Pieces of Hope (14 page)

“Let’s
start with the basics today,” I said. “I think we have plenty of time.” I liked
this new and seemingly confident me, as if I talked to guys who looked like
Ethan all the time.
  

“Ask me
anything.” His voice, deep and soft, set my nerves on edge. I reached for
another cookie to ease the tension. The sugar seemed to help. But just because
Ethan had given me the green light, it didn’t make the words come any easier, especially
with the way his eyes never left mine. It scrambled my brains, left me weak.
Now I understood how a certain superhero must have felt around kryptonite.

 
“Come here often?” I joked.
 

“You
would be the first.” He bumped my shoulder with his, prodding me. “Don’t be
shy, Hope. It’s just the two of us. Ask me whatever you what.”

“Long
version or short?” I quipped, delaying once again.

“Whatever
you want . . .” His voiced dropped to a huskier tone. “I’m all yours.”

I
swallowed. He had to put it like that, didn’t he?
 

Ethan
waited patiently as I closed my eyes—temporarily blocking the effects of the
kryptonite—inhaled one enormous breath, then exhaled every ridiculous question
in my head in one exasperatingly long sentence.
 

“If you
could be here with anyone, would you still want to be here with me? Why
d’ya
smell so good? When’d you learn to fly-fish?
D’ya
remember anything else from
before
?
D’ya
look more like your mom or
your dad? Why’d you become a nurse? How
long’ve
you
been climbing?
Ohhhh
. . . were you born with those
lips or did
ya
have to grow into ‘
em
?”

I
inhaled another deep breath and opened my eyes.

Embarrassed,
I mumbled, “Ignore that last one. I plead temporary insanity.”

He
laughed softly. “You said we had plenty of time.”

“You
asked!”

“I did. I
did,” he admitted. “Let me see if I can sort this out. I guess I should have
taken notes.”

It was
my turn to nudge him back.
 

“To
answer your first question as concisely as possible . . .” He brought his lips
a few centimeters from mine. I could feel his warm breath on my face. “If I
could choose to be with anyone in the world in this single moment in time, and
given your rather crazy explanation it seems I can . . . let me assure you the
only name on my list would be yours—Catherine Hope Valenti.”
 

My arms
gave way, but I quickly recovered by shifting onto my side. Ethan gave a low chuckle,
but made no further comment. “Onto the next?” he asked.

I nodded
like my head was on springs.

“I
promise to give each question equal importance,” he said. “I think the next one
had to do with why I smelled so good.” He closed his eyes and inhaled.
“Truthfully, it can’t be nearly as enticing as the way you smell to me. You
make me hungry.”

“You’d
be surprised how often I hear that lately.” I muttered, thinking he had meant
something other than the obvious. At first, I thought he was about to explain
the
hungry
part, and I looked away
the instant my heart started pounding. Ethan gave no further explanation.
 
A few awkward seconds later, I cleared my
throat. “Fly-fishing,” I reminded him.

“Yes,
fly-fishing,” he echoed, slightly distracted. “Let me ask you a question
first.”

“Fire
away,” I told him, my heart still pounding.

“Were
there certain . . .
truths
you knew
about yourself, even as a child?”

Truths?
He looked so serious that I knew he wasn’t talking about being intelligent, or
living daily with unruly hair. Less superficial. Something deeper.

I had to
think about it. “Sure,” I finally said. “For starters, I knew I’d be older when
I married—twenties or early thirties, maybe. And I didn’t want a boy . . . a
man, to interfere with my career. Becoming a vet takes a while, you know. Then
after I received my D.V.M., I knew I’d have to get started on a family, if I
was ever going to have one.”

He looked
impressed. “I like that you’re so open,” he said. “It takes courage to be so
candid. While it’s a quality I greatly admire, I don’t do it so well myself.”

Even though
I loved the way he was looking at me, I decided to tell him the truth.

“It’s
not what you think. I’m not courageous. It’s . . . well . . . my filter’s
broken.”

He
almost laughed. “What filter is that?”

“You
know, the one that stops you from becoming a social pariah by preventing you
from uttering every ridiculous word in your head?” I shrugged in disgust. “Had
you known me in the living realm, you would see that my filter used to work
just fine! And I’m not sure why, but since I’ve had my accident . . . or since
I met you . . . it seems to have broken.”

“I want
to tell you something.” He dragged a hand through his hair. It seemed to help
him to think. When he spoke, his words, though startling, seemed to come
easily. “When I turned four, I remember thinking that I was going to die a
young man. I’m not sure what age I thought
old
was . . . but not very old. Younger than most.” Relief flooded his face. I sensed
he’d never told anyone this before. “Because of that truth, I’ve lived entire my
life as if every moment counted.” He managed an apologetic shrug. “And that’s
why I learned to fly-fish when I was only six-years-old.”

“I share
my
truth,
” I teased, clutching
dramatically at my chest. “And you turn it into a story about fly-fishing? You
could have just told me you were a goof. I, of all people, would have
understood.”

“I
forgot who I’m talking to,” he replied in mock seriousness. “You are, after
all, the girl with the broken filter.” He sighed. “It’s more serious than I
thought. You’re contagious.” The way he said it made me feel like we were in
this thing together. And not quite so idiotic.
  

When his
eyes found mine, his voice went deeper and softer. “I’d like to save your ‘before’
question for last, if you don’t mind.” He looked down at his hands as I nodded.
It was a rare moment when he wasn’t searching for something in my eyes, though
I wasn’t sure what he was seeking. “Let’s assume I believe what you told me
earlier—about this not being a dream. If that’s true, how much time do we
have?”

“Till you
wake,” I said, hoping that wasn’t anytime soon.

He
brightened. “Then we’ll have to make the best of it, won’t we?”

At once,
he pulled me into him. As we lay back against the blanket, I worked at settling
down my breathing. But I never quite got it right. My head rested in the crook
of his shoulder, and if I tilted my head just so, I could make out his perfect
profile, catch the subtle changes in his expression. Suddenly, it didn’t seem
as if there would ever be enough time.

“Where
were we?” he asked politely.

“You
just shared your so-called fly-fishing truth,” I reminded him.

“It
wasn’t so-called,” he corrected, laughing. “I’ve lived my life as if I were
running out of time. Until I started college at seventeen, I didn’t spend one day
in school. I travelled the world with a tutor and, occasionally, my parents.
But there’s so much I still haven’t seen or done. I guess, in my heart, I’m
first and foremost a traveler.”

I gaped
at him. Other than my recent trip to the Station, my personal travels were too
limited to mention. Compared to Ethan, I suddenly felt as if I hadn’t done much
living. Not before my coma, anyway.

“My
mother wants me to become a doctor,” he went on. “But I don’t think that’s my
calling. Who says you have to be great at one thing in life? Why not be great
at several?”

“How did
you . . . I mean, why did you become a nurse?” I was trying to be delicate and
this seemed to humor him.

“You
mean real men and nursing don’t go together? How about a figure skater?” he
teased. “Would that be easier to swallow?”

I
pinched his side, frowning. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I’m
used to it,” he said, unaffected. “You should hear my buddies in Boston. I’ve been
harassed more than you’d care to know. But Brody was right about one thing.” My
ears perked up.
Brody
and
right
so rarely happened in the same
sentence. “The ICU is only about procedures. You don’t do much talking to
unconscious people on their death beds.”

I
grimaced, knowing I was one of
those
people.

“But the
truth is,” he went on. “I chose this occupation because, when I was fifteen, I
saved a man’s life.”

“That’s
an amazing coincidence,” I said, thinking of
Creesie
.
“When I was fifteen, I saved a woman from dying of a heart attack.”

“They
say there are no such things as coincidences in life,” he mused.

“They
do?” I marveled, wondering who this mysterious
they
was. “Who did you save?” I asked. “And how did it happen?”

I felt
him shrug. “There’s not much to tell. I was hiking a part of the Appalachian
trail when I spotted a hiker who had fallen down a steep embankment . . . I
kept thinking, what if I hadn’t come along when I did? If I’d taken a different
route or altered one thing, would that man still be alive today?” I nodded into
his shoulder. It was similar to what I’d asked myself at the time. “That single
event changed my life. I couldn’t imagine anything more satisfying than saving
lives every day . . .”

He looked
sideways at me, a smile tugging his lips.

“Unless,
of course, it was figure skating.”

“You’d
look phenomenal in a silk leotard,” I said. He gave me a gentle shove and I sat
up to grab another cookie (my sugar craving was relentless). After wolfing down
the first one, I grabbed another then leaned across his legs. It was easier to
his changing expressions from here. Ethan crossed his hands behind his head and
looked down at me.

“But of
all the places in the world to live, why Oregon?”
I asked him.

He
hesitated. Though I wasn’t positive, I sensed I’d touched a nerve. I wanted to
take it back, ask something in its place. But Ethan spoke before I could think
of anything else to say. “
Mmmm
, that’s a long story,”
he said. “How about we save that one for another day?”

I opted
to change the subject to something more lighthearted. I already missed his
smile. “Okay,” I agreed. “Why don’t you show me some of your talents?”

“Talents?”
He looked puzzled.
      

“Talents.
Gifts. Stupid things you’re exceptional at. Everybody has them.”

“I
suppose this means you have several.” He was humoring me, I could tell.
 

“I do.
As you already know, I have toes like lobster claws.”

Ethan
glanced dubiously at my feet. “And . . . that’s a talent?”

“How
many girls do you know that have vice grips in their shoes?”
 

“Good to
know,” he replied with a straight face. “If I ever lose my vice grips, I’ll
know who to call.” Whatever it was that had spoiled his mood now seemed in the
past tense. “Tell me another.”
  

“I can
cross my eyes and make them stay that way.” I demonstrated this for him until
he begged me to stop. “And I can whistle through my teeth. Gigi taught me how
just before I entered the first grade. I guess while you were learning how to
fly-fish, I was learning how to bring people down with a single whistle.” I
gave an ear-splitting demonstration.

“Your
grandmother taught you how to do that?” He was still holding his ears when he
said, “And has it been useful?”

“Not
yet,” I said seriously, “but you just never know.” He raised his eyebrows as if
pondering the possibilities.

“What
about climbing?” he asked at last. “Not to diminish your other talents, but
shouldn’t that one make the list? A love of yours, I’d guess. There’s something
graceful and effortless about the way you move. I can’t take my eyes off of you.”

He
didn’t blink as he said it, so I know he must have caught how my mouth parted
in surprise, how my eyes widened. It was all I could do to suppress a sigh.
Around Ethan, it was impossible to hide. I suddenly felt exposed. Naked,
almost.

“Don’t
try to distract me.” I shook myself to lift the spell. “Now it’s your turn to
be mortified.”

With a
mock salute, he sat up and I followed. I started to sit cross-legged as he did,
but then I remembered why I didn’t like dresses and crossed my ankles (ladylike)
in front of me instead. “It’s going to be difficult to top your stellar list of
achievements.” He managed not to sound the least bit sarcastic. “I’ll need a
moment to think.”

He fell
silent and his gaze drifted to the waterfall. In that moment, I worked to
define the exact shade of his eyes. Jade, but more golden. Emerald, but more
honey. By the time he started speaking, I still hadn’t nailed it down.

“I’ve
never really considered this a talent.” He frowned. “But my mother tells me I
had this expression when I was younger that made it impossible for her to
punish me.”

I
flashed my open palms. “Show me.”

“This is
embarrassing. I can’t believe I just told you that.” He sighed and I gestured
again. “Okay,” he agreed. “But if you tell anyone, I’ll have to enter witness
protection, grow a foot-long beard, and move to some remote location in Idaho.”

“This
place is a lot like Vegas,” I assured him, thinking what a tragedy it would be
to cover that spectacular face in hair. “What happens here stays here.”

It took
an extra moment for him to compose himself. Making him laugh probably wasn’t
the fairest thing to do, but it was well worth the wait.