22. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
When the lights in the theater had come up, and the last of the applause following the curtain call had died away, the room filled with a creak and rustle as people filed out of the theater. I sat still in my seat, Emil a mirror at my side.
“Wow.”
“That was…” he tried.
“A lot?” I offered.
“Yeah.”
“Funny?”
“That, too,” he agreed.
“Thanks for coming,” I said with a smile.
“Thanks for forcing me to.”
It was as though we were rising up for air after a long dive. Reality. But I was still stuck in a strange in-between, the same as when one just finished a great book. With Emil beside me, though, it felt more like I’d stepped from the page of one fairy tale into another…my fairy tale.
I stopped breathing.
“Are you all right?” His hand brushed down my thigh.
“I’m fine,” I said, quickly dismissing my errant thought. “Ready? ”
He stood, pulling my jacket from my chair and helping me slip it on. His hand eased against my lower back as he guided me out of the box and down through the bustling lobby.
Outside, the brisk night air ruffled my hair, but the goosebumps along my arms beneath my jacket had nothing to do with its cool touch. We walked through the square, somehow both drawn toward the river as though we’d discussed it in advance. Like we were in perfect unison.
We made it to the Charles Bridge. Emil stopped under a flickering lantern, and I followed suit. Together, we leaned against the rail, watching the water billow below, lost in our own musings.
Of course, mine roved across the information he’d shared about his father. Images I’d viewed in the Stari Most museum took on a more personal meaning—the bombings, the subsequent reconstruction, those who had dedicated so much to rebuilding the physical and spiritual ties between the city. As an architect and a seemingly generous human being, Emil’s father certainly would have been a part of it if he’d lived.
My mind zeroed in on our conversation at dinner in the pub our first evening here, prior to commencing the Never Have I Ever game. “What did you mean the other night?” I blurted out suddenly. “When you said you’d experienced life as an outsider?”
His fingers twisted. “War makes outsiders of a lot of people,” he said carefully, his words stiff. “Even now in Mostar there’s some division. I don’t know if it will ever go away.” He looked into empty space.
“I shouldn’t have pried. You don’t have to explain, Emil.”
He plowed on as if I hadn’t spoken. “My mother and Omar are from opposite sides of that divide. When it first came out that they were together, there were some who spoke against it.”
I scowled. “It wasn’t any of their business.”
A hollow smirk crossed his face. “You sound like my mother.”
I hoped it was a compliment.
“She said people would always talk. Let them. They are full of hot air and, in the end, they run out of it. ”
“Did they?”
He sighed. “Eventually.”
“But in the beginning?”
“I was still in school. It was not fun to hear through whispers. Or to my face, on occasion.”
“People can be busybodies.”
“Worse things have happened.” He cleared his throat, his expression warming for an instant. “And it was worth it.”
I tilted my head into his line of sight, and he met my gaze with a small smile to match mine. “What was?”
“Seeing how happy he made her.”
I nodded gently and stared out at the flickering city. “I like that.”
“Sometimes people work, even through bad times. Sometimes not.” His voice was flat.
I wasn’t sure what to say. Of course he was right, but was he only talking about the difficulties his mother and stepfather had endured to find love? His tone seemed to imply something more. I mulled over his words, dissecting them piece by piece to see if I could fit them together.
“What are your dreams, Mallory?”
My head snapped toward him. “Huh?”
“At the play, you said to come away and dream. What do you dream of?”
I chewed my lip, looking past him toward the red-topped buildings on the other side of the bridge. “I dream of…making a difference. With my work, but also just a hope of making some kind of impact, you know?” I met his gaze before wrinkling my nose. “I’m not going to make a big dent in the issues of the world, but I like to think every little bit counts, even if it’s as simple as giving vaccinations or putting a bandage on.”
“It does.”
Right, Dr. Tanovi?. “I suppose you would know, wouldn’t you?”
“I have some insight.” He turned his back on the river, bending so his elbows rested on the stone edge. “What else?”
“What do you mean?”
“Work isn’t everything,” he prompted.
“To some people it is.”
He picked at a nail, waiting.
“I don’t know,” I said hesitantly. “I guess the stuff everyone wants.”
“Which is?”
“A life well lived.”
“I’m not joking.”
“Neither am I.” I glanced at him, a little frustrated. Where was this going?
His expression was a mask. “When you return home, you will…what?”
I lifted a shoulder, excitement sparking at the thought. And something also twisted inside me. Guilt, I realized. This trip, everything that had happened, had somehow swept the other dreams I’d made real under the rug.
“I have a job waiting for me.” The words sounded strange, like I was just discovering this after a long bout of amnesia. “ The job, actually. I signed up with a company that places traveling nurses all over the country. They had a few postings, one of which wouldn’t be available until the fall, and I got it. So I took this trip between graduation and starting. It was…”
Fate .
“Perfect,” he finished for me. I couldn’t find the air in my lungs, so I simply nodded.
When he spoke, his voice had an edge to it. “That’s good.”
It didn't sound good.
“Yeah, it is.” Why did I sound defensive?
“You fought for it, your future. It’s important to you. It should be. You worked hard to achieve it. Whatever it takes to be happy, right?”
I didn’t disagree with his words, but his agreeable tone set me on edge. “Yeah, sure. Whatever it takes. ”
He nodded, looking down at his clasped hands. “So this was a getaway before the start to the next chapter in your life?”
I shrugged. “I always wanted to travel, so it seemed the time before I got settled in.”
“You should have what you want.”
“Thanks.” I twisted to face away from the river, my posture stiff, body on high alert. Something was definitely off. Was it me? He was saying the right things, and yet…
I dodged. “And you? What are your dreams?”
“I already told you.”
“Work isn’t everything,” I mimicked.
“I already have work. That is something else.”
“So you’re going to pursue it? Architecture?” That was quick, though I wondered if passions ever really faded or just lingered beneath the surface, waiting for you to reach out for them again. My eagerness at the possibility of his happiness mingled with the weird tension that had reared its head out of nowhere.
He shrugged, his brows lifting gently. “Maybe.”
“What’s there to think about?”
“There are always things to consider,” he murmured.
“Such as?”
A puff of wind was the only sound between us as I waited. Slowly, he looked up, staring straight into my eyes, unblinking. I was a captive in his look. There was something desperate, questioning, mixed with a furious kind of fervor. Like he was standing on the ledge of that damn bridge, second-guessing before taking the leap.
My mouth popped open with a tiny intake of breath. My insides tensed, every nerve in my body on edge. I had the sense I was radiating a warning sign, flickering around my entire being with a flashing yellow light.
Whatever battle was being waged inside him, the side urging him to jump lost. The heat left his eyes, a wall shuttering behind them before he broke our gaze. “Nothing. There’s nothing. ”
Even as my body relaxed, it was to a sense of emptiness inside. What had just happened? How had this wonderful, magical evening taken such a cold turn? I couldn’t grasp what route we’d taken to get here.
“Are you ready to go back?” he asked gently, already moving.
My heart leapt into my throat. “Back?”
Curiosity pricked behind his blank demeanor. “To the hostel.”
Oh. “Sure, I guess so.”
As we walked, I waited. Waited for the easy small talk to return, for the brush of his fingers to entwine with mine, to wipe away the strange aloofness that had settled between us. I thought about breaking it myself, the growing barrier. But I hadn’t started this. He had with his questions. If someone was to tear it down, it was up to him.
Once more, we prepared for bed in silence, pulling clothes and toiletries from our packs. But whereas last night had included small brushes of clothes and skin in the darkness, tonight was a game of keep-away.
I locked the bathroom door behind me and stared at my reflection in the splotchy mirror. The single bright bulb over the vanity did nothing to help the stark panic building inside me. Instead, it highlighted the worried brightness in my eyes, the paleness of my lips, the sparkle of threatening tears.
It had all been going great, the perfect evening until, suddenly, it wasn’t. I wracked my brain for a misplaced word, something that could have been misinterpreted, but came up blank. I quickly finished scrubbing my teeth and rushed into the room.
Emil was in bed, his back to the middle, facing the wall.
Apparently it was my turn to play the big spoon.
I sat on the bed, sliding beneath the covers, my head near his ear.
“Emil?”
“Hmm?”
“Did I do something wrong? I—”
He turned enough for me to see his face in profile. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“But—”
He twisted an inch more, concern etched across his forehead. “You didn’t do anything, okay?” he said, his voice tinged with regret. “I’m happy you know what you want.”
If that were true, then why did he sound so sad?
I licked my parched lips. “Okay.”
He gave a stiff nod. “Goodnight.” He settled tighter against the wall.
Hurt punched through my chest. Touching him felt like it was out of bounds, despite the tiny bed. I flipped over to face the room, keeping my hands to myself even as I couldn’t help the brush of my back against his. It was cold, so much colder than last night, but it didn’t have anything to do with the temperature of the room this time.
The chill followed me into my dreams.
It was bitter sea air.
It was the scratch of gritty, white sand.
It was the whistle of wind through a bus window.
It was the icy fingers down my skin.
It was the deathly grasp of fear, deep, deep down.
“Wake up.”
It was ridiculous how easily his voice could pull me from the nightmare now. One second I was in the dream, and the next I knew exactly that I lay beside Emil in this absurdly tiny bed in Prague. The terror faded, but it was replaced by the memory of last night. Or tonight. I had no idea what time it was, other than it was still dark outside.
“Sorry,” I whispered, curling up tighter into a ball. I felt him shift behind me and, even though I was convinced it was out of pity rather than want, his arms closed around me. And I pretended it was because he wanted to. Maybe he only wanted to be sure I’d go back into a quiet sleep so he could get some rest. Either way, my heart melted just a little, holding tight to that glimmer of hope with both hands.