9. Chapter 9
Chapter 9
Sharon
Once in Manhattan, we stop for lunch before checking in at the hotel.
"I want to sleep in Jon's room," Noah announces before biting into a slice of cheese pizza.
"You can stay with me, Buddy," Jon says.
Watching him interact with Noah reminds me of my dad and what a wonderful father he was. Jon is so good with Noah. In the six months I babysat him before the move, Jon never missed a single phone call to wish his little brother a good night.
I watch as Jon takes a napkin and wipes pizza sauce off Noah's face. He's going to be a great dad someday. He's patient, kind and loving.
I realize I'm staring and look away only to find Mrs. Linder staring at me staring at Jon. I smile, feeling my cheeks blush with embarrassment.
***
After checking in at the hotel, we head down the hall to the elevators.
"Noah," says Jon, "push numbers five and seven."
Noah looks up at Jon and then at me before counting the buttons next to the elevator one by one until his finger lands on numbers five and seven. He pushes both buttons and then grins with pride.
"Good job, Noah!" We all exclaim in unison.
When the doors open, I feel Jon's warm hand on the small of my back as we file into the elevator. I turn around once inside and glance at Jon waiting for him to step inside, but he doesn't budge.
"Are you coming?" I ask.
"I think I'll take the stairs," he says. "I'll meet you up there."
When the doors open on the fifth floor, Mr. Linder says, "This is our stop. You, Jon, and Noah are on the seventh floor. Here's your key."
On the seventh floor, Noah and I exit the elevator and walk down the hall to our room. Just as I'm turning the key, we hear the door to the stairs open.
"Wait for me!" exclaims Jon, turning the corner. He's not the least bit out of breath when he reaches us.
"Did you miss me?" he asks without a hint of guile. His smile is broad and disarming, and his teeth are white. His handsome face beckons me to stare.
"I think I need longer than that to miss you," I say, turning the key to my room.
He takes the room key out of his pocket and opens the door to the room next to mine.
We smile at each other before I walk into my room with Noah in tow.
"I want to go with Jon," says Noah as soon as I shut the door.
"I know you do," I say. "Let me unpack, and then we'll take your things to his room."
The knock on the adjoining door startles both of us.
"That's Jon," I say. "Go ahead and open it, Sweetie."
When Jon walks in, I realize I lied earlier. I do miss him when he's gone. My attraction to him is comingled with guilt, and it's settled in the pit of my stomach like a heavy stone. Jimmy hasn't been gone for a year yet, and here I am, swooning over someone else.
"Hi," he says.
"Hi."
There's something unspoken happening between us, and we both know it.
"Jon!" exclaims Noah. "I wanna see your room."
"Sure, Buddy, but it looks exactly like this one."
"We should put some of his clothes in your room," I say.
"Can I jump on the bed?" asks Noah, following us into the room.
"Let's put your things away first," I say, placing the Woody Woodpecker bag on top of one of the beds.
When there's a knock on the door, Jon looks at me and says, "That must be Mom."
"Hi, you guys," she says, walking into the room. "Who wants to go fly a kite in Central Park?
"I do!" says Noah, bouncing on the bed.
"Do you two want to join us?
"Yes, I'll come with you," I say.
"You have the afternoon off," she says. "If you'd rather do something else, please feel free."
"I'd like to take some pictures from the Brooklyn Bridge," Jon says. "I'd love it if you came with me, Sharon."
"I'd like that," I say, smiling.
"Okay," says Mrs. Linder. "We can all meet for dinner in the hotel restaurant at, say, seven?"
"That'll work," Jon says. "It gives us enough time to make it there and back."
"Are you ready?" Mrs. Linder asks Noah.
"Yes!" he exclaims, jumping off the bed.
"Let's go," she says, taking Noah by the hand and walking to the door. Before the door shuts, we hear Noah ask, "Can I jump on your bed, Mommy?"
Jon laughs out loud.
"He reminds me so much of me when I was his age," Jon says. "I loved jumping on my bed, too."
"I bet you were a mischievous little kid," I say.
"I was an only child. I had to find creative ways to entertain myself."
"Did you ever break a bone?" I ask.
"I broke my arm when I was twelve. I jumped over a couch and landed wrong."
"Ouch!" I exclaim.
"I got this scar from jumping on the bed," he says, touching the scar on the corner of his eyebrow. "I fell off my bed, and my face made contact with a chipped corner of my nightstand."
"I noticed that small scar the day we met," I say, stepping toward him to get a better look. "It adds to your rugged good looks."
"You think I'm good-looking?" he asks.
"You know you are."
He laughs and picks up his bag, placing it on the bed. I watch him open it and pull out a camera with a long strap attached.
"If we take the subway," he says, "we can be there in about half an hour."
"I don't remember riding the subway when I was here with Dad."
"The subway can get crowded, especially in the afternoons with people getting off work."
"Is it safe?" I ask.
"As long as you're with me, you're safe."
"I believe you."
The glance he shoots my way is so sweet I feel my stomach do a cartwheel.
"I bet I can get some really good pictures from the bridge," he says, looking back at the camera. "I'll get a few of the East River and the New York skyline, and maybe some of you, if you let me."
I smile and nod, and when he doesn't look away but lets his gaze linger on me, I get, what? Nervous, excited, flustered? What the heck is happening to me?
"Looks like you've done this before," I say, looking down at the camera and praying I don't blush.
"I've walked the bridge twice but never taken pictures.”
"Why not?" I ask.
"I was only ten the first time we visited New York. I didn't own a camera, and photography was not on my radar. The second was two years ago. I came with Susan, and she asked me not to bring my camera because she didn't want me to be distracted."
"Distracted from what?"
"From giving her my undivided attention."
"She actually said that?"
"Yeah," he says, "I guess she didn't think I could do both, but I'm a great multitasker. I can give a woman my undivided attention and take photos at the same time."
"I don't think I would ever need or expect a man's undivided attention all the time, just when it matters."
"Not all women are as sensible as you."
***
Grand Central Station is bustling with hundreds, if not thousands, of people, coming and going—a world away from our quiet and peaceful existence in Garrison.
By the time we board the subway, it's almost full, but we still manage to find some seats together. Jon sits next to me—close enough for our bodies to touch. He's relaxed and toying with his camera, so he doesn't notice how acutely aware I am of his body next to mine. His hands are big and strong, but his touch is gentle. I can still feel his fingers caressing my skin. Granted, he was wiping mud off my face, but the sweet gesture made me feel something. For the first time since Jimmy's last kiss, I allowed myself to feel again.
When I look away, my gaze lands on a man sitting across from us. His blue eyes are dancing with mischief, and he's smiling at me. Not wanting to be rude, I smile back, and he winks at me. When Jon's hand reaches for mine, my heart skips a beat. Here, I thought he was completely oblivious, but no, he's more than aware of his surroundings; he's aware of me. He squeezes my hand before leaning over and kissing me on the cheek. The stranger gets the message loud and clear and immediately looks away. Jon wasn't lying when he said he could multitask, and he just proved it.
The weather outside is warm and humid, but the light breeze is enough to keep us comfortable for the one mile walk across the bridge.
"I can tell you're really enjoying this," I say, watching Jon stop to take pictures multiple times.
"I have a minor in photography."
"You're kidding," I say. "There's so much about you I still don't know."
He looks up from his camera and shoots me the sincerest smile I've ever seen.
"I'd like nothing more than to teach you all there is to know about me."
"That would take a lifetime," I say.
"I'm available if you are." His smile takes my breath away.
"You have a nice smile," I say.
"I'm glad you think so," he says. "I had to wear braces for three years, including headgear."
"Well," I say, "they did their job."
"Would you like me to take a picture of you together?” asks a man walking by with a woman. They're wearing matching wedding bands, which instantly reminds me of the matching rings sitting in a pretty velvet box tucked away in my nightstand back home—not the home I left in California, but the one in Garrison.
"Yes," Jon says, handing his camera to the man while at the same time reaching for my hand.
"Oh, you two make such a pretty couple," says the woman.
Jon puts his arm around me and pulls me into him like it's the most natural thing in the world.
"Say cheese!" says the man.
***
After dinner, Noah asked if he could watch a movie with his parents, so they took the elevator up to their room, and Jon and I took the stairs to our floor.
I started running out of steam on the fifth floor, so Jon slowed down and stayed with me the rest of the way.
We parted ways at the door with a simple good night.
That was almost two hours ago, so I'm not surprised when the phone rings and Mrs. Linder tells me Noah is staying with them tonight.
"Should I bring him a change of clothes for tomorrow?"
"No," she says. "I packed a few of his things in my bag, so we're good. He already took a bath and changed into pajamas."
"Great," I say. "Then I'll see you in the morning. Have a good night."
"Good night."
I turn the light off and feel myself dozing immediately.
"Jimmy!" The name sounds far but frantic as I struggle to rise from the depths of sleep.
"Jimmy!"
There it is again! This time I open my eyes and focus on what I think I hear. I listen intently, wondering if it was just a dream.
"Jimmy, please hang on!"
No, that's real. I sit up in bed and switch the light on. I manage to control my breathing and try to listen carefully.
I feel cold, tiny goosebumps forming on my skin when I hear, "I got you, Jimmy, I got you. No, Nooo!"
It's Jon! He's having a nightmare! I jump out of bed and walk to the adjoining door. Should I go in? I knock twice, but there's no response. I can hear movement and what sounds like grunting. I slowly turn the knob and find it unlocked. I push the door open, and the light from my room immediately illuminates the space. I see Jon's tall frame lying on top of the covers. He's wearing jeans but no shirt. He's shaking his head back and forth as if wrestling with demons in the depths of a hellish nightmare.
"Jon," I whisper, approaching slowly. "Jon, wake up."
He doesn't hear me.
I sit on the edge of the bed and gently shake his shoulder. His skin is warm and flushed.
"Jon, please wake up," I say, trying to be as gentle as possible. "It's me, Sharon."
When he opens his eyes, they're filled with sheer terror, and I feel my heart break.
"It was only a dream," I say, stroking his shoulder. "It's okay. You're okay."
I can't help myself. I throw my arms around him, feeling incredibly protective of him and sad that he has to go through this.
"You're okay, Jon. I'm here. It was just a dream."
"It was just a dream," he says breathlessly. "It was just a dream."
"That's right," I say, rubbing his back. When he wraps his arms around me and buries his face in my hair, I close my eyes and let myself get lost in this moment. I don't know what I feel right now, but I know I never want to let go.
We remain in a tight embrace, so close that I can feel his heart pounding next to mine.
When he pulls away and looks at me, the panic in his eyes is gone, but I still want to hear it from him. "Are you okay?" I ask, searching his face for the answer.
"I'm so sorry," he says, trying to catch his breath. "I haven't had a nightmare that intense in almost a month."
"Don't be sorry," I say. "It's not your fault."
"I'm so glad Noah wasn't here to witness it," he says, running his fingers through his hair. "It would've scared him. Did I scare you?"
"No, I'm okay. You were calling Jimmy's name."
"I know," he says. "It's always the same dream. Sharon, I have to tell you what happened. Please."
His eyes are dark and pleading, but the thought of hearing the details of what happened to my beautiful Jimmy makes my stomach turn and my heart thump erratically inside my chest.
"Now you are scared," he says.
"Yes," I say. "If what happened to Jimmy gives you those awful nightmares, I can only imagine how it would affect me. I know that sounds selfish, but I just can't."
I get up to leave, but Jon reaches for my hand and stands with me. His big frame towers over me.
"I better go," I say, looking into his eyes but making no attempt to move. This is where I want to be, and he knows it.
"Sharon." The way he whispers my name fills me with anticipation, and before I can speak another word, his mouth descends on mine.
His lips are warm and sweet, just like I imagined. I put one hand on his rock-solid chest and wrap the other around his neck, drawing him closer and closer, deepening the kiss. I run my fingers through his hair and let him kiss me thoroughly until urgency transforms into a slow, dizzying, all-consuming, out-of-body experience where all sense of time and space disappears, and there is only him, his arms around me, and his lips on mine.
When he ends the kiss, I'm left feeling empty and weak at the knees.
"I'm sorry," he says. "I tried to avoid kissing you."
"Did you?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. "You should've tried harder."
"I really am sorry."
"Are you?" I ask, glancing at him just as a grin crosses his lips.
"No," he says, shaking his head. "I lied. I'm not sorry. I've wanted to kiss you since the day I met you."
"You took advantage of the situation!" I exclaim. "You waited until my guard was down."
"You never have to put your guard up with me." He's not touching me, but the sincerity in his voice is leaving a mark on my heart.
"And for the record," he continues, "you kissed me back."
"I got carried away!" I say defensively. "I wanted to show you some compassion to help you feel better."
"That wasn't compassion," he says, grinning, "but I do feel better."
"Good night, Jon," I say, walking to the door. "And for the record, I'm not sorry either."
I smile and walk back into my room. I shut the door and lean against it before closing my eyes and lifting my fingers to my lips, tasting the sweetness he left behind. He's right; that was not compassion.