Shiver (2 page)

"I'll do my best." I lean forward to pull her tiny frame into my arms. "Daddy will do his best to be here."

I will. I'll do everything I can to be here and to finally tell my wife what I've been neglecting to mention for the past few weeks.

***

"D
o you remember taking that?" Nicholas Wolf gestures towards a framed photo hung on the wall to the left of us.

I don't need to look up from my camera to know exactly what he's talking about. I saw it the moment I walked into his loft. It's hard to miss. It's a portrait I took of a woman four or five years ago back in my penthouse in Boston. She's completely nude although the only hint of that to anyone studying the photograph is the side view of her left breast. The curve of her stomach and her hip pulls the eye in. It's a piece I'm proud of.

"The details are sketchy," I admit. "It was a long time ago."

He walks towards the large picture frame. It measures at least a few feet square. "What I love most about it is that you can't see her face. You can only imagine her beauty based on her body. What did she look like? What color was her hair?"

I finally pull my eyes to the portrait before I stare at him. He's my height but that's where our similarities end. His hair is black. His eyes a light shade of blue. I'm not surprised that he's garnering the interest he is in the literary world right now. He may be winning awards for his detective novel series, but it's his appearance that has women flocking to his book signings and television appearances. I'm not the man crush type, but I see the appeal.

"I don't remember," I answer honestly. "All their faces blurred together."

"How many women did you photograph?" He turns towards me, his arms crossing over his chest. "I once read it was hundreds."

I read that same article a little more than a month ago when I perusing the Internet one night. I'm not sure what I was expecting to find when I typed my name into the search bar. The articles and images I spent the next two hours looking at only widened the void I feel inside of me.

I don't want to go back to being Noah Foster, photographer of naked women. I don't miss the endless stream of prostitutes I invited into my home. I'd pay them a few thousand dollars in exchange for free rein to capture their nude bodies with my camera.

It filled my time and my drive to be successful. Looking back at that life now, I can see how bleak and hollow it actually was.

"I can't tell you how many." I trace my fingers along the scar on my cheek. "I didn't keep a running tally."

"Do you miss it?"

"Nope," I toss back quickly, almost too quickly.

I do miss the freedom to express myself through my art. I can't do that when I'm taking family portraits or shooting a professional head shot, like I am right now. My camera has turned into a tool I use to earn a living. It's not an extension of my creativity the way it used to be.

"You're sure?" he chuckles. "You made quite a name for yourself, Noah."

I don't answer mainly because I've got fuck all to say in response.

"That was my first purchase after I hit it big." He tilts his head back slightly towards the portrait. "I bought it last year at an auction."

I'm tempted to ask the price he paid but I know how the value of my work has skyrocketed since I retired from that aspect of my career. "It's a wise investment."

"You're telling me that?" he jokes. "Every time I look at it I'm reminded of how far I've come. I first saw your work in a gallery five, or six years ago. I didn't have two pennies to rub together back then."

I'd guess he's twenty-seven or twenty-eight which are only a few years younger than me but right now I feel like the wiser, older brother to this kid. He's living in a loft in SoHo that's either a truckload of money to rent each month or cost him a bloody small fortune to buy.

He bought one of my portraits along with a few pieces from some current all-stars in the art world. He's got an eye for beauty and a penchant for expensive things. It's obvious he's got the world by the balls right now. He reminds me of myself before the stabbing.

"Don’t lose sight of what's important, Nick," I offer even though I know I have no place giving him advice on anything. "I did that for a time. It fucked me up."

"My family won't let me." He eyes shoot to mine. "I'm keeping it all in perspective, Noah. I know what matters."

I do too. What matters more than anything is my family and regardless of what I may think I need out of life, nothing can compare to what my wife and my children give to me. I need to heed my own advice and keep that in perspective.

––––––––

"S
it on my lap." I tap my fingers on my thigh.

"You sound like that Santa Claus we saw last month at the mall." She yanks the hem of her skirt up so I can see the top of her stockings. "Remember how he wanted me to sit on his lap after the kids had their picture taken with him?"

"He was a fucking pervert, Alexa." I run my hand over the smooth skin of her thigh. "You gave him a raging hard-on. You were wearing this exact outfit."

She raises her eyebrow. "How do you remember things like that, Noah?"

"I remember every moment I get to spend with you," I say it without hesitation. "I'll remember every moment we have together until the day I die."

I should know by now that words like that bring tears to her eyes immediately. Today is no exception. She covers her mouth with her hands in an effort to hold off a sob.

"You're too romantic," she murmurs quietly. "I love when you talk like that."

I pull on her waist until she's settled in my lap. "It's the truth, Alexa. I'll never get enough of you. You already know that."

She nods her head faintly. "I've been worried about us...about you, Noah."

I kiss her cheek, scooping up a tear onto my tongue. "Don't worry about me. I'm fine."

Her eyes stay trained on the wall of my office where a framed picture of our twins is hanging. I'd taken the photograph the first day they came to live with us. I can see the trepidation in their expressions. They were unsure what they were stepping into. Since then, any vulnerability that may have been hidden behind their eyes has vanished. The picture is completely out of place now. I make a mental note to replace it with our family portrait tomorrow.

"Have you been thinking about a baby again?" Her voice is soft in the stillness of the room. I can hear every hidden nuance in her tone.

She's not actually asking if I've given any thought to the idea of adopting an infant. She's telling me, in her own abstract way, that it's all she's been thinking about. I don't need to hear the words to understand that. I see it in her expression when we're out and she's gazing into the distance at a couple with a baby in a stroller. I see it in her hands as they tremble when she wraps gifts for our friends and her co-workers who are expecting a child.

Alexa has never gotten over the fact that she can't physically have a baby of her own. After we adopted the kids, she sought out the advice of yet another fertility specialist who reiterated what the previous two had. My wife will never carry a child of her own in her body. It's not meant to be.

"I haven't been thinking about a baby," I say honestly.

"Oh." She clears her throat. "I just assumed."

It's one of the very few subjects that we can't talk openly about. I love our family exactly as it is. She had mentioned a baby briefly after we adopted the twins but the subject was mute until my brother Ben, and his wife, Kayla had a baby. Alexa adores their daughter, Emerson, and it's rekindled her desire to adopt an infant.

I wanted the same thing for a time but now that the twins are settled with us, I like things just as they are. That's not to say that I won't want another child in the future. I won't rule it out but I'm not ready right now.

"You know how I feel about that, Alexa." I wrap my arms around her, tugging her into my chest. "I like our family exactly the way it is."

"I know." She swallows. "I love our family, Noah. Sometimes I just wish we had another child."

It's an issue we're not going to resolve tonight. We both know that. We revisit it on an almost weekly basis and at some point we'll have to figure it out.

"How did work go today?" I move the conversation in a completely different direction, hopeful that I can eventually steer it to where I need it to be. I have to tell Alexa about Boston. I need her to understand why I've done the things I have every time I've gone back there the past two months.

"Work was fine." She brushes her fingers against my cheek. "It's always fine. I just finished winter break and I'm already looking forward to the week I get off this spring."

I could easily launch into a lecture about how she doesn't need to work another day in her life, but I know how well that will go over. Alexa is fiercely independent and she worked damn hard to get her teaching degree.

She cut back her hours for months after the twins arrived but when the school asked her to take on a fuller schedule, she'd jumped right back in. The fact that we found an incredible sitter helped. Alexa vetted dozens of candidates until she found Diana.

She's a retired teacher herself with two grown children and three grandchildren. The woman has for all intents and purposes taken on the role of a surrogate grandmother to our kids. She's a gem and I pay her a tidy sum each month to make sure my two beauties are given the best care possible.

We asked her to move in the spare bedroom in our apartment but she was adamant about keeping her own place in Queens. She lives in a rent controlled studio suite there filled with the treasures of an entire life devoted to kids.

Alexa brings home gifts from her students too. The difference between her and Diana is that she packs them away in a cardboard box. Diana openly displays every colored picture, each note and every key chain her students made for her over her thirty-year career.

"I asked my dad about staying with the kids next weekend." I bury my face in the warm skin of her neck, breathing in the scent that is uniquely her. "I want to take you away."

"Where?" She spins so quickly on my lap that I lose my grip on her waist. "Are we going somewhere romantic?"

"Boston," I blurt out because there's no fucking way I'm going to give her the chance to suggest another location. If she did that, I'd drop my own plans to take her wherever it is. I'd give my wife the moon if I could figure out a way to lasso it and drag it down to earth.

"Why?" She eyes me suspiciously. "We're not going to see my mom, are we?"

"I take it you'd prefer if we didn't?" I joke. "We can hang out with her for a couple of hours if you want but I've got other plans."

"What other plans?" Her entire expression shifts. "There's nothing left for us there other than my mom."

This is it. This is where I tell my wife that I haven't been able to do the one thing she's been asking me to do since the day we married.

"My penthouse is there." I tighten my grip on her, hoping that she'll find some comfort in my touch. "I want you to go there with me, Alexa."

"It's not your penthouse anymore, Noah," she says bluntly. "At least it won't be next month when the new owner takes possession of it."

"I didn't accept that offer," I finally admit. "The buyer wanted an extension to get financing in place and I didn't give it. I shut the deal down two weeks ago."

She scrambles to her feet. Her hands pushing at my shoulders, her fingernails digging into my skin through the fabric of the t-shirt I'm wearing. "What? What are you talking about?"

I stare up at her. Her eyes are welling with tears although she's doing everything in her power to hold back the onslaught of her raw emotions.

That penthouse has been a fundamental part of my life since I bought it when I was twenty-five-years old. I'd used the inheritance that my mother left me and I'd built my career there. I also hid from the world there. It's the place I met Alexa and the same place I broke her heart. It's as much a part of me as my name. Giving it up wasn't as easy as I thought it would be.

"You've been going there to clean it out."

"No," I admit easily. "I've been going there for another reason."

"What reason?" Her hand bolts to her chest. "What are you doing in Boston?"

There's no one word answer for that. I want to show her. I want her to understand what keeps pulling me back there.

"I've been working." That's the most succinct way to describe it.

"Working?" Her voice is louder, her tone more demanding. "You're always telling me that you have too much work here in New York, Noah. You've been turning jobs down. Why in the hell are you leaving us to go there to work?"

"Not that kind of work." I stand. "I'm not taking on jobs, Alexa."

I just need to say it, but the words aren't going to come easily. Each time I go back to Boston, I lock myself back in that penthouse the way I did before Alexa came into my life. It's a safe place for me. It's the place I need to be while I sort through the remains of a part of my past I don't want to let go of.

"Oh, my God." She steps back, her hand reaching for the edge of my desk. "Noah, tell me right now that you're not taking nude pictures of women again. If you are, I swear that I'll..."

"Seriously?" I step towards her, my hands grabbing hold of her shoulders. "You think I'd go back to that fucked up life? I'm a father, Alexa. I have children. I have you."

"What does that even mean?" she asks defiantly, her chin tipping up towards me. "You have me and yet you've been lying to me for weeks. You said you were going back there to take care of things at the penthouse."

"I was." I drop my hands from her, pushing them into the front pockets of my jeans. "I was taking care of things."

"Riddles, Noah." I see the pain, mixed with anger as it washes over her expression. "Stop fucking talking in riddles. What the hell is going on? You tell me right now."

I swallow hard. I feel my jaw clench. "It's my mother, Alexa. I'm going back for her."

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