Love Minus Eighty (32 page)

Rob laughed, despite the weight lodged in his chest.

“Are you going to talk to her, after I went to all this trouble?” Veronika asked.

“I want to. I just don’t know what to say.”

“Want me to feed you lines?” Veronika asked, deadpan.

Nathan and Lorelei turned away. Winter looked right at Rob. Rob smiled, nodded a greeting, his heart pounding.

“Did you just nod at her? Is she looking this way? I don’t want to turn around; it would be too obvious.”

“Yeah, we just said hello.”

Winter put her head down and made her way toward him. “She’s coming over.” His heart thumped slow and hard against his chest as she crossed the room.

“Hi, Rob.” Winter turned to Veronika, squeezed her forearm. “Thank you again for doing this; it’s an incredibly kind gesture. I’m truly touched.”

Veronika patted Winter’s elbow. “It’s nothing.” She pointed across the room. “I need to go talk to Eric. Excuse me.”

And suddenly they were alone.

“So, how are you?” Winter asked.

“Pretty good. Working. Playing my lute. Working on my defensive-driving skills.”

Winter burst out laughing, went on laughing perhaps a bit too long, and then fell silent.

“Listen,” Rob said, “I think I gave you the wrong impression the last time we were together. The
only
expectation I had was that we might stay friends. There’s nothing more to it.” It was a lie that came easily, because Rob would never ask for more. What he felt inside was irrelevant.

Winter looked out at the faux-blue sky, the clouds drifting by. She sighed heavily, looked at Rob. “Do you want to take a walk?”

“Absolutely.”

They headed for the door, which was the only break in the cloud-festooned illusion.

Outside, Winter turned left. Rob was barely aware of the vehicles whirring by, the people. So much of his attention was focused on Winter, right there beside him, a vague half smile on her lips.

She glanced down at her pistachio-and-white High Town shoes, gliding on the pavement. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to these shoes.”

“I know.” He didn’t want to talk about shoes; he doubted they were going to get much time alone before Winter felt she had to return to the party.

At the corner of Chan, they turned left.

“Remember early on, when you asked if I had any visitors besides you, and I said I did, but I never got to be myself with them?” Winter asked.

Rob nodded. He remembered pretty much every word either of them spoke during those visits. Not that there had been many.

“I wasn’t being myself with you at first, either,” Winter said. “I hated you at first, but I couldn’t say it because I was afraid if I did, you wouldn’t come back. And I resented having to rely on you—on
you
, the person who killed me.” She looked toward the sky, clearly trying to keep powerful emotions in check. “I tried to stay angry, but little by little, it became so painfully obvious you were a good person who had made one incredibly stupid mistake.” She was walking quickly, so quickly Rob had to make an effort to keep up.
“No, not a good person, you’re a fucking saint. When you came to visit, the
pain
you felt was all over your face.” Winter wiped her nose with the back of her hand. Rob pulled a tissue from his pocket and offered it to her. Winter laughed as she accepted it. “See? How could anyone hate you?”

“You have every right to hate me.” Rob wasn’t sure where Winter was going with this, but he suspected she was letting him down gently, again.

To Rob’s surprise, Winter led him onto the elevator to Low Town. They rode in silence, admiring the lights below. There were millions of lights in the city; they grew fewer and fewer stretching toward the horizons.

“Where are we going?” Rob asked.

Winter gave him a hooded glance. “You’ll see.”

They stepped out into Jefferson Park, along the Harlem River. Winter pointed toward a black six-sided tower set beside the river, a few hundred yards away. “That way.” She picked up her pace again, their shoes clicking on the pavement now, no longer gliding.

“I didn’t realize you had a destination in mind.”

“I didn’t either, until we started walking.”

The tower turned out to be a forty-story mausoleum. They entered a wide, arched doorway to the hollow center. Winter led him onto the elevator.

“Twenty-two,” she said. The elevator shot up, intensifying the butterflies in Rob’s stomach.

On the twenty-second-floor landing, Winter led him through a short tunnel, out to the railed catwalk overlooking the river. Instead of admiring the view, she turned toward the wall, which was divided into rows and rows of brass plates, marking the cremated remains set inside the honeycomb of
spaces that comprised this vertical graveyard. It reminded Rob of the bridesicle place in miniature.

“There.” Winter pointed at a plate about eight feet up the wall, which was illuminated by the lights of Low Town, reflecting off the river. It read
WINTER WEST,
2103–2133. “My friends chipped in and bought it before Cryomed swooped in.”

Rob stared at her name. How close she’d been to being ashes in a wall. “That must be chilling, seeing your name there.”

Winter laughed. “I spent two years dead in a box, with only my face working.” She raised her eyebrows. “You want a chill? That’ll give you a chill.”

Rob nodded, but Winter had already turned back to look at the plaque, so she probably didn’t see.

“You know, the first time you came to visit, you were twenty-five, and I was thirty.” Winter smiled, as if reminiscing about a fond memory. “Now you’re, what, twenty-seven?”

“Almost twenty-eight.”

“And I’m still thirty.” She turned toward the river, took a deep breath of the cool air. Her sleeves were flapping in a mild breeze. “I know I can trust you when you say you only want to be friends. You’re a fucking saint, after all. You would never go back on your word, you would never manipulate me.” Still gazing out at the water, set in the shadow of High Town, she closed her eyes. “The problem is, I’m not a saint.” She opened her eyes, looked at Rob. “I can’t be just friends with you, and”—she shrugged—“I can’t be more. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

A lump filled Rob’s throat. He nodded, lifted her hand from the railing, held it in both of his.

She studied their hands for a moment, then gently shifted hers. He loosened his fingers to let her withdraw it, but she surprised him by lacing her fingers between his and closed her hand.

It was cool. It fit perfectly in his.

“There were so many times when you came to visit that I wanted you to hold my hand,” she said. “Then you finally did.”

“I reached out to take your hand one other time, then remembered they’d kick me out if I did it.”

She tilted her head. “When was that?”

“The third or fourth visit. The last few seconds were ticking down, and you were so scared. You said you didn’t think you’d ever get used to dying.”

“I remember that. I didn’t see you reaching. One’s field of vision is so limited—it was always the same circle, mostly of the ceiling and someone’s face.” She squeezed Rob’s hand. The pressure sent a thrill through him. “Except for the day you brought the mirror. You have no idea what that meant to me. Not just getting to see the sky, but the kindness of that act.” She blinked back more tears. “It made me feel I had someone on my side. I wasn’t all alone in that box. It’s horrible, being in that place. You can’t imagine.”

Rob was so aware of her hand in his. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, to pull her close and kiss her and tell her he’d always be there for her. She was right there, so close, so alive, her bright eyes on him.

Her face moved closer, and for a moment he thought it was a trick of the light. Then her lips touched his—lightly, not much more than a soft brush—and for an instant, everything was perfect, the world was perfect.

Winter pulled away, looked at her hands. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I’m glad you did. Even if it never happens again.”

Winter pressed her fist to her mouth, her face twisting. Again, Rob resisted a screaming urge to hold her in his arms. He was afraid he might scare her away.

“I get lost in these fantasies, of how things might have turned out if we’d met under different circumstances,” Winter said.

“Tell me.”

She looked down, toward the sidewalk that ran along the river, lined with benches.

“I was heading for that park when you hit me. I was planning to sit on one of the benches down there and stare at the river. If you’d parked your Scamp, instead of running me over with it, and come here too, you might have ended up on the next bench over.”

“I used to come here all the time. I can see myself coming here on that particular day.”

Winter looked at him. “Where
were
you going? I never asked.”

Rob shrugged. “No idea. Just getting away from Lorelei. Maybe I was coming here. Go on.”

Winter pressed a finger along the bridge of her nose. “I’d be sitting there”—she pointed to one of the benches—“and you’d sit down. There.” She pointed to the next bench over. “You notice my puffy red eyes and say something like, ‘Let me guess, you broke up with someone too?’ ”

“And you look at me, and see my eyes are red, too, and you laugh, and say, ‘Of course. Isn’t this where the support group for people who just got dumped meets?’ ”

Winter pulled a tissue from her pocket, blew her nose. “You say, ‘If it would help to tell someone about it, I’d be happy to listen. I could use the distraction, actually.’ I invite you to join me on my bench, and we trade stories. You tell me I was too good for Nathan. I ask what you were doing with a narcissistic giantess in the first place. Before we know it, it’s getting dark. You ask if I’m hungry, and I am, which surprises me.”

“I suggest Luigi’s. Comfort food.”

Winter threw a hand in the air; her tissue fluttered in the breeze. “See, and I
love
Italian. I’ve eaten at Luigi’s at least fifty times.”

Rob laughed. “I wonder if we ever ate there at the same time. Maybe you were at the next table.”

“Why didn’t you come up and talk to me?” Winter whispered.

They watched a squirrel, out late, digging at the ground beside the jogging trail. A screen cruised by.

Rob’s head was spinning, with love, with joy, with grief. She loved him, too. That made it so much better. So much worse. “What happens then?” Rob asked.

“I’m in a T-shirt and sweaty from my run—”

“Good point,” Rob said. “Luigi’s isn’t
that
casual.”

“So we arrange to meet at Luigi’s in an hour, and we eat a shitload of ziti and drink a bottle of wine. Then you walk me home. We’re both suddenly, miraculously over our breakups, wondering why we’d been so miserable in the first place, because we realize Nathan and Lorelei were just dim shadows, compared to the people we’re with now, standing at the walk-up to my apartment building. But neither of us says that out loud, because we’ve just met.”

“I ask if you want to go for a run tomorrow—”

“And I tell you I’ll meet you by our support-group bench at four.”

“And I can barely sleep, because I’m already falling in love with you.” As soon as the words were out, Rob knew he’d made a mistake.

Winter went on staring at the bench. A boat somewhere out of sight on the river sounded a deep, belching, mournful whistle that was the perfect punctuation to this painful silence.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Rob said.

Suddenly Winter looked tired, defeated. “I think we’ve let ourselves get into dangerous territory.” She lifted her head and looked at him, her eyes achingly beautiful. “I should have told Veronika I couldn’t make it, but I wanted to see you again. It was a stupid, impulsive thing to do.”

“Veronika and I came up with the whole party idea so I could see you again without looking like a stalker.”

Winter threw back her head and laughed. “Seriously. And here I was thinking you’re incapable of guile.”

Rob shrugged. “I was desperate. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep.”

Winter studied Rob’s face, maybe looking for signs he was kidding. “I should not have come. We have to say good-bye, before we get ourselves into serious, serious trouble.”

“Can’t we just—”

He was going to say, “… be friends,” but Winter was shaking her head.

Her voice was low, trembling. “Rob, don’t.” She leaned toward him, kissed his cheek tenderly, and stood. “Good-bye.”

Numb, he watched her disappear through the tunnel. A
moment later she was on the sidewalk below, heading back the way they’d come. As she disappeared behind a copse of trees, he saw her lift the tissue to wipe away tears.

There was nowhere to go, nothing to do but stand there. It seemed impossible that Winter had been standing right beside him just now. Already, it seemed impossible she had ever been that close, had ever brushed her lips against his. Rob kept very still, as if by doing so he could put off the anguish that would soon wash over his numb shock.

An old man passed below, walking a black German shepherd. The man was wearing a leg boost that squealed every time it straightened.

Rob looked off at the spot where Winter had been when he last glimpsed her, willing that she be there again, heading toward him. But she wasn’t. He would never see her again, he knew that with a cold certainty.

What was he going to do now?

He pinged Veronika, sending a single word of text.
Help.

Veronika appeared in-screen in a matter of seconds. “Oh, sweetie.” She pulled in to get a closer look at him. “You look absolutely crushed. I wish I could give you a hug. Tell me what happened.”

Rob told her, and as the numbness wore off, it was replaced by pain so acute it felt like he’d been slashed by a blade.

“I don’t get it. It’s nothing but an empty room,” Lycan said, looking all around for the exhibit.

Veronika suspended the art-exhibit feed on her system, looked around the exhibit hall. It was the exact same room. She reactivated the feed, looked around again.