On a Night Like This (18 page)

“It might be a good idea,” Luke told him. “Find out if a different proud papa might want to wait by her side in this fucking clinic.”

“Luke,” she said.

Luke squeezed past the doctor and pushed the door open, needing air, space to move, distance from his wife.

He moved down the hallway and out into the waiting room. All of the women looked at him—
They all know,
he thought absurdly.
The whole fucking world knows.
He kept going, through the waiting room and out of the clinic.

He found his truck in the parking lot, pulled out, started driving through the streets of the city, driving for hours, counting days.

Sweetpea leaped at him when he walked through the door.

“Damn,” Luke muttered. “Amanda.”

He was supposed to pick her up from school an hour ago, head to the beach with her and Sweetpea. Now Sweetpea was mad—he could only imagine how Amanda was feeling. Ditched, as she would have expected.

He couldn’t call her, couldn’t risk her mother answering the phone.

Though he’d love to talk to Blair right now, to sit with her in her impossibly small cottage and share a bottle of wine. Tell her: “I’m sorry. The days don’t count out right. Take me back.”

Back? He had never been there for the taking. He had just had a vision of something before it had disappeared.

The phone rang. He didn’t want to answer, didn’t want Emily to tell him some new version of mathematics that would make the weeks multiply, add, divide, subtract.

He ignored the phone, counting rings, and went to find a bottle of bourbon.

Sweetpea sulked. The phone stopped ringing, then rang again. He drank his first bourbon, standing in the kitchen, staring at the refrigerator. Imagining the note he would leave under the penguin magnet:
I can’t raise someone else’s baby. I can’t love someone else’s woman. I can’t say good-bye.

A taste of her own medicine. A note to rip your heart out.

He poured the second bourbon, and again the phone rang. This time he picked it up, feeling mellow, bourbon and unwritten notes easing the fury in his mind.

“Hello?”

“Luke, it’s Amanda.”

“God, I’m sorry.”

“My mom’s unconscious. I called nine-one-one. They’re sending an ambulance. I’m scared—”

“I’ll be right there.”

“I hear the ambulance. Oh, my God. They’re here.”

“Go with her. I’ll meet you there. UCSF?”

But she had hung up the phone.

He dashed out of the house and into the truck. He drove wildly through the streets of the city—now clearheaded, when he had just spent hours driving in a daze. He was angry that he hadn’t answered the phone earlier, angry that he was with Emily at the clinic instead of with Amanda. Instead of with Blair.

He hadn’t quite gotten the idea of Blair dying—it was something else that had made her exotic. She didn’t wear her death in any way he could see, smell, feel. Even the time she had passed out at work and he had taken her to the hospital, he had felt somehow that he had taken care of the problem and she was getting better now. Male pride, male foolishness. She was dying. She never said it any other way.

He pulled into the hospital parking lot and rushed to admissions. They sent him to the ninth floor, and he found Amanda standing outside her door.

He put his arms around the girl, and she let him hold her.

She pulled away finally and wiped at her face with her sleeve.

“The doc’s in there now,” she explained. “She’s conscious. She was out for a while, though. I was waiting for you. I should have gone home right away. I thought you’d show up. I didn’t go home until late and she might have been unconscious all that time.”

Luke pulled her to him again. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, holding her, his head resting on hers.

The door opened and the doctor appeared. This one was thin and fit, clean-cut and doctorlike.

“You her husband?” he asked Luke.

“No,” Luke said. “A friend.”

“She OK?” Amanda asked.

“We’ll have to take some tests,” he said. “Her oncologist has been called. She’s awake now. Resting.”

“Can we go in?” Luke asked.

The doctor nodded and let them pass.

Amanda stepped in front of Luke, pushing through the door. Luke hesitated before entering the room.

Blair looked tiny under the sheets, girl-like and waifish, a woman who might really be dying. Her face was pale, and her eyes seemed sunken in their sockets. She had a bandage above her eye and her face looked bruised. Luke swallowed and could taste something metallic in his throat.

Blair looked at Luke, surprised, then immediately angry.

“I called him,” Amanda said. “I was scared.”

Blair nodded weakly. Her anger seemed to have passed in an instant.

Luke could hear something humming in the room. A pale green curtain closed off another patient—perhaps she was hooked up to something? The room smelled of ammonia and something else—Luke looked around. Flowers. The roommate had lined the window by the wall with vases of flowers.

Luke walked to the side of Blair’s bed and gently put his hand on her wrist.

“How are you feeling?”

“Dandy,” she said. “Wanna go dancing?”

“I’ll give you a half hour to get ready.”

“No problem.”

Amanda looked alarmed. Luke smiled at her. “She’s not going anywhere,” he assured her.

“What did the doctor say?” she asked her mom.

Blair shrugged. “Why is it that everyone’s an expert and no one knows a goddamn thing?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t come home,” Amanda said quietly.

“She’s got a private life now,” Blair told Luke.

“Mom.”

Blair turned to Luke. “I think she has a boyfriend. With a car.”

“Mom.”

“It’s a good thing, Amanda.”

“If I had been home, I would have found you earlier.”

“I was just napping. You make too much of a fuss.”

“Next time you take a nap,” Luke said, “lie down first. Easier on your head.”

Blair put her hand to her bruised face and winced. “You’re right,” she said.

“Why’d you call him?” Blair asked Amanda.

“I told you. I was scared.”

“But why him?”

“I don’t know.”

“I won’t stay long,” Luke said.

“Good,” Blair told him.

“I walk his dog after school,” Amanda said. “We both walk his dog.”

Blair looked from Luke to Amanda and back again. Amanda was perched by the window, staring outside.

“He’s the boyfriend?” Blair asked.

“No!” both Amanda and Luke said.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“I hired her,” Luke said.

“You hired her?”

“To walk Sweetpea.”

“To walk Sweetpea?”

“Mom. Drop it. OK?”

“You’re the boyfriend with the car.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Amanda said, disgusted. “I’m the dog walker. Mom, this isn’t so difficult.”

“Well, I’m having trouble with this,” Blair said. “This guy appears in my life, disappears in my life, reappears in my life, and my daughter’s his dog walker?”

Luke smiled. “You’re pretty fast,” he said.

“And you couldn’t tell me who you were sneaking off with after school.”

“I wasn’t sneaking off.”

“But you couldn’t tell me.”

“You would have been mad.”

“You’re right.”

“It doesn’t make a lot of sense,” Luke admitted.

“Try.”

“I couldn’t let go.”

“Of my daughter.”

“Of either of you.”

“So you took walks on the beach with my daughter.”

“Sometimes we went into the mountains,” Amanda said. “It’s beautiful there.”

Blair closed her eyes. They were all quiet for a moment.

“How’s your wife?” she finally said.

“I made a mistake,” Luke told her.

Luke drove home to get Sweetpea and his laptop. He would leave Emily that note on the refrigerator, go back to his cabin in the woods. Maybe Blair would let him visit.

To his surprise, Emily was home, making dinner, waiting for him. He had imagined her in the house in Noe Valley, waiting for the proud papa.

She looked up when he walked into the kitchen. She stopped what she was doing—stirring something in a pot—and he saw her eyes catch his, look away; then she was stirring again, busy at the stove.

“I’m leaving,” he said.

“Don’t.”

“I’m going back to the cabin.”

“Please, Luke.”

“Don’t explain anything, Emily. It was so much easier when you just disappeared.”

She picked up the glass of water on the table and sipped from it.

“Stay for dinner,” she said. “Stay long enough for us to talk.”

“No,” he told her.

He turned from the room and headed up into his study. He packed his laptop into a briefcase.

He stopped in his bedroom, looked at the rumpled sheets, remembered making love with Emily the night before. He thought about Blair, a different Blair than the one he had made love to, now so tiny in her hospital bed. Suddenly Emily appeared at his side, standing in the doorway with him.

“I don’t want Gray Healy here,” Luke said. “We’ll sell the house.”

“Gray Healy will never come here,” Emily told him.

“Will you stay here?”

“Yes. If I can.”

“And the house in Noe Valley?”

“The lease ends this month. I’ll move out.”

“Where’s Mr. Healy?”

“With his wife.”

“Does he have other children?”

“No.”

“Will he raise yours?”

She turned and walked away.

Luke entered the room, threw a sweater and an extra pair of jeans into the briefcase. He could leave all the rest—he had done it before. He didn’t need much in the woods.

He headed down the stairs, toward the front door. Sweetpea waited for him there.

“Good-bye, Luke,” Emily said. She was standing in the hallway, one hand on her belly.

He stopped and looked at her.

“Why couldn’t you say good-bye the first time?” he asked.

“I’m not as brave as you are,” she told him.

“I’m not brave,” he replied. “I’m terrified.”

“You could stay,” she said.

He shook his head. He waited a moment longer, then turned and let Sweetpea lead the way out of the house.

The cabin was cold and dusty, and the garbage that Luke had forgotten to put out when he left weeks before smelled awful. But Sweetpea ran around the place like she had returned to her castle.

He cleaned the cabin, knowing that if he slept in the stink, he’d wake up feeling even more miserable than he did now. He set up his laptop, determined that this time he’d keep writing, without his muse.

When the cabin was clean, he walked out to his shop. He saw the table he had been working on and admired his work. He’d keep building furniture—there was something solid and real about it, as opposed to building stories based on flimsy words, characters he invented, plots he dreamed up. He wanted the result of his work to be something to sit on, something to eat on, something that lasted.

The night was cold, clear. Sweetpea scampered around his legs, excited to have the fresh smells to explore again. Luke looked at the sky, thick with stars, and breathed deeply. With his exhale he felt a strangled sigh escape from somewhere deep inside him.

Sweetpea began to whimper.

“I’m OK, girl. Just a little crazy after all these years.”

He scooted down to pet Sweetpea, who fell to the ground and offered her belly.

“Come on, girl. Too cold out here.”

He led the way inside, grabbing some logs for the fireplace. The cabin was warming up with the help of the space heater. Luke started a fire and chose a book to read, a Raymond Chandler mystery he had read before. He wanted no surprises.

He dropped into the old armchair and felt the fit like a pair of worn jeans.
I belong here,
Luke thought.
The hermit act.

He thought of Amanda. He needed to tell them he was gone. He needed to say good-bye. He didn’t look at the clock. He picked up the phone and dialed Blair’s number.

Chapter Nine

Y
ou’re home already,” Luke said.

“I hate the hospital,” Blair told him. She was lying in bed, wide-awake, and when the phone rang, she jumped on it. “I told them I’d come back tomorrow for tests. Amanda is not allowed to drag me to the hospital again.”

“Amanda did the right thing,” Luke said.

“By calling you?”

“That too.”

“You want to save me.”

“No, Blair. I know I can’t do that.”

“You do. You wrote a movie about the boy who should have saved me. And now you want that chance.”

“No.”

“I didn’t need saving then, Luke. And I don’t need saving now. That’s your fantasy, not mine.”

Luke didn’t say anything for a moment. She could hear him breathing.

“Where are you?” Blair asked.

“Back in the mountains. At my cabin.”

“You left your wife?”

“Yes.”

“You doing OK?”

“OK would be a stretch.”

“You want company?”

“Here?”

“I could take a drive. See the hermit in his lair.”

“My god, Blair. I would love that.”

“How long does it take to get to you?”

“An hour. Maybe less. Do you want to wait till morning?”

“No. I want to come now. I can’t sleep. I’ll leave Amanda a note.”

“Wait. You passed out today. You just left the hospital. You can’t drive out here now.”

“Why the hell not?”

Luke didn’t say anything.

Blair was already up, out of bed, moving around her room. She found a pair of sweatpants at the foot of her bed and pulled them on while anchoring the phone at her ear.

“Let me come get you in the morning,” Luke said.

“I’m coming now. Just give me the address, some kind of directions. Your phone number, too. I drove to Woodside once and was lost for days.”

She pulled on a denim shirt, slipped her feet into a pair of clogs. At her desk she grabbed a pen and paper.

“Go on,” she said. “I’m ready.”

“Blair—”

“Oh, don’t get protective on me,” she said. “I don’t need that.”

“What do you need?”

“I need to forget that I’m dying. You’re good for that. If I remember correctly. And right now, all I can think about is that damn hospital and seeing my daughter’s face when I came to and the fact that Dr. Hotshot Oncologist can’t stop what’s happening to me.”

“OK,” Luke said, and Blair took a deep breath.

“Directions,” she reminded him.

He gave her the directions. She hung up, then scrawled a note to Amanda.

I’m going to visit Mr. Hollywood in the holly woods. I’ll be back tomorrow. Call me there before you leave for school. His number is 650-555-9087. Stop worrying about me. Love you, Mom.

She put the note under Amanda’s door, grabbed her backpack, headed out into the night. Casey’s car waited for her in the driveway, the keys under the mat. He never used the thing—he certainly wouldn’t miss it for a night.

She was glad to be driving, glad to have something to do, something to concentrate on. She had returned from the hospital with a worried and demanding daughter: “You can’t leave; they didn’t find out what’s wrong with you.” And when Blair said, “I know what’s wrong with me. I’m dying. And I’d rather do it in my own living room, with a glass of wine and an old movie to watch,” Amanda then sulked for the rest of the night. She went to her room early, not talking to her mother. But then again, she hadn’t been talking to her for a couple of weeks. Since she had started sneaking off with Mr. Hollywood.

It was Blair’s turn to sneak off with Mr. Hollywood. When he called, she had been thinking about him, about his sweet smile looking down at her in her hospital bed. He was sexy, and she wanted sex. Booze and sex. He was good for both. And she could get in her car, leave him in the morning, and not have to see him ever again.

She turned off the freeway and headed west into the mountains. The road was ridiculously curved, banking left, right. She could see the lights of Silicon Valley below, winking at her around every hairpin turn. She felt light-headed; but instead of the fear that gripped at her when she came to consciousness in the ambulance and while she was wheeled around at the hospital, she now felt free.

Free to have sex with Luke Bellingham. She would have fun tonight, leave him tomorrow.

She pulled into the long driveway and saw Sweetpea in her headlights. The dog danced from side to side, as if she knew the car, knew who was coming, knew that Blair liked her better than she liked Luke anyway.

She stopped the car at the end of the driveway, opened the door and let the dog nuzzle her for a few moments.

“OK. Take me to your master,” she told Sweetpea.

“The master never gets such good treatment.” Luke’s voice came out of the darkness on the other side of the car.

“Where the hell am I?” Blair asked. “I’ve been driving for hours.”

“We’re close to Skyline,” Luke said, and came to her side. “A quarter mile from the ridge. Head down on the other side and you get to the beach.”

“Anyone else live out here?” she asked.

“Not many of us loonies,” he told her. “Come on in. I’ve got a fire going.”

He hadn’t touched her. He was cautious—she could sense that right away. And something about him seemed different.

When she entered the cabin, she saw right away that this was Luke’s true home. He belonged here. His cabin was cozy, warm—old furniture in dark wood and pale fabrics, fire lighting everything in a rosy glow. She had not seen his house in the city, but she couldn’t imagine him anywhere but here. She saw the overstuffed chair, the stack of books on the floor, the line of candles on the fireplace mantel.

“Nice,” she said.

He nodded, smiling.

“You look better, too,” she said. He moved easier in this place.

“Drink?”

“Yes. Please.”

“Scotch.”

She nodded, wandering around the room, letting her hand slide over the small table where he had set up his laptop.

“Did you make this?”

“Yes. I’ll show you my workshop in the morning. I had a ramshackle shed behind my house in the city that I set up as a kind of woodworking space. Escaped to it when I couldn’t write. Out here, I’ve set up a real shop.”

She checked out the mini-kitchen, saw the good cookware, the shelf of staples: brown sugar, pasta, rice, flour.

“You cook?”

“Not well. Maybe you’ll make us dinner sometime.”

“I’m off duty,” she said.

“I didn’t mean—”

“This isn’t a regular thing,” she said, turning toward the fireplace, scooting down and warming her hands in front of the fire.

“I know—”

“Just tonight.”

“Here you go,” he said, and she stood, taking the drink he offered. She looked at him, saw that half smile, the cocky boy/ vulnerable man, breathed easier. Clinked his glass.

“Have a seat,” he said, offering the armchair. He pulled the ottoman away and sat on that.

She settled in. “I’ll never get out of this chair. This is a wonderful chair.”

“I know. I’ve slept there a few too many nights.”

“Why did you ever leave this place?” she asked.

“To find you,” he said.

She rolled her eyes.

“I got back here tonight,” he said, and he looked away from her, stared into the fire, “and I thought, good, I’ve left Emily. I’m glad to be here and not in the city, not in my house, not in my marriage. But instead of feeling happy, I felt incredibly lonely. I lived here for three months before and I never felt lonely.”

“You’ll get used to it again.”

“No. I was lonely for you. I have been ever since I met you.”

“That’s crazy.”

“I’m good at crazy,” Luke said, smiling.

“Maybe you’re just ready to start dating again.”

“Dating? I don’t think so, Blair.”

“You forget. I’m not someone you should get used to having around.”

“I can’t forget that,” he said.

Luke leaned forward and reached his hand out, stroking Blair’s face. She closed her eyes. Somehow she felt his hand on her skin as if it touched her deep within her body.

“How ’bout we go for a one-night stand? That’s kind of what I had in mind,” she said softly.

He smiled.

“I’m serious,” she said.

“I know you are,” he said. “And you think I’m the one who’s crazy.”

“What’s wrong with that concept? You need to forget your wife. I need to forget my illness. We’re made for each other. We’ll kiss good-bye in the morning.”

“OK,” Luke said, a huge smile spread across his face. “We’ll do that.”

He pulled her toward him and took her face in his hands.

“But I haven’t kissed you hello yet,” he said.

He kissed her, and kept kissing her. She opened her mouth and felt his tongue move through it as if he were exploring her. She felt undone. And then he pulled back and looked at her.

“Hello,” she said. Her face—no, her whole body felt flushed.

“I love seeing you in my chair,” Luke said, his voice soft, his face close to hers. “In my cabin. This makes me very happy.”

“Good,” she said. The kiss made her smile, and now she couldn’t stop smiling.

“The last few weeks,” Luke said, “I had it all back. Emily. My house. My work. And I never felt like I do right now.”

Blair leaned forward and kissed him again. She put her hands around his back and pressed him to her.

“Don’t forget,” she whispered to him, her tongue at his ear. “I’m leaving in the morning.”

“I dare you,” he said, taking her hand and leading her to bed.

Blair and Luke made love, and Blair was surprised by how different it felt this time. Luke was fierce in his lovemaking, pulling her to him, and then seemingly through him, as if he couldn’t get close enough to her body. He was inside of her, riding her, and then, before he came, he pulled out and buried his face between her legs, urging her on. When she came, he slipped back inside her again, and this time he came quickly, joining her. They held each other afterward, and he asked if she was watching the world spin inside her head, and she nodded, knowing exactly what he meant.

They then slept for a short time, Blair wrapped in Luke’s arms, and when she stirred in the middle of the night, he awoke and began kissing her. They made love again, slower this time, and again slept, curled around each other.

When the phone rang in the morning, they were both sound asleep.

Blair thought about Amanda, forcing herself to emerge from deep dreams and Luke’s tight embrace. She wiggled her way out and found the phone at the side of the bed.

“Hello?”

Luke opened his eyes, and she leaned over to kiss him.

“Uh—maybe I have the wrong number—”

It was a woman’s voice—probably the wife. Well, that’s one way to keep her away.

“You looking for Luke?”

“Yes. Tell him it’s Dana.”

“Dana?”

“Damn,” Luke mumbled. He reached his hand out.

“He’s right here.” Blair handed Luke the phone, then curled around his back.

“It’s early, Dana,” Luke said into the phone.

Blair ran her fingers up and down Luke’s long back. Then she pressed her mouth against the back of his neck. She felt different this morning than she had in a few long weeks—she felt healthy.
Sex cures melanoma,
she thought.
I’ll tell the world, become the poster girl for the cure.

“I know,” Luke said into the phone after letting Dana speak for a while. “I know all that.”

Blair ran her fingers up and down his back. “Don’t go back,” she whispered to herself.

After a pause he said, “That’s my business. It’s all my business, in fact. The woman in my bed. The wife I left. You’ve got nothing to say about any of it.”

Blair ran a line of kisses down Luke’s back.

“I have already decided the right thing to do,” Luke said. He shifted around in bed to face Blair. He was smiling.

He let Dana speak while he stroked the side of Blair’s body. She stirred under his touch, feeling her senses awaken, feeling her desire as if they had not yet made love even a first time.

“Funny,” Luke said into the phone. “Three months here, and no one ever came to visit. No, Dana. Do not come out to the woods. We don’t really have anything to talk about.”

Luke climbed onto Blair and straddled her. He placed his hand on her stomach and she gasped, as if already she was feeling too much.

“I gotta go, Dana. Nice talking to you.”

He listened for another moment, then hung up the phone, throwing it to the side of the bed and lowering himself on top of Blair.

The phone rang again.

“Ignore it,” he said, his mouth in the curve of her neck.

“It might be Amanda,” Blair said, her voice deep and breathy. “I told her to call in the morning.”

“Do you have to get it?”

“Yes. Don’t go away.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Blair squeezed out from under Luke and found the phone.

“Hello?”

“Mom?”

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

“You sound cheery.”

“Yeah. Well. You headed to school?”

“In a half hour. How you feeling?”

“Pretty terrific.”

“Mom. I mean—”

“I know what you mean. I’m fine. I will not faint again.”

“How do you know?”

“I just know. Go to school. Do not worry. I’ll be home when you get back from school.”

“You’re coming back?”

“Of course I’m coming back.”

Blair looked at Luke, who was shaking his head.

“Are you bringing Mr. Hollywood with you?” Amanda asked.

“Would you like me to?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care. It’s none of my business.”

“Well, I’ll think about it.”

“You do that.”

“You sound mad. Are you mad that I left last night?”

“Pretty stupid, Mom. Driving after you were unconscious for an hour.”

“I deserve to be stupid once in a while. Is that all you’re mad about?”

“Listen, I’ve got to get to school.”

“Good-bye, Amanda. Have a great day at school.”

“Yeah. Right.”

She hung up the phone.

Blair looked at Luke. “My daughter is not happy with me,” she said.

“Maybe it’s a little weird for her to think of her mother in bed with a guy.”