Chapter Thirty-Three
Sunlight slanted through the curtainless windows and straight into Clara’s eyes, stinging like sand. She rubbed them and sat up, for a moment completely lost. The ceiling was all wrong, much higher than the one in her bedroom, and this comfortable bed with its heavy walnut posts at the corners? Definitely not hers. Then it hit her. She curled into a ball, cradling her aching center, and just breathed. The pillows smelled like Nick: woodsy and mossy and comforting.
Nick’s room. Nick’s bed. He’d left her here to rest. Where was he? She needed to thank him. Facing whatever came next would be easier with him beside her.
Already, she was paying for her long, punishing flight through the park. Her muscles shrieked when she pushed herself out of bed. The pain helped, somehow. It seemed fitting that her body hurt the way her heart was hurting—for Jared, for Harry. She rummaged through her duffle bag and found an old pair of jeans and one of Jared’s triathlon T-shirts. After splashing water on her face and pulling her hair back into a ponytail, she padded downstairs.
He wasn’t in the kitchen, though he’d left a pot on the stove, with a bowl and spoon beside it. She lifted the lid: chicken noodle soup. Her stomach rebelled at the smell, but it was a sweet thought.
“Nick?”
“Hmmm.” His baritone voice sounded raspier than usual. Must have fallen asleep on the couch. She tiptoed through the dining room. The long, lean figure on the sofa shifted, and one lanky arm stretched toward the ceiling.
“Doug?” She blinked in astonishment as he rolled upright. Still wearing his running clothes, now rumpled and twisted, he bounded to his feet and rushed to her, wrapped his long arms around her and squeezed. The sharp smell of his sweat-soaked T-shirt stung her nose, but still she slid easily against his familiar body, comforted.
“Hey there. You’re up.” He pressed his lips to her hair.
“What are you doing here?”
“Nick went to get his car, asked me to stay with you.”
“But, how?”
“Margot. She came to the hospital looking for you. Called someone in Berkeley, got Nick’s number. I guess she figured if you weren’t at the shop and you weren’t at home, you’d be with him.”
His pained expression stabbed her heart. “I wasn’t with him. I went to the park, tried to run it off, you know?”
He nodded, his pale eyes sad. “That’s what I’d do.”
“Nick drove around until—”
“He told me.” He sank onto the couch, pulled her down beside him, clasped her hand in his for a long, silent moment, then sighed. “Guess I lost out to Professor Zorba.”
She leaned against his shoulder. “Papadopoulos.”
“Whatever. Still hurts.”
She folded over, buried her face in a sofa pillow, and screamed.
“Hey, hey now.” He rubbed her back in slow circles. “I’m sorry, Clara. You don’t need to deal with my ego, not today of all days.”
She rolled over so her head rested in his lap, her eyes closed. “I really care about you, Doug. Hurting you is the last thing I want to do. But I don’t know how all this will fall out.”
“Let’s get you out of the danger zone.” He gently pulled her upright, then lifted her chin until she met his soft, kind gaze. “Look, Clara. I know our first time together was kind of a disaster, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you. I do.”
“But you said you wanted to be just friends.”
“For now. Not forever.”
Clara’s stomach clenched when she saw the pain in his clear blue eyes. She lowered her gaze and whispered, “Nick says he’s in love with me.”
He cupped her jaw. “Do you believe him?”
She nodded.
He collapsed against the back of the couch. “Well, shit. He’s bringing out the big guns.”
“Doug, I—” She laid her hand on his shoulder. “Can we talk about this later? I just can’t deal with this today.”
He flashed her a gentle smile. “Of course. I’m sorry.”
The doorknob rattled, and Nick stepped into the room. His dark gaze locked on hers, and then shifted to Doug. The two men stared silently at each other. Finally, Nick stepped forward. “Doug, thanks for staying.”
“Don’t mention it.” Doug slid toward the end of the couch, making room for Nick on Clara’s other side, a peace offering. Nick sat, leaving her sandwiched between two broad shoulders, two strong thighs.
“I stopped by your shop on the way back,” Nick said. “Margot gave me a new sign for the door. Arnie let me in.”
“New sign?”
“Said you’d reopen tomorrow. She’ll bring a friend or two to help out until you’re ready to come back.”
“Oh, Margot.” Her voice wobbled, once again heavy with tears.
Both men reached for her at once. She clasped Nick’s right hand and Doug’s left.
Finally, Nick broke the tense silence. “What do you want to do, Clara?”
“I guess I’d rather just stay closed for the weekend, until we know more about Harry’s condition.”
Doug spoke up. “The doctor said they’ll do an angioplasty tomorrow morning.”
Nick squeezed her hand. “That’s good news. If they can wait until tomorrow, the damage to his heart isn’t as bad as we thought. But there’s another reason you might want to open tomorrow.”
She raised one eyebrow and waited.
“That asshat landlord of yours came in while I was talking to Arnie. Made disparaging comments about your ability to keep the shop open.”
“Lonnie said that? Older man, red face, gray hair?”
“No, the greasy guy who bothered you the day of the pickets.”
“Crap. Darryl.”
“Again,” Doug crossed his arms. “He was bothering Clara yesterday.”
The two men exchanged a meaningful glance. Nick nodded. “We open tomorrow.”
“What do you mean, we?”
He shrugged. “It’s been a long time, but I can run a cash register.”
“Me too,” Doug said. “Margot can tell us what to do. You and I can take turns going to the hospital to check on Harry.”
Clara took a deep breath. “Okay, then. We open tomorrow.”
All three looked up at the sound of Clara’s phone trilling upstairs. She bolted to her feet, but Nick pushed her back into her seat. “I’ll get it.”
Doug took the opportunity to slide his arm around her shoulders. She let him but kept her eyes on the stairway. Nick trotted down, handed over her phone, stood with his arms crossed, scowling at Doug.
“For God’s sake.” Clara shrugged off Doug’s arm and walked into the kitchen, leaving the two men to their staring contest.
Margot had left a voice message: “Harry’s awake. He wants to see you.”
She tucked the phone into her pocket, went upstairs for her purse, and returned to find both men still glaring.
“Harry asked for me. Nick, you have my key?”
“I’ll drive you.” Doug headed toward the door.
“The hell you will,” Nick growled, hot on his heels.
“Harry’s my family.”
“Clara’s my—”
She snapped at both of them. “Cut it out! I don’t need this now.” Anger and worry sharpened her tone and sliced through their bickering. She held out her hand. “Key.”
Nick dropped it into her palm. She blew out a breath. “Thank you both. Nick, I’ll be back later for my stuff. Doug, if you still want to help tomorrow, I’d be grateful.” She climbed into her car, slammed the door, and drove off, alone.
****
But Nick followed her anyway. At the last traffic light before the hospital, she spotted his little green sports car in her rear-view mirror.
Ignoring him, she pulled into the first available spot and quick-stepped to the entrance.
“Clara, wait.”
“Now is not the time, Nick.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I just—”
She whirled on him. “I’m not here to talk about your feelings, Nick. I’m here to see Harry.”
“He asked for me too.”
“Huh?”
“Margot called, right after you left.”
She shook her head. This made no sense. Harry didn’t even know Nick. “Let’s go, then.”
In silence, they rode the elevator to the fourth floor. Clara blinked in surprise at the crowd in the ICU waiting room. At least a dozen people in running clothes huddled there, talking in low tones, a cluster of Get Well Soon balloons bobbing above their heads. In the corner, Mona clasped the hands of a pretty, white-haired woman with gentle eyes and a worried expression.
“Hey, Clara.” Mona looked Nick up and down, her expression somewhere between suspicion and bald-faced lust. “This is Evie, Harry’s sweetheart.”
Evie blushed becomingly and took Clara’s hand. “Pleased to meet you, Clara. Harry’s so fond of you.”
Clara pulled the older woman in for a hug. “How’s he doing?”
“He was awake a few minutes ago. They’ve got him on some strong medicine, so he’s pretty loopy. His son should be here soon. He’s flying in from New Mexico.” She patted Clara’s hand. “Let’s get you in there before the nurse sends us all away. I think she’s getting tired of all this ruckus.”
Evie tugged Clara toward the nurses’ station. She beckoned to Nick. “Come on, dear. Harry said he wanted to talk to Clara’s young man too.”
Nick hesitated in the doorway. “Are you sure he meant me?”
“He said to bring the professor.”
The nurse in charge of the ICU fixed them with a stern stare. “Five minutes. Keep it calm and quiet, please. Harry needs his rest.”
This time, his cheeks held a little more color, but Clara’s heart squeezed at the sight of her dear friend so still under the thin blankets, surrounded by so much metal and electronic equipment. She reached for Nick’s hand.
Harry’s eyes fluttered open. “There she is. How’s my girl?”
“How am I?” She chuckled, touched by his concern. “I’m okay. How are you, Harry?”
“Pretty stoned.” He rolled his eyes toward Nick, and his focus sharpened. “Introduce me to your friend.”
“Nick Papadopoulos.” He extended his hand. His eyes widened as Harry squeezed it firmly.
Harry coughed. “Look, I don’t have a lot of time. Tomorrow they’re sticking some wires into my heart. It’ll either cure me or kill me.”
“Harry,” Clara squeaked.
“Hush. Doc says my chances are good. But I don’t want to leave things unsaid. Nick, do you love her?”
Nick met Harry’s steely gaze. “I do.”
“Will you take care of her if I’m gone?”
He nodded. “If she’ll let me.”
Her breath caught, her heart wobbled, and then Harry turned his pale gaze on her. “I’m disappointed, of course. I’d rather see you with Doug. But if this guy is what you want, so be it. Just promise me you’ll take your time. Like I said, don’t let these young men rush you.” He squeezed her hand, his fingers warm and rough around hers. “I love you like a daughter, Clara.”
“Oh, Harry.” She sobbed and clutched his hand to her heart, then released it when he winced.
“Damn wires.” His lids drifted downward. “I’m going to sleep now. Be well, Clara-bell.”
They stood there, Nick’s arm around her shoulders, watching the steady rise and fall of Harry’s chest until the nurse chased them away.
Afterward, she sat beside Nick on a bench in a quiet hospital courtyard, beneath the rustling leaves of slender birch trees. Exhausted inside and out, she let him hold her hand.
“I just can’t imagine a future without him.” She leaned onto his shoulder. “I mean, he’s seventy-four. I know he can’t keep working at the shop forever, but…he’s always been there, you know? He really is like a father to me.”
“What about your own father?” he asked softly.
“We don’t get along. After his breakup with Mom…” She didn’t have the energy to explain further, and what was the point? Her dad would probably live to be a hundred and seldom trouble himself about his eldest daughter’s welfare. “Since Jared’s death, Harry’s been my rock.”
Nick squeezed her hand. “Well, you’ve got a couple of guys lined up to audition for that role.”
“Yeah.” She snuffled. “But to embrace one, I have to hurt the other.”
“Look.” He pivoted to face her. “I’m here. He’s here. And Harry’s right, you don’t have to hurry. You shouldn’t. But eventually, you’re going to have to choose—one of us, or neither of us. Someone’s going to be hurt. That’s just how it is.”
Eyes downcast, she nodded.
“It boils down to this: What do you really want, Clara? Do you want a business partner? A husband? A casual boyfriend?”
“Right now, I just don’t know.”
He brushed a loose tendril of hair into place behind her ear. “Okay. But for the record, I know exactly what I want: a life here, with you. A home, with you. A family, with you.”
“A family?” Her voice rose to a squeak.
“Yeah.” He smiled tenderly, stroked her cheek. “You, me, a baby. More than one, if we have time. Imagine it, Clara—that big fireplace crackling, a couple kids in pajamas thundering down those stairs to open their Christmas presents. We’ve been up all night, putting together some damned Barbie thing…”
“Stop!” Her heart thundering, she bolted to her feet, knotted both hands in her hair. “Nick, I…” She couldn’t find the words to wrap around this turmoil inside her gut, and so she turned her face to the sky and howled, all the pain, the loss pouring out in a ragged, animal cry.
Nick took her shoulders, tried to pull her rigid body against him. “What did I say? What did I do? Tell me.”
“No!” She planted both hands on his chest and pushed him away, hard.
He stumbled back, his mouth agape. His beautiful chest rose and fell as he searched her face.
“You don’t want children? Is that it?” He stepped nearer, both palms open, his gilded dark eyes full of pain and confusion.
“Nick, I’m thirty-nine. I’m a widow.”
“I’m forty-two. I’m a widower. So?”
“Jared and I, we were trying. To have kids. But he died…” She bit her lip, tried to get her trembling voice under control. “We never got the chance. And then you come along, and we just fall together, and I meet your family, and you tell me you love me when you hardly know me, and you say you want babies, and it’s all…” The tears came fast now. She clamped her lips together to stop their trembling.
He nodded slowly. “I get it. The house, the kids, Christmas—you wanted all those things with Jared.”
She nodded, her shoulders slumped.
He paced back and forth in the little courtyard. His voice tightened, and so did his fists. “Well, you can’t have that, Clara. You think I didn’t want those things too, with Diana?”
He closed on her, and his blazing glare pinned her to the ground. “I watched her die, Clara. It took a long time, and she suffered. And I can’t bring her back. You think that doesn’t hurt me every day?”
At last, he sank onto the bench and folded over, elbows on knees, head in his hands. “This isn’t a game to me, Clara. It cost me a lot to admit I’m in love with you. You’re not the only one who’s scared by this.”
She sat beside him, leaned her cheek against his shoulder, her breath shaky. For a long, long moment she rested there, treasuring the steady rise and fall of warm life beneath her. Part of her yearned to tell him what he wanted to hear, to admit how much she wanted to slide into his bed and into his home and into his heart and just forget everything else. But that wouldn’t be honest, wouldn’t be fair.
She stroked his back, her fingers skimming over the iron-hard tension in his muscles. “I thought sleeping with you would be this brave, fun thing. Just a lark, you know? The first step toward—recovery, I guess. But you were so kind, and so delicious, and I didn’t expect to feel this much for you. It seemed—wrong.”
He didn’t answer, but he didn’t move away. She slid her arm around his waist. “Nick, I wish I could tell you what you want to hear. But today, I just can’t.”
His voice came out a throaty croak. “I understand. I’ll see you tomorrow, Clara.” He rose and walked slowly away from her, back toward the parking lot. Her heart as black and hollow as a cavern, she watched him go, prayed she hadn’t just closed the door between them forever.