Sweet Salt Air (35 page)

Mine.
The word echoed in her mind when finally she lay against him on the bed, listening as his heartbeat grew steady, as her own did the same. Tired or not, he kept an arm around her, holding her close, and when he dozed off, she followed.

*   *   *

She woke up to see city lights glowing under a purpling sky. Pushing up in alarm, she found him awake, head on the pillow, eyes watching her. “How long did we sleep?”

“A couple of hours,” he said, then quietly added, “This is the best I’ve felt in days.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

She took a deep breath, let it out, and, when he gave a tug, returned to his side. No way was she raising the issue of Charlotte and spoiling the moment. Yes, she wanted what she’d had in the past. She wanted nothing more than to turn back the clock to the days before Julian got sick. And yes, she knew she couldn’t. But if, for whatever reason, this intimacy had survived, she needed it.

Apparently, so did he, because he didn’t speak, simply continued to hold her, letting her go only to get food, which she did in the form of grilled cheese and arugula sandwiches, but once those were gone, he wanted her with him again.

She was tired enough, relieved enough to sleep in his arms through the night. When morning came, though, she couldn’t put it off. They were lying together in bed, his fingers moving lightly on her shoulder.

She spoke against his chest. “Tell me what happened with Charlotte.”

His fingers stilled. When she didn’t try to modify the question and let him off the hook, he let out a defeated breath. “I was afraid it was that. There had to be a reason you were different.”

“I want to hear your side,” she said, sitting up now, with the sheet under her arms and determination in her eyes. In fact, she didn’t want to hear
anything
. But knowing Charlotte’s side, she had to know his.

He began with the obvious—exhaustion from juggling work and wedding plans, too much to drink, little remembered the next day except that what had happened was wrong. But he had looked deeper, too. “At some level,” he confessed awkwardly, “I was worried about getting married again. It was easy to blame Monica for what happened the first time, but a marriage takes two. You were younger and more vulnerable. I felt a greater responsibility for you.” His voice fell. “I wasn’t sure I was up to the task. But there we were with the wedding coming closer and closer, and the arrangements growing more and more elaborate. I panicked and drank too much. I was trying to forget the fear.”

“Were you hoping to call off the wedding by having sex with someone else?” Nicole asked. It was a logical follow-up to what he was saying. She had to ask or would forever wonder.

“Lord no,”
he said with force and, reaching for her hand, hung on. “It was an insane thing—an
animal
thing that had nothing to do with what I wanted.”

“Was the wedding too over-the-top?” she asked, still trying to understand.

“No. No, baby. The wedding was perfect. The problem was me. I got overwhelmed and did something I have regretted ever since. I am so, so sorry.” He had always been modest. But humble? Ashamed? Never before. “It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done. I told myself that I hadn’t betrayed a vow, since we hadn’t exchanged them yet. But that was a technical distinction. The whole thing was wrong.” His eyes skittered off, only to return seconds later. “I was hoping it would go away. I thought it had.”

It might have had it not been for the baby, she knew, but she wasn’t mentioning that yet.

He had pushed himself up against the pillows, though there was nothing relaxed about the pose. “When did you learn—” He stopped himself. “Ahh. Right before the Fourth. That’s when you pulled back.”

She didn’t apologize, didn’t say anything at all. In the morning light, his jaundice was unsettling, but she wasn’t ready to deal with that. He still had more explaining to do, and though he was visibly uncomfortable with it, she held her ground.

He sighed and looked away. “I barely knew her. I had only met her that summer, and I was only on Quinnipeague weekends. It wasn’t something I planned.” He looked back at Nicole, more troubled than ever. “Did she?”

“No.” Nicole believed that. “She regrets it, too.”

“Why did she tell you?”

Because she had to,
Nicole might have said.
Because I was falling apart thinking that you were desperate enough to sacrifice your life for the sake of experimental medicine, and she wanted to give me hope.

Still she held back. The argument now wasn’t about stem cells. It was about her marriage.

So she simply said, “She probably thought I already knew.”

“Did you ask her to leave?”

“No. I need her help with the cookbook.”

“How can you stand looking at her?”

“How can I stand looking at you?” Nicole replied. “I’m trying to understand, Julian. I tell myself it was a long time ago, but I’m suddenly seeing things differently.”

“Like what?”

“The late nights you work. Business trips.”

He gave a spasmodic shake of his head. “Never.”

“Not even while I’m on the island for weeks at a time?”

“Never,” he repeated.

She started to rock, couldn’t help herself. “But it happened with Charlotte. My best friend.” Her breath shook, with deep, dark fears breaking through. “I know women whose husbands cheat. I never saw myself as one of them. But I am. It happened.”

He came forward fast. “Not an affair, not willful—”

“Was it
me
?” she had to ask. “Was I not strong enough or smart enough or independent enough?”

He cupped her face with tremorous hands. “It wasn’t you. You’re all I wanted. It was me, feeling inadequate and being stupid enough to try to drown my own insecurities in drink.”

“You? Inadequate?”

“You put me on a pedestal, Nicki. But I’d already fucked up one marriage when I met you. Have I fucked up a second?”

“I don’t know,” she said. The MS issue had to be discussed. But they weren’t done with the other. “I hear the excuses you both give, and she’s doing everything she can to help, but I still feel betrayed and angry.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, but mention of anger had stirred it up in her again, so she reached for a robe and went into the kitchen.

Minutes later, knife in hand, she had emptied the refrigerator of apples, pears, kiwi, and pineapple, and was chopping them to bits. After scooping the tiny cubes into a bowl, she added lime juice and sweetener and put the bowl in the fridge. Ten minutes later, she had turned frozen baguettes into cinnamon French toast enough for two, added a mound of fruit salsa to each plate, and put them on the breakfast bar—not because Julian deserved it, but for the sheer therapy of it.

Wearing a sweatshirt and jeans, he watched from the door. His hands were tucked under his arms, his feet were bare. “Feel better?” he asked when she was done.

Had he been smug, she might have lashed out. She still felt threads of anger. But the only thing in his tone was a knowledge borne of familiarity, a reminder that they had been married for ten years and that she wasn’t ready to end it.

Yes, she felt better. Not great. But better. Nodding, she pocketed her hands, and met his gaze.

“So help me God, Nicole, there have been no other women. What happened that night was sobering.”

“You were with women before me—”

“But never while I was married to Monica,” he broke in, “and never while I was married to you. For what it’s worth, I haven’t had any contact with Charlotte since the wedding.”

Nicole knew that. The whole issue of the baby made it so, because there was no way in hell Julian could have known about that and not let it slip now.

Coffee. She wanted coffee. Turning away, she was in the process of making it when he came from behind, wrapped his arms around her middle, and buried his face in her hair.

His voice was muffled. “I don’t want to lose you, Nicole. You are the best thing in my life.”

The words haunted her. She finished setting up the coffee, then turned. “Would you have said that even if I didn’t know about you and Charlotte?”

“Yes. I would have told you last night if we’d stayed awake.”

“Why did it have to take my going silent for you to realize it? Because I’m normally so sweet and trusting? Because I was an airhead ten years ago and too naïve to make you worry about it before now?”

“No,” he insisted, framing her face with his hands, but he was frowning again. “And you aren’t an airhead. You’re an amazingly smart woman who never gave herself credit for that. You never demanded much. I took you for granted. And now with MS? You were the only one I could take my anger out on.”

“Is the anger gone?”

“No. But I have to make a decision, and I can’t do it alone.”

“Other people know now,” she argued. “You could talk with them.”

“They’re not you. I need you on my side. I’ve been miserable these last ten days.”

She wanted to believe, wanted to think that the tears in his eyes last night had been sheer relief that she was here. It was an encouraging thought.

Gesturing for him to sit, she poured two juices and was in the process of carrying over their coffees when he took a mouthful of salsa and set down his fork. The tremor in his hand had been pronounced.

“No better?” she asked softly, taking the stool beside his.

He shook his head.

“How did your parents take it?”

“Stoically.” He cradled his coffee with both hands. “Dad was quiet. My mother refuses to consider the ramifications for my career.” He hesitated. “They haven’t called you?”

She shook her head. She had never been close to Julian’s parents, had always guessed that they viewed her as the second wife, maybe the trophy one. Maybe it was her childlike voice, or the fact that she hadn’t given them a grandchild. She bought them Christmas gifts, sent birthday cards, and pulled out all stops when they visited Philadelphia, though that wasn’t often. And she had her own parents, little more than an hour away.

“It’s okay,” she said to Julian now. “They’re dealing, just like you. Has word spread at the hospital?”

“Some. I didn’t get in until midday Friday. A few friends came by then. It’s awkward until they realize I’m still me and”—he tapped his head—“all here. Dan was great in Durham. And Antoine wants to play golf. He says it would be good for me, though I think it’s guilt on his part. But I have to hand it to him. He isn’t running away.” He stopped short.

“Others have?” Nicole asked.

Julian held up a hand and left the room, walking with the slightly uneven gait that he usually tried to hide. He returned a minute later, wearing wool socks.

“Who ran away?” she asked.

“The support staff. Hey, I was only in for half a day, and the whole idea is still strange to them. They don’t know what to say. You’d think they would, given what they do for a living. But this isn’t a patient. It’s me.”

“How’s the limp?”

“You saw. It comes and goes. There’s some relief not having to worry that someone will see.” He rose again and, heading for the living room this time, fiddled with the thermostat.

When he returned, Nicole touched his hand. It was cold.

“I get chills,” he admitted quietly and busied himself with the French toast.

Chills were a side effect of the meds he was on. Between that, the yellow tinge to his skin, and the pronounced tremor in his hand, it was obvious they weren’t helping.

She ate silently beside him for a short time, liking the good will between them, liking that he was eating, liking that he seemed more relaxed with her, his old self in some regards. From having sex? Maybe. Men took pride in that.

But there was an elephant in the room, looming hairy and large. Sitting back with barely half of her breakfast eaten, she said, “Have you done anything about the other?”

“Stem cells?” He eyed her French toast, and asked, “Do you want that?”

She moved her plate closer and waited until he had finished most everything there. Naturally lean, he was now leaner than ever. For missing her? Disinterest in food? Nausea, which would be another side effect of the meds?

“Stem cells?” she prompted softly, gearing up for what she feared hearing. Impending doom? It seemed so long ago that she’d used the phrase with Charlotte. She had managed to push it aside for a while, but here it was again, front and center.

Setting down his fork, he rested his bad hand in his lap, and looked at her. “No. I haven’t done anything yet.”

“Why not?” she asked in surprise. He had been so determined when they’d discussed it last.

He reached for his coffee, but she took the cup before it reached his mouth, and topped it off with hot, fresh brew. As before, he held it with both hands.

“Why not, Julian?”

He was studying her strangely. “This is not a discussion you want to have.”

“I know that. But I don’t want to be ignored anymore.”

“I never ignored you.” He considered, modified. “I just turned away when you said things I didn’t like.”

“If you want me involved in your life, you have to let me in.”

“I want you involved in my life,” he said. “That’s one of the reasons I haven’t moved forward on this. I knew you were against it.”

Wow.
“Does that matter?”

His eyes were intense. “Yes. It matters a lot.”

“Because you want me to support what you do?”

“No, because I want your opinion. You have common sense. I depend on it.”

“You do? But you’re the doctor. You know more.”

“Maybe about medicine. Not about life.”

Nicole didn’t know what to think. Julian depending on her was a heady thought.

As she watched him, he grew self-conscious. “I also have questions. It isn’t an easy decision.” He looked out the window, then back. “Can we go for a walk or something?”

“Don’t you have to get to the hospital?”

“Why?”

Here was bitterness. She was waiting to see if it would become anger and snowball into an accusation against her, when he let it go.

“I have a two o’clock meeting,” he conceded, slipping into the old Julian, professional and composed. “It’s a first pregnancy. There are early signs of left ventricular hypoplasia in the fetus and, understandably, the mom is off the wall. I can’t do the surgery myself, but since it’s my technique, I may be able to reassure her. My name is still worth something.” He rose. “Out?”