Chapter 30
30
Nick
I waited.
For five days, I waited through the bad weather—light rain, cold winds, and occasional sun managed to shine, but not for long. Like my hope to see and talk to Natalie, it waned. But I would have stayed. I waited as long as I could until a hospital security guard told me to leave.
John St. James has been discharged into private care. The rest is a mystery to me. And to him. I tried my best to convince them to dig a little deeper for information at the nurses’ desk. They are vaults, though, and rightly so.
Although I don’t have much time, I decide to stop by her apartment. It’s a risk I’m willing to take because, after this, I’m going back to LA. The car stops at the curb, and I get out. I look up at the window I remember Tatum peeking out. One. Two. Three. Four. Fourth floor left side of what I presume is an elevator.
The doorman doesn’t say anything when I enter the lobby. He stands, giving me a stern nod and disapproving once-over.
I say, “Hi, I’m here for Natalie St. James,” and head for the elevator.
“She’s not here. She left not forty-five minutes ago. Heading out of town by the looks of it, so you’re not going to find her upstairs.”
“Out of town.” I repeat like the words are new to my ears. “Is Tatum around?”
“I can ring her for you.”
I stand there awkwardly in the modern-styled lobby juxtaposed against the historical architecture. I walk back to the door, looking down the broad avenue, wondering which way she might have gone. “Ms. Devreux will be down momentarily.”
Glancing at him as he settles back in behind the desk, I reply, “Thank you.” Is this a fool’s mission? Natalie’s gone, and I have no idea where to even start looking.
Tatum is my last hope of reaching her again.
The ding of the elevator has me turning around. The doors open, and Tatum, dressed in a giant panda onesie, comes toward me. I cover my mouth, but the bark of laughter is still audible and echoes through the lobby.
At least she’s not wearing the hood, but I’m not sure why that’s where she drew the line. She says, “Ignore my outfit. I was in for the night, and trust me, this thing is not only comfortable but cozy.”
She still makes no apology for it, though. You have to appreciate that about her. She stops just a few feet shy of me and leans against the side of a large leather couch. “Natalie’s not here.” The irritation I expected to hear from a defensive friend crossing her arms over her chest isn’t found.
“She’s heading out of town?”
“To be with her family.”
I don’t know why I feel so awkward. It’s nothing Tatum’s done to make me feel this way. She’s done quite the opposite, actually. So much so that I dare to ask, “How is she?”
She nods toward the sitting area and moves around to claim the couch. I take a chair, resting forward on my legs. Glancing at the street through the windows, she replies, “This is tricky, Nick.” Her eyes return to mine. “I’m not sure what I should reveal to you. I’d hate to betray my friend.”
“I wouldn’t ask that of you.” Sitting up, I inwardly sigh, not sure where to go with this. I figure I have nothing to lose, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll gain some insight if I’m lucky. “I love her.”
Sympathy runs through her expression, turning the corners of her mouth down. “I know.” Unlike me holding my feelings in as much as possible, she doesn’t bother. “I like you, Nick. I like you for Natalie. I mean, even your names are cute together—Nick and Natalie. What’s not to like?”
I remember my mom saying the same— Nick and Natalie like Corbin and Cookie —as if that could determine our destiny. For a too brief time, I believed in small signs like that, but I’ve started to lose faith.
Appreciating the reminder of these little coincidences, I smile. “I like Natalie and Nick as well.” I sound like a kid, but Tatum makes it easy for me to feel sane with those admissions. “Is it a lost cause to hold on to hope?”
She tucks a leg under her and leans forward. After making sure the doorman isn’t eavesdropping, she says, “I will always take her side. No matter what, I’ll have her back. But being a good friend who’s loyal also means telling her the truth, even when it’s not what she wants to hear.” She sits back again as if the secrets are all on the table. “I told her to talk to you.”
“Thank you.” The words rush out when a wave a relief comes over me.
“Not so fast, Nicky. I don’t know the dirty details of what happened. All I know is her side. Let me just tell you—that side of the big picture doesn’t look good for you. I’m not asking you to explain yourself to me, but I hope that if you ever have the chance to tell her your side of things, you tell her the truth.” She stands and comes a little closer. “Plenty of guys have lied to her. Be the man who tells her the truth.”
She walks around the couch but stops with her fingertips still on the leather. “Go back to California. Live your life, the life you’ve built. If you’re still missing her in a few weeks or even months, you come back to see me, and I’ll make sure you get to speak to her.”
Bolting to my feet, I ask, “You want me to live life like she hasn’t already altered it forever?”
“I want you to know for sure that you can’t live without her before you drag her back into this mess.”
“She’s already in it, Tatum.” And I hate that for her. I hate this whole situation, that I didn’t look closer at the contracts that affect Christiansen’s bottom line as well as other’s. And right smack bang in the middle of this is Natalie.
I’ve spoken to Andrew and my dad about these contracts numerous times, and it was always just business. Yet Natalie thinks it was personal, an attack on her family and her company. Bottom line? I fucked up as an attorney and her boyfriend . . . fiancé .
“But she can find a way out.”
“And you think she needs to do that alone?”
A self-assured grin covers her face. “She’s not alone. She’s got me and her family. We may not be you, but we can help her heal the way she needs to.”
I want to argue, to keep talking so she tells me more, or feels sorry for me for the pain I feel, but as she made clear, she’s Natalie’s friend. Though, under the hood of her words, Tatum is also an ally of mine.
The elevator doors close, and I look at the doorman. He’s shaking his head like he’s heard this sad story before. Since he doesn’t seem to be making a move to open the door, I head there and push it open. “Hope is only as strong as the heart that wields it,” he says to my back.
I twist back with my hands still on the door and look at him. “I don’t understand.”
“That’s the problem, son. Listen to Ms. Devreux, and you’ll come to your own conclusion.”
“Why can’t anything be easy?”
“Most things are easy, but those aren’t the things you want.”
“Now there’s something we can agree on. Have a good night.”
Just before the door closes behind me, he says, “You too, Mr. Christiansen.”
I stop again to look back. Through the glass, I can see he’s already caught up in whatever’s on a small TV on the desk. Checking the time, I know I should go before I miss my flight, but my curiosity gets the better of me.
I only step a foot back in. “How do you know my name?”
“You’re on Ms. St. James’s list of guests who don’t have to check in.”
I’ve never been inside the building, much less her apartment, but I’m on the list? Her list? I know I’m being nosy, but I’ve never been on a doorman’s list before and feel bold after making this one. “Does she have a long list?”
He chuckles, his jowls threatening to jiggle. “You’re it.”
“I’m the list?”
He nods and then points at the game. I raise my hand and then go back outside again. I see the car I hired come make the block again and get in as soon as he pulls to the curb. He looks at me in the rearview mirror, and asks, “The airport?”
“I made the list.” I don’t know what I’m saying or why I’m telling him, but this seems like news that needs to be broadcast all over New York City. I. Made. Her. List.
“That’s great,” the driver says, not as enthusiastic as I am. Actually, there’s no inflection in his tone at all. “JFK?”
Doesn’t matter what he thinks. I made Natalie’s guest list. Me, myself, and I. “Yes.”
* * *
I’ll admit that the high I was riding from making her list didn’t last until touchdown in LA. I felt her absence growing with every mile traveled, and with a continent between us, I fear the worst—losing her altogether.
I got a text that Andrew sent a car to pick me up. I expected a ride share like Uber or Lyft, but I got Cookie’s carpool instead. “What are you doing here, Mom?”
“Andrew said you needed a lift,” she replies while getting back in the car. The traffic cops at LAX mean business and will make us move if we even try to say hi on the sidewalk. We’ll hug in the car.
I load my leather duffel into the trunk of her Mercedes and then get in on the passenger’s side. She shifts the gear into drive, but we embrace quickly before she pulls out. I say, “I did, but you didn’t have to fight this traffic. A car would have been fine.”
“I wanted to.” She lays on her horn when a Ford F-150 cuts her off. “People are the worst.”
Did I ever mention she’s hell on wheels, suffering from a major case of road rage? I’ve had bouts of it myself in Los Angeles traffic, so I cut her some slack. I also double-check my seat belt and then hold on to the handle.
“I appreciate it.”
Though she keeps her eyes focused on the road, ready to attack anyone who has the nerve to enter her lane, she asks, “How are you?”
I don’t have the energy to hide my feelings anymore. “Not that great.”
Her gaze finds me briefly, and she nods. “It’s good to be in touch with your feelings. There’s no way to change if you can’t get to the root of your spiritual being.”
When she deep dives into the psyche and universe stuff, I start missing the road rage mama. “I’m not sure I’m one to analyze. It’s pretty obvious that I fucked up and don’t know how to get her back.”
“I’ve been worried about you, but I know sometimes we have to let our concerns run their course. I can’t fix this for you, but I have a feeling you can. It’s just going to take some time and innovation.”
“God,” I say, my head dropping against the headrest. “Does everyone have to speak in riddles? Can’t someone just give me the fucking answers to make this better? First, the doorman, and now you. Just help me.”
I’m glad her eyes are back on the road again when she says, “I will if I can. What did the doorman say?”
“I spent five hours on that flight, trying to figure it out and failed. Here goes. Hope is only as strong as the heart that wields it.”
Nodding, she purses her lips. “ Oooh , that’s a good one.”
“Yeah, but what does it mean?”
“I’ll think about it and get back to you. In the meantime, you have a lot of loose ends to wrap up.”
“You’re telling me.”