Chapter Thirty-Two
One year. I’ve been alone for one year.
She’d expected a ragged night, dreams slashed by horrible images—Jared’s swollen, bruised face, his battered body on the hospital gurney, and the blood. So much blood.
Instead, she awoke to birdsong and gentle sunshine streaming through her filmy bedroom curtains. She’d slept well, untroubled by dreams.
How could this be?
She’d said the same thing that awful day when she stumbled out of the hospital, dizzy with fear and grief, into the bright, sunny parking lot rimmed with mocking, colorful pansies. How could something so horrible happen on such a beautiful day?
Slowly, cautiously, she extended one leg from the bed, and then the other. She pushed herself up, and they held her weight. Over on the chair, by the bathroom door, she’d laid out her running things: a new pair of silky blue shorts, a bright yellow tank top, and an emerald-green zippered shell. And, from Jared’s dresser, a yellow headband, faded and stained. In the past few weeks she’d been easing away from her habit of wearing something of Jared’s. But today, she needed him close.
The key, she’d decided, was to let the day unfold, to let whatever feelings might come wash through her without clinging to them. She had the rest of her life to mourn Jared. She didn’t need to rip open that wound today, just to honor his memory. He wouldn’t want her to. In fact, Jared would be proud of her for running again. Maybe pushing her body hard, the way he’d pushed his, was a way to stay connected to him. Biking was Jared’s joy. Some misguided friends had even uttered that awful phrase at his funeral: “At least he died doing what he loved.”
People say the stupidest things.
She yanked open the door to the cafe and paused a moment to breathe in the scent of coffee, the merry music of conversation and laughter, the lively people dressed in Spandex and nylon in every color of the rainbow. Feeling oddly detached, as if a thick but invisible wall separated her from the scene, she took a deep breath and plunged in.
Mona, the woman who’d accompanied her on her first run, hollered, “There she is! Welcome back, Clara!” Her high-volume greeting alerted Doug, who came loping through the crowd. He moved like a greyhound, light and springy on his big feet, his big hands swinging in smooth arcs at the ends of his long, long arms. He closed on her, enfolded her, pressed her tight against his chest.
Oh no. Harry told him.
“Clara,” he murmured into her hair. “I didn’t know it was today. Are you sure you want to run?”
She blinked hard. “Yes. I’m sure. And Doug, I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”
He nodded solemnly. “Sure. Just know, I’m here if you need me.”
“Thanks.” She squeezed him around his middle before releasing him. “Where’s Harry?”
“Over there, next to the redhead.”
Using the fellow’s flaming man bun as a homing beacon, she found Harry leaning one elbow on the counter, yawning. He straightened up at her approach.
“Clara.” He pushed himself off his stool and opened his arms wide. She snuggled into his embrace and let him rock her for a moment. “You sure you’re up for this, kiddo?”
“I’m sure. In fact, a run will do me good.” She glanced over her shoulder to where Doug stood watching her with sharp attention. “You told him.”
Harry cupped her face in his palm. “He cares about you, Clara.”
“I know. And I’m glad he does. But I really don’t want anyone else to know, okay? It’ll be easier for me today if everyone’s not tiptoeing around me.”
“So noted. Say, you want this muffin? My stomach’s not so hot.”
She looked with alarm from the treat to Harry’s face. It wasn’t like him to turn down sweets. “Maybe you shouldn’t run today, Harry. You coming down with something?”
“Pish-tosh.” He waved his hand as if shooing a fly. “I just had a big dinner last night.”
“Wagons, ho!” someone called from the front doorway. The group filed out onto the sidewalk. A tall man in his fifties waved for the group’s attention. “There’s construction on Coburg Road, so today we’re heading toward Skinner Butte Park. Ready?”
He broke into an easy gait, with Doug beside him and Harry close behind. Clara landed in the rear of the pack again, between talkative Mona and Raoul, a heavy teenager with a determined scowl and a plodding gait. As before, Mona chattered away about her work at the city government building and peppered Clara with questions.
Puff, puff. “So, you and Doug an item now?”
“We’re friends.”
“Niiice. He’s a good guy. Cute, in a skinny sort of way. Me, I prefer guys with more meat on their bones.”
Raoul, twenty years her junior at least, shot Mona a wide-eyed glance of alarm.
“Don’t worry, hon’. You’re going to be a fine-looking man, though.”
With great effort, the hefty kid pulled ahead, leaving the two women to chat as they ran.
“Gorgeous day, right?” Mona said between gasps and huffs. “I love summer. Makes me feel like a kid again. Remember the first week of summer break? How it just…”
Clara tuned her out, her attention caught by a crowd of runners ahead, gathered roughly in a circle.
“Call nine one one!” someone shouted.
A cold finger of dread poked Clara’s stomach. She trotted up to the crowd, pushed her way through. In the center, a man sprawled on his back, only his legs and feet visible. His back to Clara, Doug kneeled over him and pressed rhythmically on his chest. He straightened, and a gray-haired woman bent over the man’s face. Then Doug took up his rhythm again.
The fallen man’s knobby knees, his wiry legs, covered with pale hair, his purple and silver running shoes…
Hot panic rose in her throat, burst forth in a ragged scream.
“Harry!”
****
Nick checked the sign again. Book Nirvana should be open by now, but the lights were off. He rattled the handle, shut tight. The noise brought the little orange tabby trotting toward the glass door. She mewed silently from the other side.
He backed up and noticed a hastily-scrawled sign affixed to the window at waist level:
Closed due to family emergency.
He tried Clara’s number again. Why didn’t she answer? His scalp prickled and tightened. What had she told him about her family—a step-sister in one place, a sister somewhere else, and a step-brother here in Oregon, right? What about her parents?
He fisted his hand in his hair and growled. He should know this about the woman he loved, should know where to find her family. Then again, maybe the family emergency referred to her late husband. Maybe Clara just couldn’t face the shop on the anniversary of his death. That made sense.
Except, where were the other two, little Margot and the old guy, the one who was so protective of her?
A prickly knot of worry growing in his stomach, Nick left Clara a voice message and typed out a text before pocketing his phone.
He blew out a long, shaky breath. Just let her be. She promised she’d call if she needed me. Please call, Clara.
****
The same hospital, the same day. Only Jared never made it to the ICU.
Harry lay in a narrow hospital bed, one of six in the Intensive Care Unit, monitor wires and IV lines trailing from his ashen face, his arms, his slowly-moving chest. The antiseptic smell of cleanser and rubbing alcohol, the piercing beep, beep, beep of the monitor tracking the rhythm of his damaged heart, the squeaky sound of crepe-soled shoes on the buffed linoleum floor—it all brought back razor-sharp memories of that horrible afternoon, one year ago, when the team of doctors and nurses clustered around Jared’s bed, trying in vain to stop the bleeding, to save his life.
Clara pushed away from the glass divider and barked out a sob. The sound brought Doug running from Harry’s bedside. His face was nearly as gray as his cousin’s, but the arms he wrapped around her were warm, strong, comforting. He rocked her silently, pressed his lips to her forehead. Finally, he snuffled, wiped his reddened eyes, and tilted her chin up.
“You should go. There’s nothing you can do here. I’ll stay until Evie arrives.”
“But what if he…if he…” She couldn’t choke out the word.
“If anything changes, I’ll call you. The doctor says he has a good chance. All those years of running kept him strong, except for the blockage in his heart.” He kissed her temple. “Go, Clara. This is too hard on you.”
“I want to see him first.”
Doug released her, then approached the nurse at the ICU desk. Clara watched their animated, whispered conversation, and then the woman nodded. He beckoned to Clara.
“She said five minutes. I’ll be here.” He folded his lanky frame into one of the waiting room’s vinyl chairs and rested his head in his hands.
She tiptoed to Harry’s bedside. Lying there so still and pale, he seemed to have aged ten years, his ashen skin paper-thin, his arms blotched with purple from needle jabs. His eyes moved rapidly behind their dark, bruised lids. They fluttered open.
“Clara?” His voice creaked like a rusted hinge.
“I’m here, Harry.” She grasped his hand, so cool and waxy. Just hours ago, he’d been warm and strong and safe. And now she might lose him.
“Hurts like hell,” he whispered, and then coughed out a laugh. “Never thought I’d go like this.”
“You’re not going anywhere, Harry,” she whispered fiercely, and squeezed his hand. His grip fluttered, or maybe she imagined it. His head rolled to the side and he snored softly. She pressed a kiss against his clammy forehead, then backed away, clattering into an IV stand.
“Ma’am, you should go.”
The nurse didn’t have to tell her twice. She quick-stepped to the door.
“I’ve gotta get out of here,” she said to Doug, her voice wire-tight. When she hit the hallway, she broke into a trot. By the time she reached the front door of the hospital, she was running, her sides gripping hard as she gulped for air. With the hot sun heavy on her shoulders, she sprinted to her car, slammed the door, and peeled out of the parking lot.
****
Nick kneaded his aching forehead. Three hours later, and still no answer from Clara. He’d checked her apartment twice, spoken to her neighbors too. He’d searched the phone listings for other Martellis in the area. None of them knew Clara. Of course, Martelli was Jared’s name. Nick slammed his fist onto his desk, still surrounded by packing boxes. How could he feel this strongly about a woman and not even know her family name? No wonder she didn’t trust him.
But he wanted to know her, her whole history, everything that made her the fascinating woman she was today, the woman he wanted by his side now and always. He didn’t understand how or why she’d bewitched him, but he was hers now. And he had to find her.
The park. Maybe she’d followed his advice and gone there to be alone with Jared’s memory. Nick shed his loafers and tied on his saggy old tennis shoes. He’d scour those trails until he found where she’d holed up, nursing her grief. His gut told him he’d find her there, and his gut was seldom wrong.
He fired up his Karmann Ghia and drove past her shop one more time, just to be sure: still no lights, no sign of life. Then he steered toward Alton Baker Park. Heavy traffic slowed him on the Ferry Street Bridge. Nick drummed his fingers on the leather-wrapped steering wheel and watched the Willamette River crawling below, shining bright blue-green under summer sunshine.
Diana died on a crystal summer day like this one. Waiting there on the bridge, he remembered how sharply the bright sunlight had stabbed him when he emerged from the hospice building, how he’d shielded his streaming eyes in pain and disbelief. How could the sky be so blue? How could the world just go on while his beloved lay dead and his heart labored to keep beating without her?
And now Clara faced that same merciless bright sun, all alone. He had to find her.
The park rose before him, a welcoming oasis of green. Nick felt it in his bones—she had to be sheltered in there somewhere. No luck at the first big parking lot, near the rock garden. No sign of her Subaru near the amphitheater. He climbed out of his car and consulted a park map posted beside the path. Four more parking lots. His finger hovered over the map. Where would she go to find peace?
There. A small lot near the river. He found her Subaru half-hidden beneath the overhanging branches of a gnarled live oak. The space beside her wasn’t strictly legal, but there was just enough room to squeeze in his little car. He’d take his chances with the park police. The paved trail along the river was crowded with runners and bikers, families pushing strollers, kids on scooters and skateboards…but no Clara.
Well then, he’d promised her he’d wait, He returned to the lot, leaned against her bumper, and tried hard to quiet his racing mind.
I’m here, Clara. Come to me when you’re ready.
****
Her sides ached, and her shins screamed, but she kept running. On and on she pounded through the park, dodging happy families, sweet old couples strolling hand in hand, galumphing dogs and their laughing masters, and the bicyclists who whizzed by with a muttered “On your left.” As long as she kept moving, sucking in long, sharp breaths, her feet slapping the pavement in a steady rhythm, everything else blurred. Jared, Harry, her shop, Nick, Doug—it all receded, like the fading memory of a nightmare. Just keep running.
But her burning throat demanded a pause. When she recognized the trailhead where she’d begun, she ducked through the bushes. She had a water bottle in her car. Just two minutes to stretch her aching back and guzzle some water, and then she’d hit the trail for another round. No matter how bloodied her feet would be, how sore her muscles tomorrow, she had to keep moving.
She slowed to a walk and fished her phone from her pocket. She hadn’t heard the ping signaling Doug’s text—No change. Doc says he’s resting comfortably. Maybe surgery tomorrow.
She hunched over her phone and typed a quick response—Thanks. For everything.
—You okay?
—No, but I’ll get through it.
She tucked her phone back into her pocket, then froze. Legs and arms crossed, Nick leaned against the rear bumper of her Subaru. Eyes closed, head tilted back, he dozed standing up. She drew nearer, drinking in the sight of his face in repose, his long lashes against his perfect cheekbones, his strong, straight nose with its flaring nostrils, his full lips relaxed and slightly open, his shiny dark curls tumbled by the wind. A Greek god, slumbering in the parking lot.
He came for her. How did he know where to find her?
She stood there a long, silent moment before laying her hand on his arm. He inhaled and blinked, and then his brows drew together and he gripped her arms.
“Clara.”
“Hi.” She tried to smile, but her chin wobbled.
“Are you all right?”
She pinched her lips together and shook her head.
Without another word, he enfolded her. In his arms, she surrendered her tightly-clenched self-control. He held her tenderly, rocked her slowly while great, gulping sobs shook her body.
“Mommy, what’s wrong with that lady?” a child’s voice piped from behind her. A van door rolled open. A seatbelt clicked.
“Hush, Peanut. The lady is sad. Leave her be.”
“The man is sad too.”
The door slid shut with a thunk, and the van’s engine started. Clara turned to see a pair of bright eyes peering at her as the big Toyota rolled past. The child pressed her hand to the glass.
A hiccup of laughter bubbled through Clara’s tears. She gazed up into Nick’s tear-stained face, wiped a fresh drop away with her thumb. “We’re quite a spectacle.”
He pulled her back in and rested his cheek against her hair. “The kid’s right.” He fished in his pocket. “Damn. No handkerchief today.”
“I have Kleenex in the car.” She unlocked the door, handed him the packet. “How did you find me?”
“When I first saw the sign on your shop door, I didn’t know what to think.” He lifted a tendril of damp hair from her forehead. “Then I remembered our conversation about spending today in the park. I figured this anniversary qualifies as a family emergency.”
She shook her head, fresh tears blurring her vision. “It’s not that. It’s Harry.”
“Harry? The old guy in your shop?”
“We were running. He had a heart attack.”
Nick dropped his grip on her, stepped back as if bracing himself. “Is he…”
“In the ICU. I—I couldn’t stay.” Her voice tightened. “It was the same hospital where Jared, where he…”
“Oh God.” He pulled her snug against him. His arms held her safe and warm, but no embrace could shut out the cold reality. Any minute now, she might lose her dear friend. Her whole body ached with dread.
“Do you want me to take you there?”
She shook her head. “Doug’s there. He’ll call me if anything changes.” She snuffled against his now-damp shirt. “I don’t know if I can drive. Can you take me home, Nick?”
He took her keys, helped her climb into her Subaru.
“Oh, what about your car?”
“I’ll pick it up later. Let’s go.”
When they pulled into her driveway, she sat staring vacantly. She tried to reach for the door handle, but her arms wouldn’t move, her feet stayed welded to the floor.
She turned to him, panic in her eyes. “I don’t think I can be here today.”
“Then don’t. Come with me. As long as you want. You’ll know when you’re ready.”
He followed her upstairs, helped her pack an overnight bag, then drove the dozen blocks to his new home. Inside, he walked her up to his bedroom, now free of moving cartons. He sat her on the edge of the bed, then knelt to unlace her shoes.
“Nick, I can—”
“Hush. Let me do this.” He tucked her shoes under the bed, then went into the bathroom. Water gushed in the tub. “You’ll feel better after a bath. I’ll bring you some tea.” He closed the bedroom door behind him, leaving her alone.
She stripped off her clammy running clothes and eased into the steaming water, wincing at the irony. Yesterday, it took every bit of her self-control not to end up in Nick’s bedroom. Today, the second worst day of her life, here she was. Naked, too.
A soft knock on the door, and Nick’s hand appeared, holding a steaming mug.
“I’ll put it here, on the sink. I plugged in your phone. It’s on the dresser.”
“Nick.”
He opened the door a little wider, wide enough to see how carefully he was averting his gaze.
“You can come in, you know. There’s nothing here you haven’t seen before.”
He chuckled. “I’d better not. It’ll just—complicate things. You rest, Clara. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”
“Thank you. Nick?”
“Yes?”
“You’re a good man.”
“Well, that’s a start.” He closed the door behind him.