Salvation (13 page)

So something must have happened between lunch and the time he got here. He was expecting a normal, friendly evening and even made an effort to be extra nice. And then something had happened.

It couldn’t be connected to me, if that was the case. I just didn’t see how that was possible. But something else...with work or his family or something.

I worried about it for another half-hour, until I started to work myself up into a panic. When I started to sweat and get chills at the same time, I knew I had to do something.

I knew rationally that every minor thing that went wrong in the world didn’t necessarily imply a trauma, but my mind still functioned that way. In this case, the only way to deal with it was ask.

I stared at my phone for a minute. It had been an hour, so he should be home by now, unless he’d stopped somewhere. I started to call but changed my mind. I tapped out a text instead.

Then I changed my mind and deleted it. Then started over. I reworded it four times before I finally hit send.

I’m sorry to keep asking, but I’m getting really worried about it now. Are you sure everything is all right?

I waited, my heart racing ridiculously. I wondered if I’d ever get back to the point where minor things didn’t feel like such a big deal to me.

I waited for a chirped reply for two minutes. Nothing.

I waited five more minutes. Still nothing.

I made myself get up and get ready for bed, even though it was a little early. I could watch a movie or something in bed, and maybe that would distract me.

I was just pulling on my pajamas when my phone rang with a call.

I jumped and fumbled as I checked the screen and connected the call. “Hey,” I said.

“Hey. I’m really sorry, Diana. Are you all right?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m fine. Thanks for calling. I’m really glad you called.”

“You sound upset.”

“I’m not...I mean, it’s no big deal.” I felt like an absolute fool, so I just told him the truth. “You know how I get sometimes. I get all worked up over nothing. I was just getting all anxious about what might have happened today to...to....”

“To make me act like such an ass.”

“No! No. Just I could tell something was really bothering you, and you wouldn’t tell me what it was.”

“I know. I’m really sorry.”

I hesitated, not sure whether he was going to tell me now. When he didn’t say anything more, I asked, “Were you still driving?”

“No. I was in the shower and didn’t hear the text.”

“Oh. I was just getting in bed. You should go to bed early too.”

“I am.”

I heard him moving around and thought maybe he was actually getting in bed like I was. He let out a long sigh that was almost a groan.

“I’m sorry I ruined dinner,” he said at last, his voice slightly hoarse. “Especially after you’d taken all the time and effort to make it.”

“I don’t care about that, Gideon. But can’t you please tell me what happened today? Was it work?”

“Yeah,” he said after a long pause. “It was just a really bad day.”

I rolled over on my side and positioned the phone more comfortably. “Can you tell me what happened?” He didn’t answer right away, so I added, “I don’t need details. I just want to know what you’re going through.”

There was a longer pause, and I could somehow tell he was working himself up to telling me, working through whatever was holding him back. “It was just...” he began at last. Then started again, “It was a crime scene. It was part of one of the cases I’m working on, so I went to visit it this afternoon.”

“It was bad?”

“Yeah. It was bad. It was children.”

“Oh. Oh, God.”

“It was...It’s always worse when they’re kids and this was... really bad.”

I could hear the ache in his voice, and it made me ache too. “What happened?”

“I’m not going to put those pictures in your head, Diana. If I told you, you’d see it, and I’m not going to do that to you.”

“But
you
had to see it.”

“Yeah. You get detached to a certain extent when you do this long enough, but I don’t know how anyone detaches from that. When I close my eyes, I still see it.”

I knew all about how the pictures, the memories, the demons came when you closed your eyes. “I’m really sorry, Gideon. I’m really sorry.” I was feeling so much for him that my voice broke.

I heard him sigh. “Now you’re upset too, and I didn’t want to do that.”

“No. I mean, I feel bad for you, but I’m glad you told me. I don’t want you to have to keep things from me.”

“I know. But I don’t want to bring anything else dark into your life, even indirectly.”

I took a moment to think so I could articulate the next thing clearly and gently. “I can understand that, and I appreciate the feeling. But it actually hurts me more to be closed out, to be treated like I’m not an adult who can handle things that come up in life. I know I’m having trouble with...I mean, I know I’ve got wounds that are still open, but I think I’m doing better.”

“You
are
doing better. I don’t know how you do as well as you do.”

I thought that must be an exaggeration, but it was nice of him to say. I didn’t let it distract me from my main point, though. “You don’t have to tell me every ugly detail of your job, but if something really hurts you, if something really gets to you the way it did today, then I hope you’ll tell me. I don’t know if there’s anything I can do to help, but at least I can be there, the way you’ve been for me.”

It took a while before he answered, and I didn’t know what he was doing or thinking or working through on the other end of the line. But he finally said gruffly, “Yeah. Yeah.”

I was pretty sure that meant that he understood and that he would try, which made me feel better. He still felt bad, though, and I didn’t know what I should say to make him feel better.

When I was in bad shape, it sometimes helped when I could think about something else, something more normal. So I said in a different tone, “I was just about to watch this British comedy.”

“Which one?” he asked, sounding more like himself.

So we turned to the same movie and chatted casually, and after a while I was convinced he was starting to feel better, which made me feel better too.

When there was silence on the phone for about five minutes, I asked, “Are you asleep?”

“No. I thought maybe you were.”

“No. Not yet. But I’m getting tired.”

“Me too.”

“We should hang up, so you can get some sleep.”

“Don’t hang up,” he said. “We don’t have to talk. But don’t hang up.”

“Okay.”

We didn’t talk after that. I kept the phone near my ear, and I could occasionally hear him moving around in his bed or breathing. I suppose he heard the same from me.

We’d done the same thing one other night, when I was in the Center. That time, I’d needed it. This time, it felt like he needed it too.

I eventually dozed off, but I came back to consciousness after not too long. I tried to drag myself awake and figure out what had pulled me out of sleep.

Then I realized I thought I’d heard my name.

I was completely disoriented, but the sound hadn’t scared me for some reason. I listened and heard what sounded like a muffled grunt.

Then I remembered the phone, which was evidently still connected to the call. “Gideon?” I asked softly.

He didn’t respond, so he must have been asleep. I listened and heard him making another sound, maybe a grunt or a mumbled word. There was a rustling noise, like he was rolling around in bed.

He must be dreaming. I listened to see if it was a nightmare. If it was, I’d try to wake him up. But his sounds eventually faded so whatever the dream was must have ended.

People dreamed. Not everyone’s nightmares were traumatic the way mine were. He was probably fine.

I clicked off the phone, since my battery was about to die, and rolled over, trying to go to sleep.

I hoped Gideon was sleeping well and the dreams weren’t disturbing him.

I’d been asleep when I first started to hear him, so I must have just imagined him saying my name.

***

H
e came over the next day, and we hung out in the afternoon, eating lunch and the cupcakes and then mostly being lazy. He still looked tired, and I was always tired.

I was reading and he was watching sports on TV. We’d been sitting together, with me leaning against him and his arm around me. We’d been sitting like that for a while now, ever since that night he found me on the elliptical, so it felt cozy, natural, really nice.

But it wasn’t the best position for reading, so I kept readjusting. Finally, I must have been annoying Gideon with all my shuffling because he just moved me so that my head was in his lap and my legs were stretched out on the couch.

It was a little weird at first, but this was Gideon so it was fine. I read very happily for a while and then I just fell asleep.

It was a very nice nap. Long enough to feel like I was really sleeping, and I didn’t dream at all. I woke up slowly, stretching myself with leisurely pleasure.

When I opened my eyes, I was aware of Gideon, so I smiled up at him, even though I wasn’t awake enough to really focus.

“Sorry,” I mumbled. “I guess I fell asleep.”

“I guess so.” He sounded a little strange, but I was so groggy everything would have sounded strange.

I realized my head was still in his lap. “Sorry to sleep all over you. Your legs didn’t go to sleep, did they?”

“No. Maybe a little.” His hands were on my head now, and his voice definitely sounded strange. “Here. I need to get up.” He moved my head.

I tried to help him, but my body didn’t want to move, and I kind of fumbled around. I heard him give a grunt, so I tried to get it together and sit up.

Finally, he gave me a push—not a hard one—and heaved himself to his feet with his groan.

“Sorry,” I called, as he limped across the room toward the bathroom. “I hate it when that happens. Are both your legs asleep? Maybe try to walk it off.”

He gave a grunt that must have been affirmative and closed the bathroom door.

Now, just so it’s clear, I’m neither naïve nor an idiot. But I was so closed off to certain kinds of possibilities that they never even entered my mind as conscious thoughts.

I sighed and stretch out again on the couch. I’d had a very nice nap, but Gideon had obviously not been very comfortable on the couch with me that way.

I’d have to do better and think more about him.

***

H
e came over to dinner again the following Friday, and he brought another bottle of wine.

This time, things went much better.

I had a good time, and he seemed to enjoy himself too, and we moved to the couch afterwards. Since we were still talking, he turned on some music instead of the television.

Eventually, he put his arm around me, and I leaned against him. The music was low, pleasant, and innocuous, and I felt agreeably relaxed from the wine.

“Can’t she have surgery for her knee, if it’s that bad?” I asked. He’d talked on the phone to his mom earlier in the day, and she was having a hard time walking with a bad knee.

“Yeah. She just keeps stalling. It’s hard enough to get her to use a cane when she walks.” He reached over and picked up one of my hands with his free one. He started to stroke the palm with his thumb, the way he’d done once before. “I don’t know how I can convince her to have surgery.”

“But if she can’t walk, she won’t have a choice, will she?”

“Well, she can choose to walk as little as possible and suffer through it when she does.”

“But knee surgeries are pretty common, aren’t they? And not particularly risky?”

“Right, but it’s not really the risk. She’s just stubborn. And she doesn’t like to not be self-sufficient.”

I chuckled and stretched my arm slightly, since his little caress was feeling so nice. He slid his fingers up from my palm to the heel of my hand. “That reminds me of someone else I know.”

“I’m not really that way.”

“Sure you aren’t,” I said dryly, tucking his arm around me more securely. “You’re not stubborn or self-sufficient at all.”

“I’m not
that
bad.” It sounded like he was smiling. “I’d have knee surgery if I needed it.”

He was caressing my wrist, and my breath hitched from the sensations. I’d never realized that the skin there was so sensitive, but even the slightest touch made me tingle.

“I’ll remind you of that when you’re old and gray.” I’d intended for my tone to be cleverly ironic, but it sounded strangely slow and thick instead.

“I guess you’ll still be telling me what to do then. You’ll most likely give me a little lecture about how I need the surgery.”

“That’s right. If you need a lecture, I’ll give it to you.”

He laughed again, and I could feel it through his whole body, which made me feel even nicer. I loved how he felt against me—like all the warmth and strength and life in the world was concentrated in his body.

He pushed up my sleeve and stroked slowly up to the inside of my elbow and then back down. My breath hitched at the sensations. He did it again, and I heard myself making a husky groan.

There was some little voice in the back of the mind, telling me that something was wrong, that this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. But it was too far distant for me to heed.

For the moment, things felt nice and slow and safe and good, and I didn’t feel that way very often, so I didn’t want it to end.

He lifted my hand and pressed a soft kiss into the palm, and that felt good too. When his lips brushed down to my wrist, no harder than the stroke of a feather, the sensations were so sweet that I gave another silly moan.

He spent some time kissing my hand and wrist, moving so slowly I was barely aware of how things were progressing. I just really liked how it felt, and I liked being close to him.

Then, for reason, I turned toward him more fully and looked up at his face. I’m not even sure why. I saw something on his face that was startling, terrifying, but then he lowered his face toward mine so I couldn’t see his expression anymore.

He brushed his lips across my cheekbone, the way he’d been brushing them against my palm and wrist. Just as gentle. Just as slight. It felt every bit as good, so I felt myself tilting my face up toward his touch.