Dating da Vinci (18 page)

The clouds rolled by and I watched the puffy train become a tiger become a lollipop. If the deceased could see anything from their spot in the earth, then watching the clouds, not to mention the occasional thunderstorm, would have to be a highlight.

I lay on my back beside Joel, six feet above the pearlescent burnt-orange coffin I'd spent too much money on, again falsely believing that Joel would care that he would rest in eternity in a box the color of his favorite college team, the Texas Longhorns. Hey, it seemed like a good idea at the time. The dead grass tickled my hand, which I had laid, fingers spread, above Joel's resting place, as if in some karmic way we were holding hands, or perhaps my hand was above his heart, the one that gave up on him at least forty years too soon. The autopsy indicated a heart defect that he was most likely born with, one that was exacerbated by too much physical activity. I couldn't imagine Joel's life without sports. If they had found the defect when he was younger, he wouldn't have played youth soccer or junior high basketball or high school football or intramural sports. Or those weekly pick-up games with the guys in the cul-de-sac. His life would have been completely different. Not the same person at all.

Of course, I had immediately had my sons' hearts checked out. People told me I was crazy, but by now, you've figured out that Grievers do crazy things, and high among them is to check the health of those left behind. I didn't just stop at heart checks, either. I had every organ, every bone, even our blood tested for the rarest of rare diseases. After several tests, I was found to be completely normal, barring a few extra pounds that could come off with, you guessed it, physical activity.
Stick to your daily vitamin
. That was it. That was the magic cure to keep me alive to raise my boys? Of course not. Still. I took that
daily vitamin as if I were drinking from the Holy Grail. I had to live, even if some days I hadn't wanted to live at all.

And the boys, well, you couldn't find two healthier boys than Bradley and William. “As normal as boys could be,” the doctor had said.

I had argued with the doctor. “I don't feel normal at all,” I had told him. I wanted to tell him I was dying, I was certain of it. But aren't we all dying a bit every day? It's morbid to admit, but I knew my pain wasn't my body giving up on me, but my bruised soul wilting within me.

The wind picked up, and I rolled over on my stomach, on top of Joel's grave. I wondered if I was turned the right way, if our faces were in alignment, or however unfortunate, my head were at his feet. I couldn't remember. But I pretended we were lying chest to chest, my cheek on his cheek, and I breathed deeply, slowly, fully trying to feel our spirits connect until I watered his grave with my tears. I imagined they traveled through the earth and landed right on Joel's cheek as they had done when we found out we were pregnant with Bradley.

A recent best-selling book asked what you would do if you had one more day with a loved one that had died. I thought of this often—something the author obviously knew Grievers do. But as many times as I played out that One More Day, the more it looked like Any Day and it was a good day—not a great day, but a typical day in our marriage: being parents, running errands, and successfully completing the crossword puzzle. There was nothing I would ask him or say to him that I hadn't already said in his life. Even the question about Monica.

Maybe our spirits were intertwined or the autumn sunshine had soaked some sense into me, because suddenly Knowing did not matter anymore. I let it all go. I could have closure without Her. He was Mine and would be for eternity.

Without meaning to, I'd fallen asleep. When I awoke, my muscles ached, and the sun was beginning to set. I had dreamed of Joel, something I'd only done once since his death and even then, it hadn't been
the powerful dream I'd been looking for. Grievers hope to dream of their loved ones telling them they are fine, they'll be fine, they still love you, and they'll watch over you. My dream had fallen far from my aspirations; it was simply Joel asking me if I'd bought more peanut butter.

But on this day, my dream startled me. It started out well enough, Joel and I and the boys at an amusement park, eating cotton candy and going on all the rides I hated, the fast ones that made my insides switch places. We all got on the Tilt-A-Whirl and began spinning, Joel making it go even faster by turning the wheel in the middle until my body was crushed against his and I rested my head on his shoulders until our ride came to a stop, and when he lifted the safety bar and reached out his hand for me to take, it wasn't Joel at all.

“You okay?” he asked, and I nodded my head and took his hand—one that did not belong to my Joel or my da Vinci, but to my sister's beau.

I'd almost forgotten that you get as much time on break from college as you actually spend in college, so when my father came to pick up the boys that morning for the long weekend, it meant that da Vinci and I would be alone. Entirely alone. For four whole days.

I tried to act nonchalant. After all, da Vinci
did
spend most of his time in the studio but came and went as he pleased through the back door for dinner or snacks or for stealing kisses when the boys were asleep. It was bad enough having sex with da Vinci in the studio—I vowed I would never be with da Vinci in Joel and my marital bed, Lumpy. I had begun to wonder if da Vinci and I were more “friends” than “lovers,” as we hadn't been together since that night in the studio, but with the boys safely out of the house, the idea to have some fun of my own sounded better every minute.

When I had returned from the gravesite the day before, da Vinci had tenderly wiped the dirt from my cheek where the grass has made
an imprint, but he hadn't asked where I'd been. He seemed to notice when I didn't want to talk, but then again, we rarely needed to talk. Words were for whom? Journalists? Novelists? Linguists? Sure. But not always for friends and truly not necessary for lovers. Rachel had been right about that.

When the boys pulled away, waving from their backseats of my father's SUV, I instinctively pulled da Vinci closer to me, and when the car rounded the corner out of sight, da Vinci pulled me into him in a long, urgent kiss that sent us tumbling back into the house for privacy.

I hadn't eaten breakfast yet, but it wasn't food I was hungry for. Da Vinci lifted my flannel nightshirt over my head, kissed my shoulder blade and steered us to the bedroom. I put the brakes on, my feet firmly planted on the hardwood floor, my arm reaching out to grab the wall, but da Vinci was much stronger than I. Before I could protest, we were already on the king-sized bed, much softer than the drafting table in the studio, and I got lost in the heat of our bodies pressing together, forgetting that this bed ever had any other purpose than a soft place to make love in that moment.

“I should've known you'd be blissing,” Anh said, arms crossed in the doorway. I shrieked, awkwardly grabbing for the sheet to cover us, but we were still nearly fully clothed. We hadn't even gotten to third base yet.

Da Vinci's groan turned from pleasure to annoyance. Something was always getting in the way of our togetherness, and it wasn't because of him. My boys. My family. My best friend who really,
really
should've known better. Nothing should break the spell of a Fantasy Sex Day. It wasn't fair. And I only got one, maybe two, my whole lifetime.

Da Vinci's arm was wrapped around my waist, his hot breaths at my shoulder blade, warming me from the outside in. I couldn't believe I wouldn't get to do what we were about to do. “What are you doing here?”

Anh gave an apologetic shrug, but obviously she wasn't sorry enough to turn around and leave when she saw us. “You said you'd watch Vi for me, remember?”

Vi appeared from behind Anh's legs and stared up at me with her big brown eyes, a sucker stick hanging from her mouth, sugary goo dripping onto my carpet. “I did? Why would I do a crazy thing like that?”

“Because I have the conference in Galveston this weekend, remember?”

I pounded my head against the pillow. So much for a free weekend. “I'm sorry. I can't believe I forgot.”

Anh knelt down, a worried look on her face. “I hate to ask this, but do I look as bad as I feel? I've felt like crap all morning.”

I pressed my cool hand against her head and quickly removed it. “You definitely have a fever.”

Just then Vi removed her sucker and threw up all over the floor beside my bed. She was so shocked at her own vomit that she ran out of the room and straight for the couch, where she promptly spewed again.

Good thing Joel and I had a plan not to get new furniture until our kids were older. Little tykes believe couches are their personal wipe rag. Because our boys had finally reached the age where they knew potato chip grease was meant for napkins instead of seat cushions (well, half the time anyway), we'd been looking for a new couch the week before Joel died, but couldn't agree on one we both liked. Vi began to wail. “Oh-up. Oh-up.”

“Dammit!” Anh said. “My son was sick earlier this week. He must've given us his bug.”

I began tending to my friends. Another clue da Vinci was not a typical American male: he cleaned up the throw-up without even being asked. Actually, I wouldn't have asked him to do it at all, but by the time I'd retrieved the thermometer and trashcan from
the bathroom, he had already grabbed a towel and began cleaning the mess. “Carpet cleaner?” he asked, and I directed him to the Oxy10. I'd almost forgotten his last temp job had been cleaning office buildings.

“Oh, God,” Anh said, laying on the clean part of the couch. “He's sexy
and
he cleans. I'm the world's biggest bitch for breaking up your sexfest.”

“Yes, you are,” I said, shoving the thermometer in her mouth. “But as usual, I'll forgive you. Besides, we have three more days to be together.
If
he'll forgive me.”

“This can't be happening,” Anh said, closing her eyes.

“Yeah. Tell me about it. Don't talk. We want an accurate read.”

Anh lay moaning on the couch while I scooped up Vi and bathed her and brushed her teeth with my finger. I wrapped her in a towel, and when I returned, I took the thermometer from Anh's hand.

“Yikes. 103,” I said. “On the bright side, you won't have to go to a boring conference.”

“It
better
not be boring. I'm the one who planned it.”

“You work too hard. A little R&R won't kill you.”

“That's what the conference was
supposed
to be. Do you know how much my hotel room is? And how much I was looking forward to getting away? And for all intents and purposes, I'm a single mom, you know. Her biological mother hasn't taken her the last four weekends, and her father, well, let's just say he takes after his own father. He's dating some hot college student and hasn't told her about Vi yet, the putz.”

“Well, let's just worry about getting you better now.”

Anh's cell phone rang.

“Don't answer that,” I said just before she answered.

Anh's voice turned from corporate cool to fun and flirty. Nothing in my dissertation research said anything about being able to flirt with a fever. “You don't need to do that,” she cooed.

I mouthed, “Who is it?” but she shooed me away. A moment later, she hung up.

“Nobody,” she said.

“This no-named nobody sure seemed to turn your frown upside down.”

Anh shook her head. “Fine. It's Michael. He said he'd come over and take care of Vi and me this weekend.”

“Seriously? As in my Michael that you couldn't see doing anything other than blissing with?”

Anh put her hand over her head. “Weird, isn't it? Well, I'm sure even Republicans can make chicken noodle soup.” She groaned. “The conference! My room! I even splurged for a suite. It's too late to cancel now.”

“On the bright side, at least it's tax deductible.”

She shook her fevered head. “You know where you can stick that ‘bright side‘ Miss Sex-a-lot?” She removed her washcloth. “Wait a minute. I've got a great idea. You and da Vinci should go stay in my room. That way, it's not $350 down the drain. Come on, my treat.”

“Me and da Vinci vacationing on Galveston Island? On the beach? That's crazy talk.”

“You said you needed to take a vacation anyway, right? Wasn't that on The List? So do it! And I do mean, 'just do it.'”

Da Vinci's hands were folded in prayer. He clearly understood the words “island” and “beach” … and probably even “sex-a-lot.”

“
Fallo e basta,
” he said urgently.
Just do it.

SIX HOURS LATER, WE were naked on the king-sized bed in an expensive suite I would've never been able to afford, living out the Fantasy Sex Day I couldn't believe was a reality. If a best friend could get any
bester
, then Anh had done so. Getting away unleashed any inhibitions I'd had about being with da Vinci. I felt young again, beautiful again and sexy again. Me, the thirty-six-year-old widowed wordsmith. Da Vinci became sweeter and more real by the minute. He cradled me, caressed me, and made love to me like I was the only thing he desired on the planet.