Chapter Two
The next morning, I woke up early, though I had barely slept the night before. I couldn’t get the previous night out of my head. Even during those few hours of sleep, the sensation of Vic’s strong body, piercing eyes, and addictive scent invaded my dreams.
After washing up, I stood in front of the mirror, trying to objectively assess my appearance. I was in the middle of tying my shoulder-length hair into a pony tail, when I released my hold on the tie. My hair fell in loose, dark waves, and I ran my fingers through it, gently shifting the part to the left side.
I decided to wear my hair down.
I applied a light layer of lipstick, and brushed mascara onto my lashes. All through the night, I had been thinking about the next time I would see Vic. The last thing I wanted to doubt in that moment was my appearance.
Back in my bedroom, I dressed in an olive green, V-neck sweater, and a black skirt. I slipped my feet into a pair of black leather pumps, and checked over my appearance one more time in the full-length mirror by the dresser.
I took a deep breath, as I stared down the woman in the mirror. I hadn’t looked so put together in a long time. In my own frustratingly passive way, I was making a move.
I walked through the hallway and down the stairs, glancing only briefly back at Vic’s closed bedroom door.
Margaret was in the kitchen. She was wearing another set of blue scrubs, but this time with a grey, loosely knit cardigan. She was pouring herself a cup of coffee, and turned when she heard me enter.
“Good morning. Did you sleep okay?” she asked.
“I did, thank you,” I said.
“Coffee?” she asked.
I nodded.
“Is there anything I can do?” I asked, as she poured a fresh cup.
“You can help yourself to anything in the kitchen,” Margaret said. “For anyone renting a room, it’s all included.”
She handed me the coffee cup.
“There’s a well-stocked wine cellar in the basement, next to where the medical student stays. Edith can’t drink alcohol anymore, and she won’t be seen to sell it, so feel free to help yourself to that as well. Everyone does.”
“Thank you,” I said.
Margaret glanced at her watch. “I’ll go tend to Theresa now, but I’ll be back down in about fifteen minutes to bring Edith’s breakfast up. Get yourself a bite to eat and then, if you’d like, you can come with me. It’s good for Edith to see someone else for a change.”
“Okay,” I said. Frankly, I’d embrace any distraction from the reminders of my unproductivity that I had yet to unload from the trunk of my car.
I sat down in the same chair I had occupied the previous night, and admired the beauty of the kitchen in the sunlit hours. The wooden table was a slightly darker finish than the floorboards. The walls were painted a warm, bright yellow, and the stove and oven gleamed in the golden rays.
I felt a little nervous, unsure of whether I would run into Vic or Matthew. Matthew had seemed hostile toward me the previous night, though for reasons I could not understand. I was convinced that the reason he had left the table before finishing his drink was because Vic had invited me to sit with them.
“Ready?” Margaret asked as she walked back into the kitchen.
I nodded. I drank down the final sip of black coffee, and washed my cup in the sink while Margaret put together Edith’s breakfast of one boiled egg, a slice of bread, and a cup of herbal tea.
I followed Margaret back up the stairs, and she opened the door to Edith’s room. I again looked toward Vic’s bedroom, but the door remained closed. My every sense strained, searching for some sign of him, but I was only left wanting.
“How are you feeling?” Margaret asked from somewhere behind me, breaking my attention.
I stepped into the oppressively dark room. The windows had been covered with brown cloth: the fabric pinned over closed venetian blinds. Edith lay in her bed, and an assortment of bottles and empty glasses sat on the nightstand beside her. The only light came from a small, dim bulb in a lamp on the other side of her bed.
Margaret pushed a few of the glasses and bottles to the side, to make room for the plate and cup.
“Edith, how are you feeling?” Margaret asked again.
When there was still no response, Margaret turned to the figure in the bed.
“Nadia, would you clear one of those windows, so we can get some light in here?” Margaret asked.
I walked to the nearest window, pulled aside the loose fabric, and opened the blinds. The movement released a spray of dust into the air, and I held my breath as the particles fell around me like ash.
The room was now flooded with light, and when I turned around, I nearly gasped at the sight.
Edith lay in her bed, the white covers pulled up to her ribs. Her fingers were twisted and knotted around the sheets: her hands clenched into malformed, jutting fists. Her knuckles were white, and I wondered how long the skin had been blanched by the sheer force of her tortured grip.
Edith’s eyes were open wide: wide beyond the limits of wakeful sight. They rolled in their orbits, taking in first Margaret, then me.
“I…I…I…can’t…” the groaned words escaped through her clenched teeth, excruciating pain lacing every syllable.
Suddenly, her right hand released its grip on the sheets, and shot out to the side as though propelled to seize something from the bedside table. Her wild, undirected motion knocked a few bottles from the table, and they fell to the floor. One bottle, full of a green-tinted fluid, splashed its contents onto the wall before striking the floor.
Margaret grabbed Edith’s wrist, and folded the hand back over her patient’s chest.
Edith tried to bolt upright, but it was before Margaret had time to take in the movement. As a result, Edith’s neck snapped forward as her weak body met the light resistance Margaret kept against her hand.
Edith slumped back on her pillow. Her cheeks were now streaked with free-flowing tears and she looked past Margaret, at me.
“Na…” she whispered.
I took a step closer. “I’m here,” I said.
Edith pulled her hand from Margaret’s grasp, and held her thin, shaking fingers out to me. They waved in the air like windchimes, bound by a shared tremor.
I took a few steps, to stand at the foot of her bed, though instinct prevented me from coming any closer.
“I…I’m…I’m dying,” she whispered.
“You’re not dying, Edith,” Margaret said firmly.
Edith nodded her head and stayed silent as her crying began anew. She looked away from me, and stared at the ceiling, her chest now shaken by ragged sobs. A low groan escaped her throat, and she became very still.
Margaret bent down and picked up the bottles which had fallen to the floor. She pulled a tissue from a nearby box, and wiped the spilled tincture off of the wall.
“Is she…?” I asked.
Margaret stood as she balled the tissue up in her fist.
“No, she’ll live,” Margaret said. “Sometimes the pain becomes too much for her body to take, and it’s like she just leaves. She always finds her way back, though.”
I glanced over my shoulder, across the hall to Vic’s closed door. I was surprised he hadn’t been disturbed by the commotion.
Then again, maybe he wasn’t home.
When I turned back, Margaret was rearranging the bed sheets. She pulled a blanket up to cover Edith’s shoulders, and wiped the tears from her patient’s cheeks.
I closed the blinds, and covered them with the fabric, to prevent even those thin slants of light from disturbing Edith’s rest. Then, I left the room, while Margaret administered whatever medication lessened Edith’s suffering.
Without looking back, I returned to my bedroom and closed the door quietly, keeping my grip firm on the door handle so that the engagement of the latch was nearly silent. I don’t know why I did it. It’s not like Margaret would take issue with my retreat. In fact, I imagine she found my absence from Edith’s sick room a relief.
I sat down in an armchair beside the bed, slipped off my high heels, and brought my knees to my chest. I wrapped my arms around my legs and closed my eyes. I tried to scrub the image of Edith’s pain shattered face from my memory, but the rolling eyes and deep etched lines of pure suffering would not shift.
A faint noise came from the opposite wall, the one shared by Vic’s room and mine.
I pulled myself up from the armchair and closed the distance. Laying my palms against the wall, I brought my ear between my hands and pressed my cheek against the floral print papered wall. The breath stilled in my lungs as I listened intently.
Another sound: this time that of footsteps.
The footsteps were slow, as though the man who was only a few feet from where I stood was taking his time with each movement, leisurely and measured. I supposed he must not have heard the disturbance across the hallway.
The door to his bedroom opened and closed, then the footsteps moved past my room and down the stairs.
I was left standing by the wall, my eyes tracking the deduced movement of a man who was no longer there, and whom I felt powerless to pursue.
I waited a few minutes, before stepping back into the hallway, well aware that I was now barefoot.
The door to Edith’s room was open, and I could hear Margaret speaking in a low voice, likely more to herself than to Edith, given the state of her patient only moments earlier. I walked toward her, but did not go inside. Instead, I leaned against Vic’s closed door and looked into the room.
Margaret caught me staring, as she ran a wet washcloth over Edith’s unresponsive face. She smiled in a polite, if slightly terse, manner.
I nodded, lingering only a moment longer, before heading downstairs.
Vic was in the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee. He turned when he heard me come in.
“Coffee?” he asked.
He flashed me a wide, warm smile. He was wearing a white t-shirt today, and even from across the room, I could see every ripple of muscle, every angle of his perfect torso. He hooked his thumb in his jeans, and I tried to keep my gaze from travelling downward.
I nodded, in response to the question he had asked palpably seconds earlier. “Thank you,” I said, walking to where he stood.
He pulled a second mug from the cabinet, while I rested my elbows on the opposite edge of the island counter. I leaned forward a little, before remembering just how low cut my sweater was. I quickly straightened up, but too late based on the amused grin Vic was giving the coffee pot.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked, the smile not leaving his lips.
“I did. How about you?”
“Very well,” he said, setting the mug down in front of me. “Do you take sugar?”
I shook my head. “This is fine, thanks.”
“I like it a little sweet,” he said.
At this, he winked at me, and I felt a blush bloom across my cheeks.
“What are your plans for today?” he asked. “I’m guessing you want to get started painting.”
He walked past me, to get the sugar bowl from the table.
I shrugged, leaning against the counter again and keeping my eyes fixed on the dark liquid now gently trembling in my cup. I tucked my hair behind my ears
“I’ve been thinking about taking a few days before beginning, but, then again, there’s not too much else for me to do,” I said.
Vic paused on his way back from the table. He stood behind me, and I could feel heat radiating from him. He reached his left hand forward and rested it against the table, just beside my elbow, surrounding me with his body.
“I’m sure I can think of something for you to do,” he whispered into my ear.
There was no mistaking the sensual tone of his voice, the way he exhaled lightly onto my neck, before returning to the corner of the island counter. He spooned some sugar into his coffee, only the hint of a smile betraying what had occurred seconds before.
The spell woven by his scent, the warmth of his nearness, and the way his words were saturated with unbridled desire, was destroyed by Margaret’s abrupt entrance.
“Call an ambulance,” she said. “Edith needs to get to the hospital, and my phone’s dead.”
Vic straightened up immediately. “I’ve got it.”
He pulled his cell phone from his back pocket and left the room.