On Second Thought
Page 56
My heart was roaring, my face on fire.
This was turning into a really shitty night.
There was the playground. Watch the little kiddies, Kate. They don’t have a care in the world.
Three little girls about Sadie’s age chased each other around, laughing and shrieking. Their mother (or nanny) had long blond hair and a serene look on her face. A cute guy approached and handed her a cup of coffee (or booze) and touched her shoulder briefly.
On autopilot, and so I wouldn’t have to think about that stupid bench, I fished my Canon out of my bag and aimed it at them.
They were still new, these two. He had smiley eyes and dimples not reflected in the little girls’ faces. They were sisters, maybe even triplets, I guessed; the blonde woman was clearly their mother, but this guy wasn’t the dad. And he was smitten.
There was a story there, I was sure.
That was what I loved about photography. It told me more about a person than I could ever discern in real life.
What would I see in those last pictures of Nathan? A man who’d made a mistake? Who wanted to be with his ex-wife? Who was biding his time until he could get free of his impulsive rebound marriage?
I put my camera down and squeezed the bridge of my nose.
There were more happy screams from the playground as a fresh batch of kids came streaming in, running, climbing, hurling themselves down the slide without any thought of danger.
Oh, God, be careful, I thought. Don’t bump your heads. Don’t fall down. Don’t have a tiny vascular defect. Don’t die.
My breath was scraping in and out, in-out, in-out, in-out. Gray spots splotched my vision, and I bent over, but no, that didn’t help, was it supposed to help? I was here all alone, no one knew where I was. Ainsley would come, she’d help me, she was so good at this, but shit, she was doing something for work and I couldn’t breathe, my lungs were stuck closed, I was about to die.
Sweat blossomed over me like a virus, and my hands started to shake.
I groped for my phone to call my dad, but it spilled out of my numb fingers. I reached for it, sliding off the bench, my knees stinging on the asphalt.
I was fainting. Or dying. The sound of my own breathing grew fainter.
“Kate?”
Someone had me by the shoulders.
Daniel the Hot Firefighter. Good. I wouldn’t die alone. I clutched his arms. “Hehn-hehn-hehn-hehn-hehn,” I managed.
He smiled. “You’re having a panic attack, aren’t you? Okay, don’t worry. They’re not fatal.” He pulled me back onto the bench and put his arm around me. “Jane!” he yelled. “Over here. I’ll be a while.”
“Hehn-hehn-hehn-hehn.” If this Jane person answered, I didn’t hear over the sound of my terror. What was that horse movie? Where the horse ran all day and all night across the desert? Hidalgo, that was it. I sounded like Hidalgo.
“So I’m here with my sister and her bratty kids,” Daniel said, as if I was a normal person and not a dying horse. His fingers were on my wrist. “The ice-cream truck comes around, so I’m using that as a bribe. The little one? She’s the devil, I swear to God. I told my sister to call the exorcist.”
“Heart...attack,” I managed.
“Probably not. Just take a deep breath and try to calm down.”
“No!” I squeaked, my throat too tight to get out normal sound. “My husband died getting me—hehn—a glass of wine! I can’t—hehn—calm down. Do something!” Because my heart was way, way too fast and pretty soon it would explode.
“Okay, okay,” he said, sliding onto his knees in front of me. “Let’s see if you can answer a few questions. Put your head down and try not to pant, that’s a good girl.” I did, feeling his hand on my shoulder. “That’s it. Nice and slow. What color panties have you got on?”
My head snapped up. “What?”
He pushed my head back down. “Answer the question. Or I could check for you if that would be easier.”
“Aren’t you supposed to ask about—hehn—the President?”
“I don’t care about the President’s underwear. What color are yours? Throw me a bone and say a red thong.”
“You’re such—hehn—a pig,” I said, staring at the grass. The gray splotches were getting smaller.
“I know, I know, red thong, such a cliché. But I’m a guy. We like visual stimulation. White lace panties, they’d be good, too, I guess. Or black. Or none, now that I think of it. Any chance you went commando this morning?”
“I can’t believe they...let you do this...for a living.” I sucked in a slow breath, held it, let it go. Did it again.
“Good point. But guess whose panic attack is dying down, huh?” He lifted my head with both his hands and smiled into my eyes. “Ta-da.”
He was right. I was still sweaty, and my heart was thudding fast, but the panting had stopped, and I didn’t see gray anymore.
“God, I’m good,” he said with a grin, sitting back on the bench with me. “FDNY, baby. We live for this shit. Now, don’t compliment me just yet. Just sit there and breathe. I’ll stay with you.”
* * *
An hour later, after I’d calmed down, met Jane, Daniel’s sister whose “rat-faced shithead husband” walked out on her, as well as her two adorable sons and demonic daughter, after Daniel had handed his sister some money for the ice-cream truck, he informed me he was driving me home.
I didn’t protest. For one, I felt weak and wobbly. For two, I didn’t want to go back to that house alone. And for three, having a firefighter around made me feel safer. He made me take his arm on the way to the car, then fished my keys out of my purse and slid the driver’s seat way back. “Tell me which way,” he said, and I directed him through Cambry-on-Hudson.
“Holy shit,” he said as we pulled into the driveway.
“Yeah. It’s impressive.”
I tapped the security code in, opened the door, then tried to turn on the front hall light. The den (or study) light went on instead. Good enough.
We went into the kitchen, and I heard Ollie’s dog tags jingling as he came down the stairs, dragging his blanket, wagging his tail so hard his whole back swayed.
“Hi, Ollie!” I said, bending down to pet him. “Did you have fun napping today? You did? Did you miss me?” I looked up. “This is Ollie. Ollie, this is Daniel the Hot Firefighter.”
Daniel was looking around, openmouthed. “Nice house,” he said.
“Nathan was an architect.”
“It could be in a magazine.”
It had been in several, in fact. Nathan had copies framed in his work office. One of his coworkers had packed up his stuff and sent it over, but I hadn’t managed to open the box yet.
I finished worshipping the dog and stood up, leaving Ollie to trot over to seduce Daniel’s shoes. “Want something to drink?”
“I’m starving,” he said. “You got any food?”
“I have a freezer full of sympathy meals,” I said. “What would you like? I can thaw just about anything.”
“Anything is fine.” He looked a little uneasy, glancing around. It was an intimidating kitchen, I’d grant him that. He picked up Ollie, who began licking his chin. The dog loved everything with a heartbeat.
“Would you like some wine?” I asked.
“Got a beer?”
This was turning into a really shitty night.
There was the playground. Watch the little kiddies, Kate. They don’t have a care in the world.
Three little girls about Sadie’s age chased each other around, laughing and shrieking. Their mother (or nanny) had long blond hair and a serene look on her face. A cute guy approached and handed her a cup of coffee (or booze) and touched her shoulder briefly.
On autopilot, and so I wouldn’t have to think about that stupid bench, I fished my Canon out of my bag and aimed it at them.
They were still new, these two. He had smiley eyes and dimples not reflected in the little girls’ faces. They were sisters, maybe even triplets, I guessed; the blonde woman was clearly their mother, but this guy wasn’t the dad. And he was smitten.
There was a story there, I was sure.
That was what I loved about photography. It told me more about a person than I could ever discern in real life.
What would I see in those last pictures of Nathan? A man who’d made a mistake? Who wanted to be with his ex-wife? Who was biding his time until he could get free of his impulsive rebound marriage?
I put my camera down and squeezed the bridge of my nose.
There were more happy screams from the playground as a fresh batch of kids came streaming in, running, climbing, hurling themselves down the slide without any thought of danger.
Oh, God, be careful, I thought. Don’t bump your heads. Don’t fall down. Don’t have a tiny vascular defect. Don’t die.
My breath was scraping in and out, in-out, in-out, in-out. Gray spots splotched my vision, and I bent over, but no, that didn’t help, was it supposed to help? I was here all alone, no one knew where I was. Ainsley would come, she’d help me, she was so good at this, but shit, she was doing something for work and I couldn’t breathe, my lungs were stuck closed, I was about to die.
Sweat blossomed over me like a virus, and my hands started to shake.
I groped for my phone to call my dad, but it spilled out of my numb fingers. I reached for it, sliding off the bench, my knees stinging on the asphalt.
I was fainting. Or dying. The sound of my own breathing grew fainter.
“Kate?”
Someone had me by the shoulders.
Daniel the Hot Firefighter. Good. I wouldn’t die alone. I clutched his arms. “Hehn-hehn-hehn-hehn-hehn,” I managed.
He smiled. “You’re having a panic attack, aren’t you? Okay, don’t worry. They’re not fatal.” He pulled me back onto the bench and put his arm around me. “Jane!” he yelled. “Over here. I’ll be a while.”
“Hehn-hehn-hehn-hehn.” If this Jane person answered, I didn’t hear over the sound of my terror. What was that horse movie? Where the horse ran all day and all night across the desert? Hidalgo, that was it. I sounded like Hidalgo.
“So I’m here with my sister and her bratty kids,” Daniel said, as if I was a normal person and not a dying horse. His fingers were on my wrist. “The ice-cream truck comes around, so I’m using that as a bribe. The little one? She’s the devil, I swear to God. I told my sister to call the exorcist.”
“Heart...attack,” I managed.
“Probably not. Just take a deep breath and try to calm down.”
“No!” I squeaked, my throat too tight to get out normal sound. “My husband died getting me—hehn—a glass of wine! I can’t—hehn—calm down. Do something!” Because my heart was way, way too fast and pretty soon it would explode.
“Okay, okay,” he said, sliding onto his knees in front of me. “Let’s see if you can answer a few questions. Put your head down and try not to pant, that’s a good girl.” I did, feeling his hand on my shoulder. “That’s it. Nice and slow. What color panties have you got on?”
My head snapped up. “What?”
He pushed my head back down. “Answer the question. Or I could check for you if that would be easier.”
“Aren’t you supposed to ask about—hehn—the President?”
“I don’t care about the President’s underwear. What color are yours? Throw me a bone and say a red thong.”
“You’re such—hehn—a pig,” I said, staring at the grass. The gray splotches were getting smaller.
“I know, I know, red thong, such a cliché. But I’m a guy. We like visual stimulation. White lace panties, they’d be good, too, I guess. Or black. Or none, now that I think of it. Any chance you went commando this morning?”
“I can’t believe they...let you do this...for a living.” I sucked in a slow breath, held it, let it go. Did it again.
“Good point. But guess whose panic attack is dying down, huh?” He lifted my head with both his hands and smiled into my eyes. “Ta-da.”
He was right. I was still sweaty, and my heart was thudding fast, but the panting had stopped, and I didn’t see gray anymore.
“God, I’m good,” he said with a grin, sitting back on the bench with me. “FDNY, baby. We live for this shit. Now, don’t compliment me just yet. Just sit there and breathe. I’ll stay with you.”
* * *
An hour later, after I’d calmed down, met Jane, Daniel’s sister whose “rat-faced shithead husband” walked out on her, as well as her two adorable sons and demonic daughter, after Daniel had handed his sister some money for the ice-cream truck, he informed me he was driving me home.
I didn’t protest. For one, I felt weak and wobbly. For two, I didn’t want to go back to that house alone. And for three, having a firefighter around made me feel safer. He made me take his arm on the way to the car, then fished my keys out of my purse and slid the driver’s seat way back. “Tell me which way,” he said, and I directed him through Cambry-on-Hudson.
“Holy shit,” he said as we pulled into the driveway.
“Yeah. It’s impressive.”
I tapped the security code in, opened the door, then tried to turn on the front hall light. The den (or study) light went on instead. Good enough.
We went into the kitchen, and I heard Ollie’s dog tags jingling as he came down the stairs, dragging his blanket, wagging his tail so hard his whole back swayed.
“Hi, Ollie!” I said, bending down to pet him. “Did you have fun napping today? You did? Did you miss me?” I looked up. “This is Ollie. Ollie, this is Daniel the Hot Firefighter.”
Daniel was looking around, openmouthed. “Nice house,” he said.
“Nathan was an architect.”
“It could be in a magazine.”
It had been in several, in fact. Nathan had copies framed in his work office. One of his coworkers had packed up his stuff and sent it over, but I hadn’t managed to open the box yet.
I finished worshipping the dog and stood up, leaving Ollie to trot over to seduce Daniel’s shoes. “Want something to drink?”
“I’m starving,” he said. “You got any food?”
“I have a freezer full of sympathy meals,” I said. “What would you like? I can thaw just about anything.”
“Anything is fine.” He looked a little uneasy, glancing around. It was an intimidating kitchen, I’d grant him that. He picked up Ollie, who began licking his chin. The dog loved everything with a heartbeat.
“Would you like some wine?” I asked.
“Got a beer?”
