Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Calvin
I decide to walk to my place instead of hopping on the subway for one stop. I need to cool off. Where better than on the streets of the Upper West Side in what feels like subzero temps?
The sky is overcast with the threat of snow. I walk past the museum, decorated in cheerful twinkling holiday lights then stop at a cart with hot pretzels, the enticing aroma reminding me I haven’t eaten much. I pay the vendor, slather the pretzel with mustard, take a bite, and keep walking.
The snack is not enough to calm my pounding heart. I’m certain Caroline heard it like a cacophony of African drums. It started when I sat beside her on the sofa. Surely, the result of my concerned mindset, the wine glass in my hand, and her gorgeous eyes on me. The proximity of our legs didn't help either.
When I could no longer withstand it, pulling her into my arms, it took all my self-control not to kiss her.
Not on the cheek like in the hospital. Not a friend’s kiss. But a deep, lingering, combustible kiss.
As I cross the street, all I can think of are Caroline’s pale pink lips. So very kissable.
I came to her place in a huff, storming past the doorman who surprisingly, gave me little more than an amused wave. I’m not ashamed to admit how much it hurt that Caroline took off from the hospital without a word to me. I thought we meant more to each other. Friends don’t do that.
But seeing her so vulnerable stripped me of all but one emotion. A fierce need to protect her. It lingers with me even as I reach my building. I can't explain why these feelings are taking over my brain but they are. I'm no shrink but it probably has something to do with nearly losing her. I'm realizing what is truly important. Or more accurately, who.
I head up to my apartment and unlock the door. For a split second, I expect Pedro to come bolting toward me, tail wagging, full of boundless energy. He’s gone, of course. Has been for months. Another reason I was eager to go to Tanzania when the opportunity presented itself.
Turned out to be one of the best decisions of my life.
I hang up my coat in the front closet and set my boots on the mat beside the front door. The only sounds are the banging of the radiators, pumping heat like I live in a two-bedroom personal sauna.
Then I hear a ding from the laptop on my desk. I hurry over, excited to find a new message from the orphanage. I tap it open and scroll down to the attached photo of Chacha. He’s holding the soccer ball I gave him, a broad grin on his adorable face.
It’s his eyes, though, that always get to me. Huge for his face, dark as coal, revealing a poorly masked melancholy.
I’m committed to doing everything in my power to remove that sadness for the rest of Chacha’s life.
I sit at the desk and read the email. It contains the documents I requested. The ones I need to finalize the adoption.
There’s surprisingly little in the way of Chacha’s health reports. At least in comparison to children born in the western world who are accompanied by a pile of documents from day one. Other than the midwife who aided Chacha's mother's labor, I'm the sole physician to have ever treated him.
I type my response with information they request about flight times. I’ll pay for a chaperone to escort Chacha on the lengthy journey to New York.
I hit send and switch mental channels to tomorrow, reminding myself to fill up the car before picking up Caroline for our impromptu drive to Sugarbush Falls.
I still can’t believe I convinced her to go. Maybe I should have told her to pack necessities like boots, gloves, and a warm scarf and to leave the designer handbags at home.
I consider texting her just that but decide against it. Any interaction now could result in her backing out.
I head to my bedroom, strip down and get into the shower, picturing Caroline strolling along Main Street in spiky boots and a mink coat. She’s something else.
As I let the hot stream roll down my back, it occurs to me how much I'm counting on the magic of Sugarbush Falls to reduce Caroline’s stress and if we’re really lucky, even heal her soul.