Chapter 7 #5
She rose, coffee cup in hand. “Here, Dad.” She put the cup in his hand, her own hand cupped under his in case he spilled it, her other hand lightly on his shoulder, in reassurance.
His grasping strength was erratic. At times, he couldn’t hold on to things.
“Manuela’s finest. Drink up. If you ask nicely, I imagine she’s got some pasteles in the kitchen. ”
Nicole plastered a smile on her face, pretending not to notice the bird-like bones of his shoulder under her hand. Or his trembling hand as he brought the cup to his mouth. Or the sound of his breathing, loud in the quiet room. The effort of holding a cup to his mouth was enormous.
Her father had been such a handsome man. People turned their heads when he walked by, even when they didn’t know who he was. He had had such a regal bearing, one of nature’s aristocrats.
Now he was crunched in a wheelchair, often in pain, barely able to feed himself.
Dying.
This was breaking her heart.
Mike had stood, doing that straight-shouldered hands-over-crotch thing again. Her father took one look and nailed him immediately.
“Marine, young man?”
Nicole rushed to make introductions. “Daddy, this is Mike Keillor, former Marine—good call, you still have a fantastic eye. He’s with the San Diego Police Department now.
He’s the friend of a friend of mine. Mike, this is my father, Ambassador Nicholas Pearce.
” She shot Mike a hard glance. Don’t you dare say the real reason you’re here.
She would kill him with her bare hands, body armor or no body armor, if he said he was here to ward off troublemakers.
The very last thing her father needed was to worry about her and her safety
Mike gave an imperceptible nod. “Pleased to meet you, sir. I just stopped by to say hello to Nicole.”
Her father brought the cup to his mouth again with shaking hands, Nicole’s hand under his so he could sip. He loved Manuela’s coffee. She’d asked the doctors what he could eat and drink. His oncologist, a wise and humane man, told her to let him have his pleasures for as long as possible.
Nicole had understood quite well what the gentle oncologist was saying. It won’t make any difference. He’ll die soon, anyway. Let him enjoy what he can while he can.
Nicole fixed her father whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, happy if he could enjoy something.
So she let him have Manuela’s coffee, and the Calvados he’d learned to love in France and his Cuban cigars, as often as he wanted, and was happy that they made him happy.
The trembling was worse. No surprise there.
Everything about him was worse. Day by day.
Nicole cupped her father’s jaw, briefly, then blinking back tears, bent to kiss the top of his head.
Something she did a thousand times a day.
It was a miracle that there wasn’t a shiny spot on the top of his head from all her kisses.
She straightened and turned to Mike Keillor. He was staring at her with a peculiar intensity that she couldn’t decipher.
“Would you walk me to the car, Nicole?” he asked. He hadn’t shifted out of his modified parade-rest stance.
She blinked. “Sure.”
Outside, at the patrol car, he turned to her. “I’ll need for you to embrace me. Maybe kiss me on the cheeks. I want them to get the message that we’re real good friends.”
Oh. That made sense.
Nicole leaned forward and put her arms on his shoulders. Around his shoulders would have been impossible, they were so wide. It seemed to her that there was no difference between the hard unyielding feel of the body armor and the hard unyielding feel of the muscles of his shoulders.
She’d held a man like this in her arms all night long.
Nicole kissed Mike’s cheeks and stood for a moment, arms outstretched on his shoulders.
“I’ll stop by again tomorrow morning. You let me know whether they bother you again.
If they so much as look at you, let me know.
” Mike’s voice was grim, face drawn tight, deep grooves in his cheeks.
“And tomorrow, I’m bringing a can of Mace and a police whistle for you.
Burn their eyes out and bust their eardrums if they try anything. ”
He was making a real effort for her. She had a feeling Creepy and Creepier would think twice before bothering her again.
Nicole smiled. “I really appreciate this, Mike. Thanks so much.”
His jaws worked. “Like I said, don’t thank me, thank Sam. He’s the one who sent me. He’s worried about you.”
Nicole froze, feeling another wave of heat wash over her. What could she possibly say? She opened her mouth and closed it, completely incapable of speech. Sam was watching over her and she was avoiding him because she didn’t have the faintest clue how to deal with him.
With enormous effort, she didn’t wring her hands.
Mike stood still, silent, watching her.
“Yes, um,” she said finally. Oh God. “Will you—will you thank Sam for me?”
“No, ma’am, I think you should thank him yourself.” He dipped his head, touched a finger to his forehead in salute, got into the patrol car and drove off.