need?”

“Oh, Nicholas. Have a seat with me.”

I looked behind me and grabbed a folding chair kept next to the bed. I sat down, resting my forearms on the mattress and doing all I could to bare the smell.

“So cold,” he mumbled.

I threw another blanket on him and sat back down, waiting for him to talk. It felt like we sat there for hours before he said anything, and I was just about to go back out and sit with Sarah when he coughed. I reached over and wet his lips with a sponge that was soaking in water.

“Thank you,” he said. “You always were a good boy.”

I chuckled to myself, shaking my head at his words. Part of me wondered how much of everything he remembered from the past, if anything.

“Sit, sit,” he patted the mattress.

“I am sitting, Mr. Danniels.”

“Good, because there’s something I need to tell you. Come here.”

I leaned over, looking him in the eyes. People dying of cancer have a certain smell about them, and I’m not referring to the loss of their bodily functions.

When he opened his mouth his breath had a pungent, decaying odor to it that I couldn’t help but wince through, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“You’re good to my Sarah,” he said. “Real good. I see the way you look at her. The way she looks at you. That’s nice, real nice.”

“Well, thank you. I like her a lot.”

“Bullshit,” he wheezed.

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t like her. I know you don’t.”

“But Mr. Danniels, you just said—”

“You love her, you stupid fool.”

I tried to keep a straight face, but hearing someone else besides Carter say that brought a wide smile to my face. If someone in Mr. Danniels’ position could see that, then Sarah must have seen it too, though we’d yet to say it out loud to one another.

“I knew it,” he continued, “and I want you to know something. I’m glad she has you. I was wondering where you were all these years, and then poof! There you were.”

“Here I am,” I said, not sure what point he was trying to make, if any.

“I just wanted you to know that I’m really happy for all you’ve done for her. Now, and back then. I wasn’t the nicest person, and I know that, and I did a lot of fucked up things that I can’t change, but she’s always had you, and for that I’m grateful.”

I swallowed—hard—unsure of what to say, so I didn’t say anything. I sat there, looking into his tired, weak eyes, which regarded me with compassion and understanding.

“Thank you. Thank you for forging me.”

He gave my hand a gentle squeeze and laid his head deep into the pillow. Seconds later he was asleep. I didn’t think he’d heard me when I whispered that in his ear. It had been more for my benefit than his, but knowing that he understood me made it all the more cleansing.

I tucked the sheets up under his chin and took one last look at him, thinking about how everybody that comes into your life has a lesson to teach you, even the bad ones.

TWENTY-SEVEN

-
Sarah
-

Dad died the following Sunday. Nicholas, myself, and Carter surrounded his bed as we watched him leave this world, and as much as I hated to admit it to myself, I felt that it was finally over. An apology can only carry you so far, and that’s what it was like. Even with him being the person he was now, it was never enough for me, and knowing that he was gone—really and truly gone and that he could never hurt anyone ever again—it was a relief.

The funeral was small, with just the three of us surrounding his grave as the casket was lowered into the ground. I didn’t feel the need to try and contact my mother, who made it clear a while ago that she wanted nothing to do with Dad or me. That stung, but I’d learned to accept it. Her guilt was her own, and I didn’t need to bare that burden any longer.

When it was over, we retreated back to my apartment. There was no fancy set-up, no after-funeral meat and cheese platters or tiny finger sandwiches. We just sat around, drinking beer.

“This place feels different now,” Nicholas said, sitting next to me on the couch.

I closed my eyes and took it in. He was right. There was a shift in the atmosphere in the apartment. Before it was like there was some heavy black mass surrounding everything, and now, it felt lighter. Exorcised, in a way.

“Do you feel it?” he asked me.

I nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

“I think you guys have had one too many,” Carter joked. “Cause the only thing I feel are my toes tingling.”

I think he was the one who had a few too many.

Laughing, Nicholas and I made our way to the bedroom where dad died. He tore the drop cloth off the window, letting in the sunlight for the first time in months. I stripped the bed, thinking I’d wash the seats and fold them away, but he told me to throw them out, which seemed like a better idea.

“What about the bed?” I asked. “We’ll never be able to get rid of that smell. I swear it’s soaked into the mattress.”

“We’ll trash it, too. Get something new eventually. You don’t really have need for a second bed right now anyway, do you?”

“No, I guess not. Not unless you piss me off in the middle of the night with your snoring, and then—”

“—I’ll sleep on the couch.”

He approached me, amusement on his face that hooked the right side of his mouth up into an adorable grin.

“I love the way you know me so well,” I said.

“I love everything about you, Sarah. I love it all. Love it, love it, love it, love you. I love you.”

He hugged me, and I felt the warmth of his body pressed against mine as his words registered in my heart.

“I love you so damn much,” he whispered.

“I swear,” I said, feeling an onslaught of tears, “if there was a contest to see who can make Sarah cry the most, you’d win every time.”

He squeezed tighter, saying, “I don’t mean to make you cry. It’s just when I think about my life with you, it fills my heart with so much love to the point where it almost hurts, but in a good way.”

“I know what you mean.”

He pulled away, running the ball of his thumb down my cheek. “Do you?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, and do you know why? Because I love you, too. I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you, and I’ve never stopped. We may have strayed and gone through our own stuff, but it’s always been you that’s had my heart, Nicholas. Always.”

He cupped my face and brought his lips to mine, not in fleeting moment of desperation like most of our kisses had been like these days where we just needed to ravage one another to make up for lost time, but in a tender, gentle embrace that sent my heart fluttering in a delicate moment of security that made me feel safe in my love for Nicholas.

“Come on,” he said, taking me by the hand. “We can finish all this stuff up later. Let’s just go relax for a while.”

I shut the bedroom door behind us, pausing to brush my fingers across the grain. This chapter of my life was almost over, and as I turned back to Nicholas placing his arm around my waist, I was eager to see where the next one would lead.

PART

FOUR

One Year

Later

TWENTY-EIGHT

-
Sarah
-

All week Nicholas had been acting strange.

Three nights ago I caught him up late in the living room texting someone, and when I asked who he was speaking to he brushed it off as if it were no big thing and told me I shouldn’t worry. A day later I woke up early and found him at his computer chatting online, and when I approached him he quickly shut his laptop and ignored my inquiries as to what was going on.

I’m not going to lie, it was scary, and a part of me was beginning to fear the worst: that perhaps we were growing apart and another woman had sparked his interest. It was crazy of me to think that considering how much time we spent together and how often we partook in each other’s bodies, but seeing him like that was extremely troublesome.

When I opened my eyes the following Saturday he was nowhere to be found. He wasn’t lying next to me in bed, and when I called for him he didn’t answer. Perturbed, I marched out to kitchen in my undies and a tank top, but instead of finding Nicholas, I found Carter, doting over a pot of coffee.

“Morning, sleepy head,” he said.

“Carter?” I ran my fingers through my hair, more confused than ever. “What are you doing here?”

He poured me a cup of coffee and sat me down at the table, saying, “We need to talk.”

My heart skipped a beat and I immediately felt my stomach churn. When someone tells you
we need to talk
, it’s never a good sign.

“What is it?” I asked, ignoring the coffee.

He sighed and sat down across from me, taking my fingers in his. “Your boy Saint Nicholas has been keeping secrets from you.”

I cupped my hand to my mouth, stifling a sickening croak in my throat.

Carter nodded. “I know, honey, I know.”

“What’s he been doing?” I asked hesitantly, not wanting to entirely believe what Carter was saying. “Is there someone else?”