Coming Home (41 page)

She stood there in all her drunken splendor, mouth working but no
sound coming out.  And he bent closer.  “You’re trying to use me,” he said.  “I
won’t be used.”

She seemed suddenly to have shrunk into herself, and he could see
the sheen of tears in her eyes.   “Let’s get one thing clear right now, Fiore,”
he said.  “If, by some wild stretch of the imagination, the time ever does
arise when you and I take a tumble between the sheets, it’ll be for one reason,
and one reason only:  because we’re so hot for each other that we’re both half
crazy with it.  In which case, there’ll only be two of us in that bed.  There
won’t be any room for Danny Fiore.  Furthermore, we’ll both be stone cold
sober, because I like my women to remember me in the morning.”  He squared his
jaw.  “And believe me,” he said, “you’ll remember.”

And he turned and slogged his way to shore, leaving her standing
there in the water.

So this was how it felt to die.

Every time she had the audacity to move her head, a massive
Chinese gong went off inside her skull.  Her stomach felt like she’d swallowed
a gallon of turpentine, her mouth tasted like old socks, and her teeth were
sticky.  Moving like a hundred-year-old woman, she followed the bellboy to the
elevator that would take them to the lobby.  It didn’t look as though she’d be
fortunate enough to die, so she would have to settle for second best, a quick,
anonymous departure from this insidious hell.

But it wasn’t meant to be.  As the elevator doors whispered to a
close, she saw Rob sprinting down the hall with his suitcase.  He caught the
doors with mere inches to spare.  “Leaving without me?” he said.

She adjusted her dark glasses.  “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“A little edgy this morning, are we?”

“Oh, shut up.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of Juicy Fruit. 
He unwrapped one and popped it into his mouth, then held out the pack to her. 
“Gum?” he said.

She glanced at it quickly, then returned her gaze to an invisible
spot between the bellboy’s shoulder blades.  “No, thank you,” she said.

“It might settle your stomach.”

“My stomach,” she said archly, “is just fine, thank you.”

“Look,” he said, “about last night—”

“Last night never happened.”

“Funny, but that’s not how I remember it.”

“Too bad.  That’s the way it’s going down in the history books.”

“Well, listen, I just want to say that I’m really flattered—”

“Don’t be.  It wasn’t anything personal.  You just happened to fit
my demanding criteria:  you walk upright, you’re breathing, and as far as I
could tell, you’re anatomically correct.”

The bellboy cleared his throat.  The elevator came to a shuddering
halt, the doors scraped open, and Casey adjusted her glasses and strode to the
front desk, where she and Rob had a minor squabble over who would pay her share
of the bill.  Rob won, and she glared at him as they loaded their bags into a
waiting cab.

The scenery on the way to the airport was breathtaking.  At least
she thought she remembered that it was, from their arrival two days earlier. 
“Sweetheart,” he said, threading his fingers through hers, “you’re missing the
view.”

 “I’m missing it,” she said, “because every time I open my eyes,
shards of pain dance through my head.”

“I told you not to drink so much.”

“Go away.  I hate you.”

He leaned back against the seat and sighed.  Touched her bare
shoulder with one finger.  Moved it around a little.  “Do you really hate me?”
he said.

She rubbed her temples with all ten fingers.  Opened her eyes and
winced.  Closed them again.  “No,” she said.  “I hate me.  I’ve never felt so
wretched in my life.”

“Come on, Fiore, it wasn’t that awful, was it?”

“Oh, yes, it was.”

“Thanks for stroking my suffering ego.”

“I didn’t mean that part was awful.”  Remembering just how far
from awful it had been, she flushed hot all over.  “If it had been,” she said,
“I wouldn’t have made a fool of myself.”

“You had too much to drink.  We all do stupid things when we’re
loaded.  By the way,” he added, “you hit pretty hard.  For a girl.”

  She covered her face with her hands.  “I can’t even look you in
the face, I’m so embarrassed.”

“I’m not.  We’re two normal, healthy adults who just happened to
spend a few absolutely spectacular minutes sharing some normal, healthy lust. 
What the hell is so awful about that?”

Silence.  Then, “Do you hate me?”

“Come on, babe, this is me you’re talking to.  Haven’t we always
been honest with each other?  You were straight with me last night, and I was
straight with you.  Now we both know where we stand.  Where’s the shame in
that?”

“You may know where we stand,” she said, “but I must have slept
through that part.  Suppose you clarify it for me.”

“Okay.  I think the air needed a little clearing, and that’s what
we did.”

Dryly, she said, “That certainly clarifies things.”

“It might, if you’d shut up until I’m finished.  Right from the
start, there’s always been something there between us.  And don’t bother to
deny it, because you know as well as I do that it’s true.”

She rubbed her temples.  “And what might we call this mystical
something?”

“Damned if I know.  For lack of a better word, let’s call it
chemistry.”

She opened one eye.  “Chemistry,” she said.

“Right.  But it’s not something either of us has ever attempted to
act on, because we value our relationship too much.  There’s a delicate balance
that neither one of us wants to upset.  Push a little too far, and we risk
losing the most meaningful relationship either of us has ever had.”

She thought it all through.  It frightened her that he was making
sense.  “Then what happened last night?” she said.

“For some reason, the balance shifted.  Neither one of us is
involved with anyone right now.  As you pointed out, celibacy is not a normal
condition.  We’ve been working together night and day.  And we just spent two
days together in a honeymooner’s paradise.  We’re two healthy, normal,
reasonably attractive adults who happen to care about each other.  I’d say what
happened was inevitable.  It had to happen, sooner or later.  We don’t have to
make a federal case out of it.  It’s not that big a thing.”

“It was a very big thing to me,” she said.

“Yeah, well.”  He looked out the window.  “My mother may have
trained me well, but saying no last night wasn’t the easiest thing I’ve ever
done.”

 “Then why’d you say no?”

“I already told you.  I won’t be a stand-in for Danny.  And you’re
my closest friend, and that friendship means more to me than any night of
spectacular sex could ever mean.”

She zeroed in on a single word.  “Spectacular?”

“You know damn well it would be spectacular.”

He was right.  She did know it.  She’d known it for years.  But
because she loved Danny, and because she felt that having sexual feelings for
another man was somehow inappropriate, she’d refused to acknowledge it, even to
herself.  But his matter-of-fact explanation had taken away that risqué element
and made it seem innocuous.  “You know what, MacKenzie?” she said.  “You are
one incredible human being.  And you’re going to make some lucky woman one hell
of a husband.”

“I don’t know,” he said.  “I don’t seem to have much luck in that
department.  I’ve struck out twice already.”

“You know what they say.  The third time’s a charm.”

“They also say that after three strikes you’re out of the game.”

“Hah!  Those women out there don’t know what they’re missing.”

“And I suppose you do?”

“Yes,” she said softly, regretfully.  “I believe I’m just
beginning to understand.”

Their flight to Boston was uneventful.  Rob watched the in-flight
movie while she nursed her hangover.  There was a delay at Logan, and they were
forced to circle the city for a half-hour before they could land.  At the
baggage claim, he said, “I’m not going back to your place.”

She turned to look at him.  “What are you talking about?”

He was taking an inordinate interest in the rotation of the
baggage carousel.  “I’m catching a flight to L.A.  I have business to take care
of.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“Not long.  Three, four days.  A week, tops.”

“It’s because of me,” she said, “isn’t it?”

He still wasn’t looking at her.  “No,” he said.  “It has nothing
to do with you.”

“Don’t lie to me, MacKenzie.  I know you too well.  I can see
right through you.”

He squared his jaw.  “Look,” he said, “I just need a few days
away.  I have to get my head clear.  That’s all.”

She didn’t like what she was feeling. “Hey,” she said softly.  “We
are going to be all right, aren’t we?”

“Babe, I have to say this.  You’re living in limbo.  You’re not
single, but you’re not married, either.  You have to make up your mind what you
want.  Divorce him and get on with your life.  Or if you can’t do that, then go
after him and give it another shot.  Either way, you have to get off the
fence.  I can’t stand to watch any longer.”

And for the second time in less than twenty-four hours, he walked
away and left her standing alone.

It was 42 degrees in Boston, cloudy and dismal.  She’d become so
accustomed to Rob’s presence that her apartment felt barren and lifeless
without him.  She made herself a bowl of clam chowder and sat on the couch,
listening to his CD and thinking about what he’d said.  Fish or cut bait, that
was the gist of his advice.  But was that all there was to it?  She replayed
his every word, seeking hidden meanings, finding none.  The interlude on the
beach had torn away her emotional safety net and turned her perception of the
world upside down.  Suddenly, she was questioning things she’d spent her entire
adulthood taking for granted.

She never finished the chowder.  Instead, she went to the phone
and called Millie and asked if she could come home for a few days.

The family was thrilled to see her.  She made the rounds, visited
everyone.  She took Mikey to see a re-release of
Star Wars
, went for a
bumpy ride on Billy’s snowmobile, and traipsed through the muddy snow with
Jesse as he tapped maple trees.  She spent a day with Colleen, divorced now from
Jesse, remarried and living a couple of towns over.  In the evenings, she sat
by the fire with Dad and Millie, relaxing and indulging in quiet introspection.

On the morning of the fourth day, she drove back to Boston and
called Danny.  “I think we need to talk,” she said.  “Shall I fly out there, or
do you want to come here?”

***

She vowed she wouldn’t dress up for him, then changed her mind at
least three times before she chose a teal silk blouse and a matching
calf-length print skirt. 
This is not a date
, she reminded herself as
she tied her hair back with a ribbon and put on tiny diamond teardrop earrings
and a matching choker. 
We’re only having dinner
.  The irony of it
wasn’t lost on her.  She and Danny had fallen in love, married, lived together a
dozen years and had a child together.  But they’d never been on a date.

He showed up twenty minutes early, resplendent in a charcoal tweed
jacket over pressed jeans and a dress shirt that precisely matched the color of
his eyes.  In his hand, he carried a small bouquet of violets. 
Oh, lord,
she thought when she saw the flowers. 
It is a date.  What am I doing?

But it was too late to question her motives.  Danny stepped
through the door, and instantly her apartment shrank to a third of its size. 
“I’ll put these in water,” she said.  “Take a look around if you’d like.”

While she searched the kitchen cupboards for a vase, his slow,
deliberate footsteps made a tour of the apartment.  It didn’t take long.  He
was standing in the kitchen doorway when she returned to the table with the
vase of flowers.  “This is how you always wanted to live, isn’t it?” he said. 
“Simply, with no fanfare.”

Her heartbeat accelerated.  “Yes,” she said.

“Was life with me so terrible?”

Something tightened in her throat.  “Not life with you,” she
said.  “It was the craziness that surrounded you that I found so hard to live
with.”

He helped her on with her jacket, and together they walked the
narrow streets of the neighborhood where he’d grown up.  There were few places
he could walk openly without attracting attention, but on a week night in the
old neighborhood, he was just another passerby, greeting in Italian the old men
who hovered in doorways, pausing to pet a greyhound tied to a lamp post outside
the corner grocery.  In North Square, a stone’s throw from the Paul Revere
house, they found a quiet restaurant that served them veal piccata and red wine
by candlelight.