Chapter 11 #4
“Would I interfere?”
“No.”
“Could I work?”
“Not yet.”
The interest faded.
“You could advise.”
“That is worse.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want everyone pretending the injured man is useful.”
“I would not pretend.”
He studied me.
“What would you actually let me do?”
“Review a wiring diagram. Examine the depth gauge. Explain to Caleb why his labeling system offends reason.”
“That last task sounds necessary.”
“It may be the most important work in the yard.”
He took another bite of salmon.
“Maybe.”
“Only if you feel well.”
“No promises.”
“None.”
After dinner, we returned to the puzzle.
Noah fitted three pieces into the curve of the harbor. I completed one corner of the old cannery roof.
“We’re good at this,” he said.
“We have assembled six inches of overcast sky.”
“Teamwork.”
The word warmed me more than it should have.
At eight, his speech began to slow. I suggested medication and bed.
He refused for fifteen minutes, then forgot what he was resisting and asked why I had not brought his tablets.
I handed them over without remark.
His frustration showed anyway.
“Did we date?” he asked suddenly.
I looked up from clearing the water glasses.
“Yes.”
“I know we were together. I mean dates. Planned ones.”
“Many.”
“What was the first?”
I sat beside him.
“Do you want the flattering version?”
“No.”
“Our first official date ended with you trapped in a marina bathroom.”
His eyebrows rose.
“What?”
“The lock jammed. You were inside for forty minutes.”
“What did you do?”
“Removed the door.”
“You broke it down?”
“I took it off the hinges.”
“Did the restaurant complain?”
“It wasn’t a restaurant.”
“Where did you take me?”
“A night tour of the old lighthouse.”
Noah stared at me. “That sounds romantic.”
“It would have been if the guide had not been eighty-seven and openly hostile toward everyone under seventy.”
“Why a lighthouse?”
“You told me you had lived on the coast most of your life but had never gone inside one.”
“Did I enjoy it?”
“You loved the lens room.”
I could see him beneath the enormous prisms, turning slowly as reflected light moved across his face. He had forgotten to be guarded. Wonder had left him open.
“What happened after you rescued me from the bathroom?” he asked.
“We missed our dinner reservation. We bought fish and chips and ate on the seawall.”
“Was it cold?”
“Freezing.”
“Did you kiss me?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Beside the old signal bell.”
His attention dropped to my mouth.
“How?”
The question came softly.
I took a breath before answering.
“Slowly.”
“Why?”
“You were nervous.”
“About kissing you?”
“About being seen.”
Something shifted in his expression.
“Did anyone see?”
“A fisherman.”
“What happened?”
“He asked us to move because we were blocking his tackle box.”
Noah laughed.
The sound filled the apartment and made Marlowe lift his head from the rug.
“So our first date involved an unpleasant guide, a broken bathroom, cold food, and an irritated fisherman.”
“Yes.”
“Was it good?”
“The best date of my life.”
His laughter faded into something gentler.
“Because of me.”
“Yes.”
He looked down at our hands resting near each other on the couch.
“I want one.”
“A fisherman?”
“A date.”
My heart began to pound.
“When?”
“Not tonight.”
“Good. You are barely awake.”
“Tomorrow.”
“You may feel exhausted.”
“Then we do it here. Dinner. A film. No medication charts for one hour.”
“I am legally and morally obligated to maintain the medication chart.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.”
He drew in a slow breath.
“I want to meet you.”
For a moment, I could not speak.
Noah lifted his gaze.
“Not the man in the photographs. You as you are now.”
“You see me constantly.”
“That’s caregiving.”
His throat moved.
“I want something I choose.”
The words entered me slowly.
“What do you want to choose?”
“You.”
My eyes burned.
Alarm crossed his face.
“Not forever. I’m not saying I can promise—”
“I know.”
“I only mean dinner.”
“I understand.”
“I don’t know whether what I feel is love.”
“You do not have to know.”
“I might never—”
“Noah.”
He stopped.
“One date,” I said. “Dinner. A film. No expectations beyond the hour.”
His shoulders lowered.
“I would like that.”
“So would I.”
A shy smile appeared.
I remembered that smile from our beginning, but I did not allow the memory to replace the man in front of me.
This one belonged to him now.
“There is something you should know before agreeing,” he said.
“What?”
“I am medically complicated.”
“I had noticed.”
“I become tired without warning. I forget conversations. Sometimes words disappear.”
“I know.”
“I have a brace, a healing pelvis, and a scar that makes children stare.”
“I like the scar.”
His hand rose toward his temple.
“You do?”
“It means you survived.”
His gaze softened.
“I also require help showering.”
“I’m willing to overlook that.”
“What if I’m an awful date?”
“You laughed at the lighthouse story. Expectations are already low.”
He smiled.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
I placed my hand palm-up on the cushion between us.
Noah put his in mine.
“I know exactly whom I am choosing,” I said. “You only need to choose the next hour.”
He studied our joined hands.
“Tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow night.”
“And tonight you sleep in the bed.”
“If you still want me.”
“I do.”
“I remain on my side.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t touch you unless you ask.”
He frowned. “What if you are asleep?”
“Then I won’t touch you.”
“What if I touch you?”
“I will attempt to survive.”
His laughter returned.
His fingertips traced the callus at the base of my thumb.
“I like your hands.”
“You’ve mentioned that.”
“Before the accident?”
“Before and after.”
“Consistent.”
“Extremely.”
He lifted my hand.
For one breathless second, I thought he might kiss it.
Instead, he pressed my knuckles against his cheek and closed his eye.
The tenderness of it hurt more than anything overt could have.
I let him choose the pressure.
“I’m tired,” he whispered.
“I know.”
“Help me stand?”
I rose and faced him.
Noah took my hand. He came upright more easily than he had that morning, though exhaustion carried him close enough that his forehead settled against my chest.
I placed one arm around his waist.
“Still comfortable?”
“Yes.”
His voice vibrated through my shirt.
“You’re warm.”
“You used to complain about that.”
“Your feet are cold.”
I smiled into his hair. “So I’m told.”
The brace kept him from wrapping both arms around me, but his right hand flattened against my back.
He breathed in.
Then slowly out.
“You make the room stop moving.”
“I have you.”
“I know.”
His weight grew heavier.
“You’re falling asleep on your feet.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Date tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
“Don’t cancel.”
“I won’t.”
“Even if I feel terrible.”
“Then the date involves blankets and silence.”
He smiled against my chest.
“Good.”
I helped him into the chair, then through the evening routine and into the bedroom.
Marlowe claimed his place at the foot of the bed.
I arranged Noah’s pillows, checked the water glass, put his phone within reach, and switched on the old green lamp in the hall.
Then I went to the spare room for my pillow.
When I returned, Noah watched me place it on my side of the bed.
“You came back.”
“I said I would.”
I changed in the bathroom and returned in sleep pants and a T-shirt.
Noah had shifted toward the window, leaving space.
I lowered myself carefully onto the mattress.
It dipped beneath my weight.
His body tensed.
I remained flat on my back with both hands visible above the blanket.
“Is this too much?”
“No.”
“We can stop.”
“No.”
The room settled around us.