Going the Distance (20 page)

“Hey.” He put a hand on her shoulder, surprised when she turned suddenly and buried her face in his chest. “You okay?”

“Fine. I’m being stupid,” she mumbled. “It just hurts. Thanks for helping me.”

“Of course I’d help you,” he said, stroking her ponytail. “I love y—” He broke off abruptly, shock coloring his features, and clasped Olivia tightly against him so she couldn’t pull back and look at his face. She heard him, no question; she’d gone rigid with surprise at the near-declaration. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “You’ll be okay.”

She tried to pull away but he kept her pinned against him, delaying the inevitable. He couldn’t handle it if she looked at him with pity or hope, couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing her. He’d carry her all the way back to the start of the hike if he could just make those almost-three little words never have almost happened.

“You can say it,” she said, voice muffled against his chest. He could feel her lips move through his T-shirt, her hands gently stroking the small of his back as though she knew he was now the one who needed tending.

He tugged her ponytail lightly. “Don’t.”

She sighed then, and struggled slightly to get away, though he only released her when he heard her muttered “okay.” She stepped back and adjusted her clothing, then glanced down and frowned. “I got blood on your leg.”

He followed her gaze to the tiny red smudge on his calf. “I’ll live.” A bloodstain he could survive. That was about all he had the stomach for right now. “Go ahead,” he said, when she lingered uncomfortably. “I’ll be right there.” Jarek avoided her stare, and after a second she blew out a breath and turned and continued, the end now in sight.

Alone again for the first time in a very long while, Jarek braced his hands on the crumbling edge of the wall and squeezed until the rocks dug painfully into his palms. The irony of the location for his slip up didn’t elude him. He’d spent a lifetime erecting a wall around himself, very determinedly keeping people at a distance. And now here he stood, on a five thousand mile long wall that had taken centuries to build, cost hundreds of thousands of people their lives, and was rumored to be visible from fucking
outer space
, and the damn thing had never kept anybody out.

She knew he was faking it. Olivia glanced at Jarek out the corner of her eye as the bus bounced along on the way back to Beijing. After finishing the hike they’d cleaned up her leg, bought icy cold drinks at one of the restaurants, and waited for the bus to depart at four o’clock. He’d retreated into his shell, grunting the occasional answer, waving her off when she said she was going to walk around and take pictures, putting as much distance between them as possible. Now, an hour into the trip back to town, he had his eyes closed, sunglasses on, and was doing a terrible job of pretending to be asleep. Almost as terrible a job as they were doing pretending he hadn’t almost said the L-word.

Olivia sighed and turned to look out the window. She wasn’t really surprised to hear that Jarek cared about her; what had surprised them both was that he’d almost admitted it. But the near-admission didn’t change anything, she thought. Their relationship had a time limit and one little word wouldn’t make a difference. Not that he’d let her say anything. Whenever she looked at him with any kind of meaning he glared at her in warning and studied something in his lap or behind her or any place he didn’t have to meet her eyes.

He feigned sleep all the way to Beijing. By the time they stepped off the bus shortly after seven that evening, the only conclusion Olivia had come to was that she wouldn’t bring it up. He knew, she sort of knew, neither of them were admitting it, and who cared, really? She’d loved Chris for ten years and he’d turned on her in a heartbeat. Love was a feeling, not a guarantee, and she wasn’t willing to open her heart to someone who couldn’t—wouldn’t—open his. Even if he might have already cracked open a door she thought she’d slammed shut a year ago.

It was obvious Jarek wasn’t eager to return to the hotel room, no doubt expecting her to barricade the door and demand he utter the entire offensive syllable.
Love
. For a guy who thought he was some sort of reincarnation of the devil, who could cow bigger men with a stare, he was awfully afraid of this. Of her. A kindergarten teacher.

They sat in a brightly lit fast food restaurant and ate burgers and fries for dinner, again making minimal conversation. Olivia wanted to rehash the excitement of the hike and her thrill at having visited the Great Wall, but knew that any attempt to speak of the site of his not-quite-an-emotional-moment would be met with a firmly erected wall of his own. She chattered instead about her class’s preparation for the play and the kids’ excitement, Alan’s choreography, Davy’s art design, Rose’s sound direction. The thing was a disaster, but she preferred to think of it as a Jackson Pollock painting: upon first glance it might be a hot mess, but true connoisseurs would recognize its heart. Its talent. Its meaning. Even if she hadn’t completely finished the third act, where Little Red Riding Hood and the Spidermans and a few other random friends encountered the not-at-all-scary wolf who had definitely not eaten grandma.

Jarek delayed leaving the restaurant, even though she could tell he was tired. The sun and the exertion had taken its toll, and she felt the same, but being alone with her was obviously outside of his comfort zone. When they finally exited the restaurant she pointed to the glowing image of a colorful foot indicating a reflexology studio and suggested they go inside. On several occasions Jarek had referred to the practice as “voodoo” but now he agreed, and Olivia knew his ready acquiescence had more to do with his cowardly approach to dealing with his feelings than sore feet. But her feet
were
aching, so they went inside and took comfortable seats and plunged their feet into wooden buckets of hot, scented water and bit their lips to hide groans of pleasure.

“Voodoo, hmm?” she murmured.

“Witchcraft,” he mumbled. “Dark arts.”

“You love it.”

He stiffened slightly at her unintentional use of the offensive word, but relaxed when the reflexologist removed his feet from the bucket, wrapped them in a warm white towel, and got to work. The same was happening for Olivia, so she let her eyes drift shut and gave into the lure of the massage, willing herself to stay awake so she could enjoy the experience and avoid waking up with drool on her chin.

“Ow ow ow,” Jarek hissed at one point.

Olivia cracked open an eye to look at him. “What?”

He snatched up the laminated chart that indicated which part of the foot was connected to which other body part, and located the painful pressure point. “Apparently my esophagus is particularly sensitive.”

Olivia’s laugh was cut short by her own jolting pain. “Mother of God!” she gasped. The reflexologists, tiny Chinese women whose hands knew the strength of ten men, exchanged a look and laughed, muttering between themselves. They didn’t need a translator to know what was being said, but the pressure eased up and the massage resumed its relaxing cadence.

“That was pretty amazing,” Olivia remarked an hour later as they shuffled out of the shop. “My feet feel like clouds.”

Jarek looked at her doubtfully. “Maybe they slipped something in your tea.”

“Did I imagine that part where a woman came in and offered to continue the massage in our hotel room?”

“No, that happened.”

She shuddered. Jarek had fielded the question with a polite but firm denial, and she’d been grateful for his interception. “I’m sleepy.” She slouched against him tiredly, and to her relief he wrapped an arm around her shoulders to keep her upright and resumed walking.

“You and me both,” he admitted, sounding grateful for the subject change. “It’s nine thirty and it feels like two o’clock in the morning.”

“Too much sun.”

They entered the dingy hotel and waved hello to Sally, who was manning the tiny information booth. In the stairwell they stared in despair at the ascending stairs, unwilling to take another step. “Go on,” Jarek urged. “Get up there.”

“You go.”

“Ladies first.”

“I don’t want your chivalry.”

“Well, you’re getting it.”

Her lips curved in a tired smile and they reluctantly trekked up to the fifth floor, Jarek cursing the whole way. “We’re getting a new room tomorrow.”

“On the ground floor?” she asked, entering ahead of him.

“No. In a new hotel. A real hotel. With an actual shower.”

“Oh God, a shower. I need one so badly.”

He looked ready to say something, then bit the inside of his cheek. “You’re lucky I’m still feeling chivalrous. It’s all yours.”

“I should go first, I only take five minutes. You’re the one with a beauty regime and fancy conditioner.”

“That was a gift from Katrine, I only use it to be nice.”

“And because it makes your hair soft.”

“Get in the bathroom, Olivia.” He bent down and kissed her temple briefly, then shoved her into the tiny space. She went because she desperately wanted a shower, and also because she didn’t want to risk saying anything that might ruin his tentative foray into civil conversation. He was a grown up, but sometimes she swore she had to treat him like one of her students, being encouraging, nurturing, and patient when all she really wanted to do was scream, “Why don’t you get this? It’s
easy!”

But then, she knew, if she did that, he would never learn.

He was gone when she woke up. After taking in the empty space where Jarek should have been, Olivia rolled onto her side and squinted at the glowing red display on the alarm clock: 8:02. The room was uncharacteristically dim. The skies outside had opened up and begun pouring down rain, pelting the glass with a rhythmic patter. Olivia watched the shadowy rivulets through the thin curtains and tried to ignore the ache in her chest. She listened carefully for noise from the bathroom but it was quiet, and after a minute she sat up and looked around for his bag or a note or something, anything, to tell her he hadn’t left. But there was nothing. His shoes were gone, and she was alone.

She flopped onto her back and opened her eyes as wide as she could, ignoring the stinging in her sinuses and trying to convince herself she didn’t want to cry. She didn’t need him. She didn’t. She was perfectly capable of spending the day by herself—Lord only knew she’d done that a lot lately—and she had a train ticket and a job she loved and coworkers who liked—well, tolerated—her, and she would be fine.

But she was still crying. Hot, salty tears snaked down her cheeks and pooled in her ears until she shook her head. He’d hurt her feelings, that asshole. And she hadn’t done anything wrong. In fact, she thought she’d done everything right. He’d almost said the L-word, asked her not to pursue it, and she hadn’t. She’d pretended she thought he was sleeping on the bus ride, had hurried through her shower so there was still hot water left for his, and had been passed out in bed before he’d finished so he could continue to avoid talking about his dastardly feelings.

Olivia sat up abruptly, swiped the tears from her cheeks, and stalked into the bathroom to splash cold water on her face before her eyes got puffy. She wouldn’t be able to haggle with the market vendors with any kind of authority if she looked like she’d spent the morning bawling her head off. She brushed her teeth and combed her hair until she was somewhat presentable, then counted her money and took a deep breath before putting on her shoes. She could do this. She could be alone in Beijing. She could be alone, period. People did it all the time.

She almost fainted when the door opened and Jarek stepped through, water dripping off his damp curls and trickling through his eyebrow. He looked surprised to see her as he wiped his face. “What are you doing up?”

It was hard to speak. Her chest and her throat were so tight—anger, relief, confusion—every emotion she could name was rising up so swift and painful she didn’t know how to respond.

“Liv? You okay?” Jarek frowned and stepped out of his wet shoes, dropping his pack on the ground and approaching to peer at her with concern. “Are you sick?”

She snapped out of it and shoved him away, hard enough that he stumbled back several steps. “Where
were
you?” Her voice came out a little too shrill and desperate, and she bit her tongue to suppress the onslaught of frantic questions trying to burst out.

He cocked his head and reached into his pocket, pulling out a flat white key card. “Getting a new room at that hotel down the street. A real one, with an elevator and a big shower.”

“Wha—? Why?”

“I told you this last night.”

The previous evening came back to her, and he had indeed said those things. “I thought you were joking,” she accused. “We only have one day left.”

“I know. That’s why I went out first thing to get it. You want to come with me or continue with this shrill harpy act?”

“I beg your pardon?” She didn’t feel sad anymore. She felt angry and self-righteous. And offended. And, okay, relieved.

He took in her attire and frowned. “Where were you going?”

“To get breakfast. To see the city.”

“In the rain?”

“People do it all the time, Jarek. Shit.” She turned her back to him and covered her face, letting her cool fingers soothe her flaming cheeks. Now she just felt like an idiot. He’d been missing for what, ten minutes, and she’d
cried?

She heard him sigh behind her. “Olivia. I was gone for half an hour. I didn’t want to wake you. What do you want me to say?”

She dragged in a breath and willed herself to be mature about this. “How would you feel if you woke up and I was gone? And my bag was gone?”

He put a hand on her shoulder and turned her to face him. “Look, I’m sorry if you were upset, okay? My money, my passport, it’s all in my bag, and I didn’t want to sort through it and wake you up. Let’s just get out of this palace and go to real hotel, okay?”

Olivia blinked and looked away, then nodded. A new hotel sounded nice. An elevator sounded really nice. “Fine.”

He groaned. “Stop using ‘fine’ to describe things.”