Overseas (12 page)

He looked back at me, eyes alive. “Can’t you?”

“That’s why it was so hard, when you cut me off. Because I’d thought better of you. Because when I walked into your house at Christmastime, it all felt so familiar. Like I knew you, knew all about you. Maybe not the details, but the essentials. You were different and interesting and… and…
right
. It was so
right
.” I bent my head into my knees, to block the sight of his face. “And then you just left. You
repudiated
it.”

“Kate,” he whispered, “I’ve many faults, God knows, but I never meant to trifle with you. Not the least of my… my distress, these past months, was the fear that I’d hurt you. What you must think of me.”

I didn’t reply.

“Kate, look at me.”

“I can’t,” I said, my voice muffled against my knees. “I can’t think clearly when you’re looking at me like that. I haven’t even gone on a date in three
years
, Julian. I have zero immunity.”

“Well, it’s been jolly longer than that for me. So if I can be brave, so can you.”

I felt his hand on my chin, lifting my head. His face was closer than I expected, aglow as I was, the color high in his cheeks.

“I wish I could promise you I won’t hurt you again,” he said. “But there are… circumstances… I can’t explain to you, at the moment. And so the only thing I can promise you is that the
feelings
I have for you are very real indeed. I’ve known them for longer than you realize. And to
those
I can and shall be faithful, without fail. Do you understand me?”

I nodded, mesmerized.

His voice dropped to a whisper. “Oh, look at you, darling. Staring into me with those great silver eyes of yours, reading my soul. I shouldn’t be here with you, the most reckless self-indulgence, and yet I can’t seem to bloody well
help
it anymore.” He stopped and looked down. “And I can’t forgive myself for that,” he murmured, as if to himself; then he looked back up, holding my eyes, and said fiercely, “But I can at least give
this
to you, Kate: There is no one else for me. There will be no one else.”

It was impossible to doubt him, impossible even to look away. I sat there in silence, returning his gaze with bemused fascination. “But you hardly know me,” I said at last.

“Yes, I do.”

I gestured to myself. “And I’m not exactly trophy material, either. You really should wait with all your fancy promises until you’ve actually seen the merchandise.”

“I believe I’ve got the general idea.” A knowing little smile curled his mouth, not gentlemanly at all. “That damned alluring frock of yours.”

I laughed, surprising myself. “You should have seen the one Alicia picked out. Talk about having a sign around your neck.”

“And it’s such a lovely neck.” His right hand lifted, trembling, and fell back into his lap.

“It’s all right. I don’t mind.” I reached out bravely and took his hand and placed it, palm down, between my own. It was broad and capable,
lightly callused, with long elegant fingers and neatly trimmed nails. A few downy golden hairs grew up from the back; I whorled them gently with my fingertip. “You must play the piano for me sometime,” I told him.

“I shall,” he promised.

“Where were you hurt?” I cleared my throat and nudged back the sleeve of his tuxedo, exposing his wrist. He wore simple gold cufflinks. “May I?” I asked, fingering one. He nodded. Carefully I drew the cufflink out of its hole and set it on the coffee table. “I don’t want to hurt you,” I said, looking back up at his face.

“You won’t,” he said. “It’s long healed.”

I drew the sleeve back, almost to his elbow, and took in my breath. A long irregular scar ran the length of his forearm, gouging deeply in the middle. “Oh my God,” I said. “What happened?”

“Glass,” he said, “from the windshield.”

“But it’s so… jagged!” I ran my finger down the long thick path, lined on either side by white pinpricks from the stitches, and my eyes filled with tears.

“Don’t,” he said tenderly, reaching up with the other hand to the back of my head, his head bent forward, his forehead nearly touching mine. “It happened so long ago.”

I looked back up. “Please don’t do this again.”

“That’s not likely.”

“I can’t even stand to think about it. Just… the pain…”

“Well,” he admitted, “it bled like the devil.”

His left hand still rested on the back of my head, fiddling with the strands of my hair. I lifted the other one to my cheek. He caressed the line of my cheekbone, the length of my jaw; his finger curved around my ear before drawing down the side of my neck, his eyes following the movement, examining every detail of my skin, my shape.

“How terribly
long
I’ve wanted,” he said, “to do just that.”

I was splintering inside, absolutely shattered. He held me in the palm of his hand. I let my feet slip back down to the floor and lifted my hand
to his face. His brow creased, as if he were under some kind of strain. I ran my fingers along the lines, smoothing them. “It’s not fair,” I said. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Well,” he told me, looking saddened, “it’s yours, for what it is.” He turned his head to kiss my palm, and then his hands moved to cradle my face. His thumb brushed against my lips, parting them fractionally, inquiring.

I snapped my mouth shut and pulled away.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded.

“Coffee breath,” I said, through my clenched lips.

He ducked his head and let out a despairing laugh. “Kate, haven’t
I
been drinking the coffee, too?”

“Oh, but it won’t affect you at all, will it?” I said bitterly. “You’re Julian Laurence, and you’re not subject to the same rules as normal human beings. I’m sure
your
breath will be all sweet and limpid, no matter how much coffee is in there, and
I’ll
taste like the inside of a Starbucks. A
stale
Starbucks.”

“Come here,” he said, pulling me into his arms, shaking with laughter. “This is what I adore about you, Kate. There’s no one like you. From the first moment…” His arms tightened around me. “I want you exactly like this. I want never to let you go.” He leaned back against the arm of the sofa, drawing me with him until I rested luxuriously upon the breadth of his chest, the satin weave of his tuxedo jacket cooling my cheek.

“Heaven,” I whispered, feeling his fingers travel up and down my spine. We lay there quietly a moment. I could hear his heart beat steadily next to my ear, a strong slow athletic pulse.

The buzzer rang. I jumped up, startled.

“What’s that?” Julian asked.

“No idea,” I said, checking the clock. Eleven-thirty. “I mean, it’s Joey downstairs, but Brooke should have her key. Or maybe he’s just trying to warn us…” I went over to the intercom and pressed the talk button. “Hello?”

“Kate. It’s Joey. You have a visitor.” His voice sounded ready to burst.

“Who is it?”

“I’ve sent her up already. Just giving you the heads-up.” I heard him laugh, and then cut off.

Her?

I put my hand on my forehead and slumped against the wall.

Julian got up. “What is it? Your roommate?”

“Worse,” I groaned. “It’s my mother.”

8.

“Hi, Mom,” I said, opening the door. “I didn’t realize you were coming.”

“Honey, I was worried sick! You didn’t answer your phone.”

“Oh, yeah. I guess it’s still turned off.” I kissed her cheek and gave her a hug. “Uh, Mom…”

It was too late. She was already brushing past me into the living room, and stopped dead.

Julian stepped forward.
Don’t worry,
he’d reassured me a second ago.
Mothers love me
. “Good evening, Mrs. Wilson,” he said, in that lyric voice of his. “What a very great pleasure.”

She just stared at him: at his face, his frame, the immense gravity of his presence; at his tuxedo, with its curving black bow tie hanging guiltily on either side of his unbuttoned collar.

I cleared my throat. “Um, Mom,” I said, “this is my friend Julian. Julian Laurence.”

“Oh,” she said hoarsely.

Julian smiled his radiant smile and held out his hand. “You flew in tonight, I expect?” he inquired.

She placed her hand in his and allowed him to shake it. “Yes,” she said. “I was so worried about Kate. I told her, when she moved to New York…”

“Mom, I told you I’m fine. It was a completely freak thing.”

“I suppose,” she said, not taking her eyes off Julian, “I have a lot to thank you for, young man.”

I winced.
Young man
. For God’s sake.

He shrugged. “It was nothing, I assure you,” he said. “Kate’s a supremely
capable young woman.” Then he unfolded his Saturday night special, that wide private beautiful smile, the lady slayer.

Mom was slayed. I watched her face soften and melt, like butter left out in the sun, and turned to roll my eyes at Julian. “Come on, Mom. There’s still a little coffee left. Where’s your bag?”

“Oh,” she said, “that nice young fellow downstairs is bringing it up.”

“You mean Joey?”

“Is that his name?”

“You must sit down, Mrs. Wilson,” Julian said, motioning her to the sofa. “I imagine you’re exhausted. When did your flight arrive?”

“Ten-thirty,” she told him.

“I’ll just fetch you a cup.” He shot me a reproving look.

I folded my arms. “Coffee mugs are in the cabinet to the right of the sink,” I called to him, as he disappeared around the corner of the kitchen area.

Mom looked at me with wide eyes.
Wow
, she mouthed.

“Yeah, I know,” I mumbled.

The doorbell rang. Joey. I went to the door and opened it.

“Here you go, Kate.” He smirked. “Everything okay?”

“Just fine, Joey. Just
fine
. Thanks.”

I took the suitcase from him. Mom had finally entered the modern age and bought a black wheelie bag to replace her old hard-sided Samsonite, circa 1962. Like everyone else, she had fastened a rainbow-striped cord around the middle so she could tell it apart on the carousel. I dragged it into the living room, where Julian was presenting my mom with a mug of coffee.

“It was a bit lukewarm,” he explained, “so I put it in the microwave. Is it too hot?”

“Oh, just fine. Just… just fine.” She looked between the two of us, back and forth. “So. Were you two kids having a good time?”

I glared at her full force before replying. “Great. We were at a charity thing in midtown. Julian gave me a ride home.”

“And really,” he said, checking his watch, “I ought to be going. I daresay you and your mother wouldn’t mind a little sleep.”

Mom drew a deep breath. “Don’t let me chase you away, Julian, if you were planning to
stay over
. I always bed down here, right on the good old sofa sleeper.” She patted it for emphasis. “It’s very comfortable.”

Kill me
now
.

“You’re too kind, Mrs. Wilson,” Julian said, only a slight waver in his voice. “But I really must be going. I’ve got to be at work early tomorrow. Still, I’m delighted to have met you.” He smiled at me. “You’ve raised an extraordinary daughter.”

“Really, you don’t need to go,” she insisted.

“Mom,” I said. “He wants to go. I want him to go. It’s not what you’re thinking.”

“Oh.” She looked back and forth between us again. “Well, then. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Laurence. I’m glad my little girl has someone to look out for her.”

He opened his mouth to make some no doubt sensationally witty reply, but I cut him off with a brisk “I’ll walk you to the elevator, Julian.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said meekly, and winked at my mother.

She winked right back.

I took Julian by the arm and dragged him to the door. “And no peeking,” I threw over my shoulder, as I hauled him out.

The elevator was just around the corner. I pressed the button and turned around to look at him, folding my arms over my chest.

He smiled and reached out and drew me up against him. “Do you really want me to go?” he murmured in my ear.

“At this exact moment, yes,” I said, pushing aside the swirling mist that seemed to addle my brain whenever he touched me.

A low little chuckle. “When can I see you again?”

“Call my assistant. She keeps my diary.”

“Kate.” He chuckled again. “I’ll surprise you, then.”

The elevator clanged nearer, and I unfolded my arms and wrapped them around his waist. “I can’t wait.”

The bell dinged. I drew back and looked up to find him watching me intently. He leaned down and brushed my lips with his own. “Neither can I,” he said, and stepped into the elevator just as the doors began to close.

“O
KAY
, M
OM
.” I slammed the door behind me. “That was probably the single most embarrassing moment of my entire life. Forget the day I wet my pants in first grade. Forget the time I screwed up my solo at the jazz choir concert. I mean, Oh. My. God.
Why
did you say that?”

“Say what?” She had risen from the sofa and was now busy cleaning up the rest of the kitchen with her usual air of impeccable moral advantage.

“Oh, you know.
Don’t let me chase you away, Julian, if you wanted to
stay over,” I said, in falsetto. “I mean, we haven’t even had a real
date
yet. We haven’t even…”

She looked up. “Haven’t even what, honey?”

“Kissed,” I mumbled.

“Didn’t he kiss you good night just now?”

I glared at her. “I thought I told you not to peek.”

“Oh, honey,” she laughed, “I didn’t need to peek to know
that
!”

“Well,” I said, “it wasn’t a real kiss. So just take that smirk off your face. I mean, for God’s sake, you’re my
mother
! You’re not supposed to sanction
sex
! Under the same
roof
! I mean,
eww
! This room shares a
wall
with mine!”

“Well, in
my
home, I wouldn’t. If you bring him for a visit, he’ll have his own room. But this is
your
place, honey. You can do what you like.”