Fire & Water (39 page)

In Burt’s arms I felt a new and unfamiliar kind of passion. I was completely present, wholly myself and conscious of every touch. I felt every hesitation about what we were doing, but also felt free—with each kiss, with every embrace—to choose each next movement.

Trust
. It dawned on me. That’s what this new feeling was. Burt would never transform into something I couldn’t recognize. I trusted him without a single molecule of fear. I
knew
him, what he was made of, what he was capable of, without the threat of some unknown force lurking beneath the surface.

I knew, even as Burt and I kissed, that I loved Jake. I loved him in that moment, and knew that I would always love him. Burt loved him, too. But the trust I felt with Burt was an element I knew I had never felt with Jake and never could.

I pulled myself away from him and began to untie the sash of my robe. Almost instantly, both of his hands were over mine. “Kate,” he sighed. His head hung and his shoulders slumped. “I’d feel as if I was taking advantage. It’s hard enough to look at this kisser in the shaving mirror every day. I just couldn’t face myself if I—”

It was a dousing of ice water, but my face and ears were instantly hot. Soon all of our fluid motion was transformed to awkward shuffling while I pulled my body from his and tugged the lapels of my robe more tightly closed. “I’m sorry. You must think I’m—”

“No, no,” he said. “I think you’re wonderful.” He lifted his head and kissed me sweetly. “I want to, believe me. Every part of me wants to.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said. I buried my face in my hands, wishing they could swallow me completely.

In a smooth, gentle motion, Burt pulled me back close to him and rested his forehead against mine. His low voice became a whisper veiled in kind affection. “In all the years I’ve known Jake, for all of his talent, his family name, his genius, his charm, his good looks, I’ve been jealous of him for only one thing.” He then brought his lips tenderly to mine. His kiss was full of melancholy and longing. I didn’t know whether to cry or scream in frustration. Burt took both of my hands into his. “Even though every cell of me wants to go ahead with what we’ve started here, it just doesn’t feel like the right time. I couldn’t face Jake again if… and he’s a friend in trouble. I just can’t add more trouble to it.”

As we sat together, a calm washed over me. Relief? Comfort? I didn’t know what to call the feeling, but I knew that Burt was right. Betraying Jake was simply not something he was capable of. “Ironic, huh?” I said. “Your devotion and loyalty are what I love most about you. It’s not really working on my behalf today, though.”

Burt squared his shoulders. “I’ve been reckless when it comes to women. I’ve been called a rat bastard more than once, I’m afraid.” His face wore a shy smirk. For years I’d heard about this woman or that in Burt’s life, but no one serious. “I don’t want to be reckless with you. The kitty’s got too many chips in it.”

“You’re right. I know. I guess I wanted to be reckless, just for a moment. It’s not like me. I’m so embarrassed.”

“Darling, Kate, no, no, no,” he said, bringing my head to his shoulder.

I rested my head on his shoulder as his fingers stroked my hair. I hadn’t thought of being with anyone but Jake in so long. Numbness was the predominant feeling I’d had for months. These new feelings, full of both pleasure and pain, let me know I was still alive. “Promise me something, will you?” I said.

“I’d promise you anything.”

A panicky desperation came over me. “No matter what happens, please don’t stop being my friend. That would just kill me right now.”

Burt cocked his head to the side and his bushy eyebrows came together. “That’ll be the easiest promise I’ve ever kept.” He leaned toward me and kissed me on the corner of my mouth.

I had no idea what might be possible between Burt and me, if anything at all, but he would not be my white knight. I’d have to serve that function for myself. Perhaps Burt and I were just two people in mourning, seeking comfort from someone else who had suffered the same loss. Or perhaps it was something more.

I watched Burt as he stood and gathered his jacket from the back of a chair, admiring the gentle power of his body. “What time do Ryan and Mary K get back?”

“Not for another couple of hours.”

“I’d think it’s best if I hurry along then. I’ll see you there at the gate, but I don’t want you to think I’m one of those blokes that—I’ve never been in this position before.”

“I know. Believe me, I get how strange this is for you. For me, too. I understand,” I said, not quite sure I really did.

He leaned over and kissed me sweetly. “My sweet, beautiful friend.” Then he walked toward the door. When the door closed behind him, I knew I had discovered a brand new kind of loneliness.

* * *

From every window in the 5th Avenue penthouse I could look over all of Central Park. Clad in autumn finery, the treetops were explosions of crimson, saffron, and sunflower. When they returned to our suite, Mary K and Ryan were full of stories.

“And then Mary K bought me the best bagel ever, Mommy.” Ryan was nearly spilling over with excitement. “And then we saw these people doing this beautiful dance in the street with ribbons that swirled all around them. Then we saw a man going number one on a bridge and another man that wasn’t wearing any pants.”

Mary K pulled a stick of gum from her backpack. “What can I say? I showed the kid all of the highlights. You’re certainly looking new and improved.”

“So you’re willing to be seen with me now?”

“You’ll do, Murphy.”

While Mary K showered, Ryan came to the window of the suite where I stood looking out over the jewel-toned trees. “Where is Daddy’s show?”

“Right there,” I said, pointing to the spot where I knew the Conservatory Garden to be. “We can walk there from here.”

“Is Daddy there already?”

“I don’t know, honey. But you know that he has to concentrate right before his pieces are shown.”

Mary K entered the room. Wearing her blue jeans and Mets T-shirt, she seemed as incongruous to the palatial surroundings as I felt. Though clad in her usual attire, there was something new about her. She still wore the bygone summer in the sunny spray of freckles on her face and the sun-bleached shimmer in her hair. But there was something else.

“You guys ready?” she asked.

I scanned her, puzzling.

“Take a picture, Murphy. It lasts longer.” Mary K clicked her tongue and shot a finger pistol at Ryan.

“Yeah,” Ryan giggled. “Take a picture, Mommy.”

Then it hit me. “You haven’t smoked a single cigarette since we picked you up yesterday morning.”

“Nope,” Mary K said, her eyebrows rising nearly to her hairline. “Not for a month. And I owe it all to the munchkin.”

The irony of the nickname was apparent as Mary K stood beside Ryan. Though Ryan was just six, the difference in their height was mere inches. Mary K lifted the sleeve of her T-shirt to reveal a shiny square of adhesive bandage. “I owe most of it to Ryan, and a little to the nicotine patch.”

Ryan’s lips spread into a grin, revealing a smile that was more holes than teeth.

“Did you know, Dr. Murphy,” Mary K explained with a playful singsong in her voice, “that smoking increases risk of lung cancer and stroke?”

“Why yes, Dr. Kowalski, I did know that.”

“Yes, but did you also know that for diabetics, cigarette smoking causes problems in the circulatory system that can increase the likelihood of infections in the extremities?”

“
Ex-trem-it-ies
,” Ryan explained with a nod. “That’s hands and feet and fingers and toes. I told Mary K what I read in my health book about smoking. Now that she has Welby, she needs to stay healthy to take care of him and take him on walks. Plus, because we love her and want her to be alive for a really long time and to keep her one good foot. Right, Mommy?”

“It’s debatable which is my good foot, Squirt. The good Dr. Littleton made me a pretty good one, and I don’t even have to clip the toenails.” It was the first time in a while I’d heard Mary K mention Andra.

Ryan laughed and the two exchanged playful punches.

Andra Littleton had created a series of new and improving prototypes of foot and ankle prosthetics over the years, with Mary K as her alpha tester. With interchangeable feet for different uses—walking, running, swimming, skiing, and even an arched foot that would have fit into a high heel, if Mary K had ever been so inclined—the prosthesis, with its hydro-mechanics and computerized responses, had become the subject of medical journals and had won Andra research grants for further development. More importantly, it had restored Mary K to the athlete she had once been.

“And hey, check it out.” Mary K lifted her T-shirt, revealing a swath of skin above her waistband. “I’m the bionic woman, huh?”

“Look, Mommy,” Ryan said. “Mary K’s turning into a robot.”

A thin tube emerged from a small plastic port, and Mary K wore a miniature insulin pump in her front pocket.

“Robot, funny,” she said, ruffling Ryan’s hair and lowering her shirt. “The pump reads when sugar gets low and automatically injects me with the right dose.” Mary K looked up at me. “Keeps my levels steady. Seemed kind of stupid to be doing all of this and then smoking on top of it. I guess I decided to stop being a pain-in-the-ass patient.”

“No more syringes?” Ryan asked.

My heart pounded, remembering the day months ago that she had found Jake’s
shotters.
It seemed that years had passed since then.

“Nope, no more syringes,” Mary K said.

Ryan grinned. “That’s so cool.”

“Enough mush. Let’s hit it,” Mary K barked. “Burt called while you were in the shower. Says we’re to be the first ones let in at the exhibit and there are already a thousand people in line. We do
not
want New York pissed off at us.”

His name had a new sound to it, and I felt myself flush at hearing it. I turned away from my friend for fear my color might tell her more than I wanted to reveal. Ryan scrambled to the door with Mary K right behind her. Unexpectedly, my legs had turned to stone. Was it stage fright, given that so much of what I was about to do was performance? I was Jake’s wife in name only. How could I pretend that I had not spent weeks planning to end the life of the very artist everyone had come to admire? And to top it all, I’d just spent the morning kissing my husband’s best friend in my father-in-law’s penthouse suite. The buoyancy of the pleasure of his kisses now felt weighted by the reality that lay outside the room. I wondered if the balloon was sinking for Burt.

“I get to push the buttons!” Ryan shouted from the hall.

Without realizing that she’d moved toward me, I felt the warm touch of Mary K’s hand on mine. “It’s okay, Murphy. We can do this.” We walked toward the door together.

On the way to the ornate lobby in the glass elevator, Mary K sucked in her breath and exhaled with a whistle. “I’ve been looking at Aaron Bloom’s architectural hard-ons in this city since I was a kid. But I never thought I’d be riding the elevator in one of ’em.”

“What’s a hard-on?” Ryan asked.

I crossed my arms and looked at Mary K. “Thanks a lot.”

Full Bloom

Acres of silk partitions fluttered near Central Park’s Conservatory Garden. In hues of green, blue, and autumn gold, the billowing curtain blended near-invisibly into its surroundings. A simple copper sign read: W
OUNDED
M
OTHER.
Neither Jake nor his name were anywhere in sight. The area was crowded with people. Overhead, kites floated and the air was filled with the bitter fragrance of autumn mums.

Mary K’s scanned the crowd “You’d think this was a fucking Springsteen concert.”

Fresh-faced docents guided us toward the narrow opening of the silken path. Burt stood sentry. His face was pinched with worry I’d not seen there earlier. He gave me a smile, then focused on Ryan, who ran to him with her arms wide open. She all but disappeared into the mass of him. “How’s my favorite little ankle biter, ay?”

“Uncle Burt, there must be a million people here,” Ryan exclaimed.

He set Ryan gently down on the ground. I put my arms around him, trying to imitate how I might normally greet him. He returned with an equally studied hug.

“Mary K,” he said, his voice full of warmth, extending his hand to meet hers.

“So, what can we expect?” Mary K asked.

Burt lifted his bulky shoulders to his ears. “Not a clue. No one besides Jake has stepped a hoof in there for over three weeks. It’s taken round-the-clock guards, all courtesy of Bloom Industries, to keep people at bay. His new exhibit manager, Jeremy Lyon, has taken care of most of the details. I’ve been out of the loop. Haven’t even photographed it.”

Ryan began to jump. “So we’ll be the
very
first ones to see?”

“Right-O,” he said.

Mary K’s eyes began to reflect the trepidation I felt.

“Is he here?” I asked.