Julie's Butterfly (9 page)

Carefully, Bastian removed Spot, who had fallen asleep, from his lap and set her down next to him. “Come here,” he said to Julie.

She leaned forward, entranced. She was fleetingly disappointed—she too had questions, and there were so many things they hadn’t talked about—but his look told her that they had talked enough, and the kiss he placed on her lips told her all she needed to know.

C
HAPTER
13

Bastian snapped awake at the sound of his cell phone pinging. He looked around in bewilderment. Rays of sunshine penetrated the drawn curtains of Julie’s room and bathed the room in a hazy, cozy light.

He was lying on his side with a blanket over him. Julie was asleep, nestled next to him, and his arm was around her. He lifted his head slightly and saw that the warm weight on his feet was Spot, who lay curled up between them.

Julie’s face had a look of childish innocence, and her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders. As he bent forward to inhale the scent of her hair, his lips moved gently over her neck until he found the sensitive spot behind her ear.

He had not intended to stay the night, but his eyes must have closed at some point. He frowned. It was the first time he had ever shared a bed with a woman without sleeping with her. To his dismay, he had to admit that it pleased the coward in him, even though his desire for her at the moment was almost irresistible.

She stretched, sighing, and snuggled up closer to him. Her backside brushed against his hip, and he gasped softly. He would have loved to seduce her right then, uncompromisingly and impetuously, but their circumstances had changed with the breaking dawn, and he was not ready to venture into this unfamiliar territory. Not even for her.

He also had to know who had sent him a message.

Bastian got out of bed, picked up his shoes, and stole a final glance at Sleeping Beauty and her annoyed-looking cat as he left the room.

In the living room, he fished his cell phone out of his jacket pocket. As he’d suspected, it was a text from Elena, asking him to give her a call. That could only mean bad news. He went over to the window and dialed. She picked up the phone on the first ring.

“Bastian! I hope I didn’t wake you?” she asked.

“No, I’ve been up for a while,” he lied. It was only a little after eight, but he saw no reason to add a guilty conscience to her troubles. “Is everything OK?”

“Felix is running a high fever,” she said. “I’m afraid the wound behind his knee is more inflamed than I initially thought.”

“How long has it been?”

“About an hour after you left, his temperature went up slightly, but he assured me everything was OK when I went to bed.” Her voice shook. Knowing Elena as he did, he knew she must be berating herself dreadfully.

“It was probably fine,” he said in an attempt to reassure her.

“If your offer still stands, we’d gladly accept. We’d better go to the hospital today.”

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

“Thanks, Bastian,” Elena said hoarsely, and hung up.

Bastian ran a hand through his hair. It seemed wrong simply to leave Julie like a thief in the night. But Felix needed him. He knew that Elena wouldn’t have called if the situation hadn’t been critical. Over the years, she had developed a certain detachment that enabled her to care for her brother effectively. She had achieved a fine balance, neither giving in to hysteria nor taking things lightly. If she felt she was reaching her limit, she was not afraid to ask for help, and Bastian was pleased that he could at least do this for her.

He also had to get home to tend to his own wounds. Though the pain was bearable, the long walk around the zoo had taken its toll. He was thankful for public transit, special socks, and a bright young boy who preferred watching and observing to racing around every enclosure. The wine they had drunk together the night before had dulled the pain, but now he felt it all the more intensely.

He searched the living room for a pen and paper. Not wanting to interfere with Julie’s things, he scribbled a message in the margin of a newspaper lying on her dining table and placed it by the door. With gritted teeth, he pulled on his shoes and quietly closed her apartment door behind him.

The cold morning air filled his lungs as he emerged onto the street, momentarily taking his breath away. The streets were empty save for two people walking their dogs. He turned up the collar of his jacket, shoved his hands into his pockets, and made his way along the deserted Sunday-morning streets. He deplored the onset of spring, which meant he would soon, once again, have to justify the way he dressed. Only a fool wore a sweater and black leather gloves when it was eighty-five in the shade. But he’d made his decision years ago, and by now, his clothes had become a part of him. He didn’t think he’d ever change.

It would have taken him a good hour to walk back to his place—a distance that his ravaged feet would have been reluctant to cover—but the nearest bus stop was right on the corner, and it wasn’t long before Bastian reached his apartment.

He took a quick shower and then checked his wounds. In addition to two cuts on his foot, a new two-inch-wide blister had formed on his shin. He couldn’t recall how it had happened. Perhaps he’d bumped into the edge of Julie’s bed in the heat of the moment. He touched the bulging wound carefully. The pressure felt uncomfortable. He would have to treat it before heading back out. He opened his medicine cabinet; got out a sterile needle, antiseptics, and bandages; and set to work. Then he got dressed, put on his gloves, and left the apartment.

Elena was waiting for him outside her door, looking distraught. “I’m so glad you’ve come.”

“Are things that bad?” he asked.

Elena nodded. “Felix is in the kitchen.”

Bastian studied his pale friend as he entered the kitchen. Felix was sitting tensely at the table, a film of sweat glistening on his brow despite the light clothing he wore.

“Next time you pull a stunt like this, we’re calling the doctor immediately,” said Bastian.

Felix grinned weakly. “You’re a real spoilsport. It was such fun polishing the bath with my bare ass.”

“Dammit, Felix,” cried Elena. “That’s not funny.”

Felix winced at her emotionally fraught reaction.

“I’ll grab my bag,” murmured Elena, and she hurried from the room. She obviously needed a moment to calm herself.

With an apologetic smile in Bastian’s direction, Felix rose, using the kitchen table for support. Bastian approached and offered his arm.

“Wait. Let me give you a hand.”

Felix gasped from the exertion of moving, lost his balance, and fell helplessly onto Bastian’s waiting arm.

“God, you’re hot,” muttered Bastian.

“If I return the compliment, I hope I won’t be raising any misguided expectations.”

Bastian snorted at his friend’s incorrigibility.

They made their way down the stairs to Bastian’s car, with Elena at their heels. “I’ve called the clinic. Dr. Wangenroth is on duty today. He’ll be waiting for us in Dermatology,” she said. “I’ve already told him about your accident. He wasn’t too thrilled that you’d yet again refused to call a doctor right away.”

Felix groaned, both from physical pain and his sister’s nagging. “It wasn’t as bad as all that,” he said.

“But bad enough,” Elena replied sharply.

While Bastian helped Felix into the passenger seat, Elena took her place in the back. It wouldn’t take more than ten minutes to cross town on a Sunday morning. They were unusually quiet on the way there, and Bastian imagined that Elena and Felix’s conversation about whether to call him—and indeed whether to go to the hospital at all—had been a heated one. Bastian knew that Felix would have resisted to the end, in which case, Elena’s tense manner was completely justified.

He had a good idea of what Felix was going through and what he could handle. But he was amazed at Elena. Simply treating Felix’s wounds took at least an hour every day, seven days a week, every day of the year. In addition, there was the expense of caring for someone with his disability and the mental strain, which clearly took a greater toll on her than she was prepared to admit.

Bastian was familiar with every detail of Elena’s life. Her days were long and so tightly scheduled that she had hardly any time to herself. Her alarm rang at 6:00 a.m., an ungodly hour, but one that she had gotten used to over the years. She got a strong pot of coffee brewing as she bathed and went through her morning routine. She needed the coffee to face the day ahead and always savored it in a moment of peace and quiet before the bustle of the day got under way.

She then fixed Felix a substantial breakfast, woke him up, and helped him treat his fresh wounds and get dressed. During this time, they usually discussed her plans for the day and any forthcoming arrangements. She used the half-hour bus ride to the gallery to get ready for work. She loved her job and was very committed to doing it well, but she hardly had a moment to draw breath all day. In addition to juggling sales appointments and ongoing publicity, she managed the daily demands of her talented young charges, which was no small task. Living up to the cliché of eccentric artists everywhere, most of her gifted protégés tended to be temperamental, but Elena’s incredible gift of empathy helped her to keep them on course. She slotted her errands—trips to the pharmacy and the grocery store—into her lunch breaks.

Though she didn’t generally have to work late, Elena grew increasingly agitated as her day stretched on into the late afternoon. Bastian had often seen how conflicted she felt as she juggled work and the various other demands on her.

It wasn’t that Felix couldn’t manage alone. He liked to lead as independent a life as possible given his physical limitations. But Elena hated to think of him getting lonely. All her efforts to entice him out of the house with small errands failed in the face of hard reality. He was unable to walk even short distances without blisters forming, and those took a long and painful time to heal. Her only consolation was the fact that his dissertation gave him an intellectually stimulating purpose and ample opportunity to communicate with the outside world, which at least meant that she didn’t have to worry about his developing psychological problems on top of everything else. At least, not when he didn’t get too worked up about things.

Bastian watched Elena’s troubled face in the rearview mirror of his car. When a person loved someone as much as Elena loved her brother, it was inevitable that they too would suffer. The difference was that while physical wounds were visible, mental scars remained hidden.

Dr. Wangenroth’s young assistant was already waiting for them with a wheelchair at the entrance to the single-story hospital building.

Felix snorted when he saw it. “I guess a regular visitor is entitled to certain privileges.”

“At least you won’t have to walk,” said Bastian, trying to cheer up his friend. He got out of the car and helped Felix into the wheelchair.

Elena appeared beside him and exchanged a concerned look with Bastian. “Are you coming in with us?” she asked.

“I’m just going to park the car. I’ll catch up with you.”

The nurse released the brake on the wheelchair and pushed Felix into the building, Elena by their side.

“Bring coffee!” called Felix over his shoulder before they disappeared through the automatic doors.

When Bastian reached the ward a short while later with three cups of coffee, Dr. Wangenroth gave him an amused smile.

“Hi, Bastian,” he said familiarly.

Bastian knew there were three other known cases of epidermolysis bullosa in addition to himself and Felix within a 150-mile radius. So even though his last visit had been some time ago, it was no surprise that the doctor remembered his name.

“How are you?” asked the doctor.

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“Glad to hear it.” The doctor considered him good-naturedly, his pale gray eyes disconcertingly similar to the color of his hair.

“I’m here because of Felix. Is he still in the waiting room?”

“He’s in room 302. I’ll walk that way with you. I wanted to talk to you anyway.” As they headed down the hall, he continued, “I’m working on a textbook on genetic skin disorders. I’d like to present a selection of photographs, including some of you. I’ve looked through your patient file, but I can’t find any photos or a signed consent form to use any.”

“That’s because I haven’t given my consent.”

“I understand.” Dr. Wangenroth paused. “Look, my goal is to explain to people how they can help those affected and to offer support to friends and relatives.”

“I doubt that pictures of me would contribute much.”

The doctor laughed. “If every patient said that, I’d end up with no pictures and there wouldn’t be a book.” They stopped outside the door of his office. “I certainly don’t want to put any pressure on you. There’s still time. I’m just asking you to think about it.”

“I will,” replied Bastian.

“If you change your mind, give me a call. Room 302 is just down there. I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

Bastian found Felix sitting on the bed in a spacious room, staring gloomily out the window. Elena sat on a chair beside him, digging her fingers anxiously into the purse on her lap. It appeared that things were still tense between them.

Bastian set the coffee cups down on the bedside table and sank down into a second chair beside Elena.

“Dr. Wangenroth will be here in a minute,” he announced into the strained silence.

Elena frowned. “Did you see him?”

“I ran into him on my way here.”