Skin Like Dawn (33 page)

By lunch, she thought to take a deep breath and go for a walk.  It was the first time she’d been alone in days.  

She could’ve lied to herself and affirmed that she’d made sense of it all.  She laughed by her lonesome at that thought. 

Zuly was nearby the remainder of the afternoon.  

“How are you feeling today?” she asked.  

She could have remarked on a number of things: the fact that her boss hadn’t given her grief; or that she’d discovered the nurses’ secret planning of her baby shower; hmm, maybe that Brandon would have to work late and that bothered her; or something about her pregnancy...yes, nausea, the ridiculous cravings, the incessant horniness...the...oh, shit it’s useless.

“I’m okay.  Ready to go home.  I’m sleepy.”

“Me too.  Have a glass of Merlot waiting on me. How was the weekend with your friends?” 

“Incredible.  I love them.”

“They seem like a great bunch.” 

“They are...”

“You seem distracted.” 

“I, what?” 

Zuly chuckled.  “Maybe you should call it a day early.”

“Call what a day?” 

“Natalie, go home.” 

She couldn’t even remember the physical act of walking to her car.  She quickly grew frustrated at the idea of her hands trembling to the point where she couldn’t single out the right key to unlock her damn car.  Then, her phone vibrated in her pocket.  Huffing with frustration, she reached for the device and shoved it up to her ear. 

“What do you need, Brandy? I’m having a little difficulty getting into my fucking car...” 

“Hi.” 

It was the sound of a ghost - she was convinced on this.  Her harebrained cognizance had finally toppled over on her.  She was reeling.  She’d officially succumbed to her own madness.  

Good one, Natalie Chandler. 

Still, she answered anyway.  With parted lips, and bated breath, she whispered, “Hi.” 

Shrouded in silence, she shook at every end of her.  Anticipation surmounted good sense.  She was caught in the undertow. 

“Get in your car, Natalie.” 

“And where will I go?” 

“Natalie.” 

Her insides curled at the sound of her name.  “Where were you?” 

“Nat...”

“Answer me. Are you okay?”

“I shouldn’t have called.” 

She closed her eyes.  Any second, she figured, he’d disconnect the line.  He’d end it for the both of them.  Whatever the hell was happening, anyway.  

But, she heard his soft breathing on the other end.  And she exhaled.  “Bellamy Lambert.” 

She couldn’t have stopped her whimpering.  With her undertaking shattered, she had nothing.  “I need to see you.  Let me come to you.”

He hesitated.  She held her breath again.  “No.” 

“Bellamy...”

“There’s no need.  I’m already here.” 

She turned slowly, lowering the phone from her ear...and there he stood.  His hair disheveled, eyes bloodshot, clothes disorderly, he sauntered in her direction slowly.  

Spellbound, she stood quite still, fixing her gaze into his pale green eyes.  

A tear sputtered out of her eye and down her cheek.  “Tell me, Bell.  Tell me it didn’t happen.” 

Lips tightened to silence, he traversed toward her, settling his hands on her arms.  She could smell the dank, stale scent of alcohol pouring out of his skin.  But she reached upward anyway, trailing the tips of her fingers down the side of his jaw.  She ran them across his quivering lips, halting them there.  Darting his tongue out to greet them, she closed her eyes again. 

“Damn it,” she muttered.  “Damn it.  It was real.” 

He pulled her closer.  Their foreheads grazed gently.  He pressed his lips into the pads of her fingers.  

She laughed, allowing another tear to fall.  “I needed to see you.”

“I’m leaving, Natalie.  I’m going away.” 

Dropping her hand, she looked up at him.  “You’re what?”

“An opportunity has presented itself in another location.  And I’m going there...to take it.” 

“Another woman?  That’s what this is?” 

He backpedaled.  “Don’t do this...”

“How is she? What’s she like? Is she pretty?” 

“I’m leaving, Natalie.  And it has nothing to do with a woman.  I need a fresh start.” 

She scoffed.  “Then go.  Please, don’t let me stop you.” 

“Will you allow me the privilege of saying goodbye?” 

“There’s no need.”  She took a quick step backward, leaving just enough room to extend her hand to him.  “I wish you the best of luck in all of your future endeavors.” 

“Natalie. Don’t do this.” 

Her hand was still extended.  “Bellamy, you already said that.  Let’s come up with something a little bit more original next time.”  

He sighed, glaring at her.  His open-faced expression prompted her to say more, but she refrained. 

Dropping her hand, she shifted the weight of her body from one foot to the next with exasperation.  “I don’t know what you want me to say.  ‘Goodbye’?  ‘Nice knowing you’?  ‘Sorry to see you go’?”

“No, Natalie.” 

“Then, what, Bellamy? What the fuck do you want from me?” 

She was yelling.  Her voice cracked under the pressure of it all.  Her lips quivering, she turned away from him, dancing about the balls of her feet in an ill-shaped circle, pressing the back of her hand to her forehead.  

“Get in my truck.” 

She ceased moving and turned to him again.  Wary-eyed and piqued, she whispered, “No.  I can’t.” 

“I won’t beg you.  Get in my truck.” 

So, she did.  Avoiding his eyes, she gazed out of the passenger window, skyward somewhere.  There was guidance up there, she was sure of it.  There was something that would lead her in one direction or the other.  

In the interim, she was lost, tumbling outward with nothing to grab on to steady her.  And soon her husband would be calling to check in on her.  

What would she say?  “I’m asking Bellamy just like you told me to.  No worries.  I’ll get that answer for you as soon as possible.  I love you.  I’ve always loved you.  I’ll always love you.  Remember that.  This is just something that has to be done.  You understand that, don’t you, baby?” 

She exhaled.  “Why did you take me to that hotel?” 

Keeping his eyes focused ahead of him, he tightened the grip on his steering wheel.  “Because I knew that you didn’t want to go home.” 

“And you paid for my stay?” 

“Yes.” 

“And the damage on my husband’s truck?” 

“Yes.” 

“How did I get upstairs?” 

“I carried you.” 

She sneered.  “And no one thought it strange?” 

“My friend owns the hotel.  I told you that.” 

“So, that room.  Do you frequent it?” 

He paused.  “I used to.” 

“With women?” 

“Yes.”

“Did you sleep there with me?  That night?” 

“No.  I went home. I had Josephine check on you from time to time.” 

“Who is Josephine?” 

“A housekeeper.”  

“Why, Bellamy...” 

“I don’t know.  I’ve spent the last few months since I met you trying to figure that out.  I have nothing.” 

Shaking her head slowly, she finally allowed herself to look in his direction.  “I haven’t been able to make sense of anything since I got here.  I’ve felt so...out of place...” 

“The night you...you...” His voice trailed off and he closed his mouth again. 

“What? Tell me...” 

“The night I was with you and Zuly and I...fell asleep.  The sound of your voice.  It...God.  Up until that point, I hadn’t been able to figure you out.  Or maybe I hadn’t tried hard enough.  And then you just started talking.  And I felt like I had to hear it.”

“My God.  I told you so many personal things.  Things I hadn’t told anyone.  Now all of a sudden you were privy to knowledge that would kill my marriage.  If Brandon ever found out...” 

“He won’t.”

“And you told Lambert.  About what I was doing before I came here.  I was so...so angry at you that morning.” 

“I know. I’m sorry.  I couldn’t keep it to myself.  Once I’d learned of the dynamic with your husband, it made all of the sense in the world.”

“What made sense exactly?” 

Bellamy sighed as though to brace himself.  “He suffocates you.  And for a time you let him.  You put your dreams of becoming a doctor aside for him and for your baby.  That’s commendable, but...”

“How are you so fucking sure of my relationship with Brandon?  You haven’t the slightest idea what we’ve been through and how he makes me feel...”

“Yes, but...” 

“And why are you so goddamned concerned about me becoming a doctor?  Why is it so important to you?” 

“Because I’m one, Natalie.”

“Stop the car.” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“You heard me perfectly fine. Stop the car.” 

Slowly, he veered onto a shoulder, killing the engine as instructed.  He artfully kept his eyes out of hers.  

Brows furrowed, she leaned back, glaring at him.  “What did you say?” 

“You heard what I said.” 

“You’re a doctor?” 

“Yes.” 

“Since when?” 

“Since I graduated from Stanford.” 

“But...you don’t...you don’t practice medicine?” 

“No.” 

“Wait...Gabriella.” 

“Yes.”

“She was a doctor?” 

“Yes.” 

“Bellamy...” 

His breathing was low and uneven.  Lips tightened to quell something pressing against him.  

“Look at me, Bellamy.” 

So, he did.

“Why...why didn’t you tell me?” 

He shook his head slowly.  “Natalie, there are a number of things that I have been trying to tell you since we met.  And I can’t for the life of me formulate the words in a way that would keep you from running away from me.” 

“I’m sitting here right now.  Right now, goddamn it.  Tell me.” 

He sighed heavily again.  She studied the contours of his face: the he moved, the angles of it, the dusky gold surface of it.  

She whispered his name, breathed it in, salivated over it, pleading to him.  

He started the engine.  “I should take you back.” 

“For God’s sake, Bellamy Lambert, if you move this car...” 

He halted his mission, tumbled over the console and had her face in his hands in seconds.  She’d started to cry, stifling small muted sobs.  She was pleading with him again.   With a fervent gaze, she muttered, “Do it, you son of a bitch.  Do it. Don’t waste anymore of my goddamn time. We both know how this ends...” 

Shrouded in silence and darkness, Bellamy closed his eyes as if to embrace the end of something, and he pressed his reluctant, sex-dripped lips into hers.  

VALEDICTION

“BABY...RELAX...TELL ME WHAT’S WRONG?”

She was only breathing erratically.  The thoughts in her head were desperately attempting to catch up with the pace of her heartbeat.  Her hands were trembling.  But the sound of Brandon’s voice did something.  It evened out her breathing, allowed her to blink more fluidly.  

But it’d happened nevertheless.  And she couldn’t accept it.  She refused to.  Her lips were still tender, humming with warmth, tasting of him.  His touch.  Dear God, his hands.  They’d touched her in aways that she couldn’t have imagined.  And her reaction.  Elicited moans and whimpers and murmurs of his name.  

“I want you, Natalie.  I want every fucking part of you.  But I can’t.  Please stop.  I can’t.” 

But he was gone now.  He’d left her.  They’d said their goodbyes.  She closed her eyes tightly at the thought of it.

“Natalie, I can’t hear you, baby.  Are you okay?  Where are you?” 

She was sitting outside of the house she’d built with her husband, who, a year or so prior, had been foolish enough to marry a girl like her.  A stupid, stupid girl.

Lips quivering, she gripped her steering wheel a little tighter.  He was gone now.  Soon, she would be able to breathe again.  He wouldn’t matter at all.  Not one goddamn bit. 

No tears fell, however; she was empty, numb. 

You stupid, stupid girl. 

“Brandon, where are you?” 

“I’m at work.  I told you that I was working late.  I’ll be done as soon as I can, baby.  Are you okay?” 

“Let me come to you.” 

“What?” 

“I want to see you.”

“You don’t have to drive all the way out here.  I’ll be home soon, I promise.” 

Ending the conversation abruptly, she started her engine and she pulled away from the curb.  Once stalled at a red light, she reached into her purse and pulled out a picture.  It was the one picture of she and Brandon that she refused to let go of.  She looked at it once a day to remind herself of what it all meant, of how far they’d come, of the foolish girl she used to be.  

Her husband attempted to call her once more, but she silenced the ringer.  Dear God, she needed the quiet to think.  Only, she relived the taste of him, the smell of him: aftershave, spearmint, fabric softener.  Dear God, the warmth of his skin as she ran her lips up his throat, along his jaw, just under his eye, then his forehead.  

What did it all mean? And where the hell did she go from here?

She killed her engine in the first parking space in a shadowed parking deck.  And she took a deep breath.  Brandon called her again.  She only dumped the phone in her purse and exited her car.  Traversing up an elevator, she fastened her hair into a ballerina bun as neatly as she could.  She then ran the back of her quivering hand against her lips.  She wanted to abolish the essence of him.  

The doors opened to an office floor, artfully decorated in creamy pastels, glass walls, and contemporary accents.  She’d never been there before, and she was astonished at how easy access to the building was.  Asha had made a remark on how lackadaisical the attitudes of the Portland locals seemed to be about everything, but now she actually believed it to be true.  

She meandered slowly down a narrow corridor between spacious cubicles.  The majority of the lights in the office had been turned off, save for a small collection in the furthest corner.  Hushed voices seemed muffled in the sound of the air conditioning above their heads.  She stepped into the light by the office and found her husband sitting comfortably in a leather arm chair, with a pretty, narrow-waisted blond sitting atop his desk.  He was smiling. She was smiling back.  Goddamn it.