They decided to stay at Frank's house. Nella didn't yet know how to tell Sevita that the bacterial samples were still lost, and it depressed her to think about facing her failure. She scolded herself for being a coward, but it didn't make her feel differently. She was hesitant to leave Frank as well, and she wasn't sure he'd go with her to her apartment. He had been absorbed in case notes since he'd brought her up to the office.
He apologized, but Nella could see he was itching to look back at something in the case. She was more convinced than ever that he knew more than he was telling her. That frightened her. It meant that he would either try to find the samples himself because he thought it was too dangerous for her, or that it had something to do with his client. Both ideas were equally opaque and unsettling to Nella. She had let him read his notes in peace, claiming to have medical reports on Ann to go over. She did have the reports, they had been delivered to her at the prison, but she only made a show of reading them, watching Frank's body language instead.
Whatever he was looking for, he hadn't found it even after an hour of frantic reading had passed. Nella could tell by the way his hand smoothed against the back of his head over and over, and the way his legs waited to leap from the chair when he found it. The evening slid on and Nella grew impatient. At last, she couldn't take the way cold panic was crawling over her with a million sharp legs and filling the shadowy space between them with visions of plague and death and loss. "Why don't you ask me about what you are looking for?" she asked, "Maybe I can remember. I have a good memory."
Frank turned and smiled at her, as if realizing she were there for the first time. "I'm sorry, you must be exhausted. You still need lots of rest. Why don't you get some sleep, I'll be done in a bit."
Nella laughed at the obvious dodge. "Okay, you don't have to tell me, I just want to help."
"I know you do. I wish you could, but I'm not even sure I remember it correctly. I need the tapes of the lab."
"Did you give the only copy to the Judge?"
"No, but I don't keep evidence here. It's at the prison, in the Warden's vault, for safekeeping."
Nella looked confused. "Is that normal?"
Frank shook his head. "This case was so large that no one wants to be accused of tampering. The Warden agreed to keep the defense's documents and the Military Governor is keeping the prosecution's items in his office." Frank sighed. "Well, I don't think worrying about it is going to help tonight." He stood up and stretched, his palms almost grazing the ceiling. Nella put down the unread report on Ann Connelly. He led her into the cool, dark bedroom. Before he even flipped the light on she knew the bed would be perfectly made, the floor would be bare and there would be little to no extra furniture in the room. She felt particularly gritty and sweaty after their trip. She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep there. When the light snapped on, Nella laughed in surprise.
"What is it?" Frank asked.
"I just wasn't expecting this. It doesn't look like the rest of the house."
Frank shrugged and blushed. "This is where I spend most of my time. Do you like it?"
A massive bookshelf stood on the far wall. It was filled with books on shipbuilding, with a giant atlas and novels of exploration and shipwreck and discovery. The ceiling glowed blue with nautical maps that covered every inch of it. There was a desk with a half finished model sailboat sitting on it. She looked back at Frank. "You weren't kidding when you said you wanted to sail to a tropical island when this was over, were you?"
Frank's face relaxed and dropped a decade, even with the thick beard shadowing the bottom half. For a moment Nella thought she saw him as he was before, wholly beautiful, happy, in love. It shocked her for a moment to realize she was the one that he was in love with this time.
"Can you imagine how wonderful it would be? To rediscover a place?" he waved a hand toward the map, "these places are all lost, as if they never were found in the first place. There's been no communication with them for almost a decade. Chances are, most of them haven't found a cure. Chances are, few, if any people have survived. The people that have, well they must have their own ways of doing things by now. New laws, new rituals, new ideas. We could visit them, you and me. We could be the next explorers."
"Aren't you afraid? Other people could have turned to piracy or slave holders or people who worship dead computers. We don't know what's out there."
"That's exactly the point. It's exciting, not frightening. Well, of course we'd be careful, but aren't you dying to know what's out there? Aren't you tired of the same old gated City, the same sad people day after day?"
"Well, yes," she admitted, though she felt a serious gash in her heart when she thought of leaving Sevita and Christine behind. But his excitement swept the thought away like a stray leaf in a gale. He pointed to the map directly over the head of the bed.
"There's New Guinea. I've been thinking it would take us about three months if we sailed straight, but of course we would want to stop everywhere on the way . . ." Frank talked cheerfully about routes and boat building and supplies until Nella was dizzy. She didn't stop him, the conversation was as bright as their earlier ones had been dark. She wondered if that particular map had ended up where it was after their lunch at the prison. She suspected that it had, and hoped it had been a source of several bright dreams for him. At last, he wound down and sat on the end of the bed, patting the spot next to him. She recoiled and immediately regretted it when she saw the nervous hurt return to his face, wrinkling away the ease that she had just seen.
"Oh Nella, I'm sorry, I didn't mean- I have a spare bedroom I can sleep in-"
"No, no," she said quickly, "it isn't that. It's just that-" her voice dropped to an embarrassed whisper as if the neighbors might hear, "I'm filthy. I can't mess up your nice clean sheets."
Frank laughed and the worry scattered. He scratched his thickening beard. "Yeah," he said, "I don't think I could stand this thing for one more minute either. I can practically feel it crawling." He pointed to a dark wooden door. "The bathroom is adjoining, I'll get some towels for you."
She blushed and hesitated for a moment. Discomfort won out over pride. "Frank, I can't- would you help me wash my hair? I can do everything else, but," she half raised her wounded arm.
"Of course," he said, before she could finish.
He opened the door to a small bathroom and then left her to find towels. The room was badly lit and the mirror was spotty with age. But it smelled sweet and strong, like warm soap and shaving cream. She felt less grimy just walking into it. "You can get in, if you want," said Frank from behind her, "I just want to shave first. I'll be quick. Look what I've found." He handed Nella a slim bottle of real shampoo and rubbed his own head with a grin. "I won't be needing it."
Nella smiled, but she sat on the edge of the tub and made no move to get undressed. She watched him mix shaving cream and draw out a slim razor, like a shining bone and set it on the lip of the sink. He scrubbed his face with water and then realized she was watching him as he straightened up.
"What?" he asked, dabbing foam on the stiff hairs.
She shrugged. "It's just that you're one of very few men whom I've met that still shaves every day."
"Ah. That's because shaving cream is hard to come by these days. And I can't imagine trying to shave without it. I had to carry buckets of water for the barber's wife, Mrs. Avoncetti, every day for a month before the water was turned on in this sector. After that he finally agreed to teach me how to make my own." Frank stopped talking as he picked up the flashing rib of a blade. She watched the scarred side of his face emerge as if the razor were erasing shadow and care with each long, slow stroke. It was impossible for her to watch the smooth, graceful flick of his hand on the razor and not think of him touching her.
She shouldn't be here. He'd already rejected her once, hadn't he? Why torture herself? But he had said that he loved her. He'd shown her only kindness and care. More
than that, he'd wanted her. She had felt it. But he seemed to want nothing to happen until after the trial. And though she felt stronger than she had during her fever, she knew she ought to take it easy for a while.
She was jarred out of her thoughts when Frank groaned lightly and she realized she'd still been staring at him.
"Nella, please don't tell me you like the mountain man look. I don't think I could stand it."
She laughed. "No, I like seeing your whole face."
He squinted at her as if trying to decide if she were teasing him. He bent over to wash his face again. He sighed with relief as he ran a hand over his smooth chin. Nella looked at her feet and tried not to feel the gentle ache on the surface of her lips, longing to kiss the line of his jaw. She tried to bully herself into being rational, but it was too difficult, surrounded, steeped in the clean smell of him, sitting so near to him, in his own space.
"Well? Did I miss a spot?" he asked, leaning over her to turn on the shower. Nella smiled and reached up to stroke his smooth cheek. He caught her hand and kissed her palm. His lips were so much softer than she remembered, though she had kissed them just a few hours before. Tiny echoes skipped across her skin, as if he had kissed a hundred places at once.
"It's perfect," she said at last, remembering he had asked her a question. She stood up, feeling the steam creep up her back in warm puffs. He untied her sling and she straightened her arm cautiously.
"I think we're going to have to burn these clothes," he said as he peeled off his shirt, "They're never going to be the same after this week."
Nella had started to unbutton her shirt. She clutched it closed. "Frank, I just realized I have no extra clothes here. We left them with the other pack."
He grinned wickedly at her. "Oh no," he said, gently moving her hand and continuing to unbutton her shirt, "whatever shall we do?"
She laughed and blushed. "I'm serious!"
"Relax, I'll go to your apartment tomorrow and pick up some things." He drew the fabric gently from her wounded arm.
"Until then?"
He shrugged and unzipped her pants, tugging them over her hips. "I'll turn up the heat."
"I thought you wanted to wait- until after the trial."
His brows drew together in confusion and he stepped back from her, "What gave you that idea? I mean, I'm okay with waiting if that's what you want-"
Nella shook her head but couldn't speak past the boulder in her throat.
"Is this about what happened at the Cure camp?" The space between them evaporated and his fingertips grazed the side of her face. They were like tiny rocks in a pool, the feeling rippling and bouncing over her in larger and larger rings. "That place was filled with misery. The very air was tainted." He leaned forward and whispered into her ear, "You're sacred Nella, a bright dream at the end of the world. I don't want to remember you in that dark place. I don't want to think about that sad time any more."
She closed her eyes but they leaked anyway. "But I was in a place like that. For a long time. It's part of my life. It's part of your life." Her voice creaked at the end, though she tried to control it.
His arms slid around her, his skin warm and damp from the shower steam. "I know. I know it was. But it doesn't have to part of our life. Not any more." He let her go and cleared his throat. His eyes were red, but he smiled at her and continued undressing.
"Come on," he said cheerfully as he picked up the bottle of shampoo, "the water heater in this place isn't that big. I'll be washing your hair in the dead cold before long."
Nella stepped carefully into the warm cavern of the shower after him. The shower didn't hurt her shoulder as badly as it had done before and she took that as a good sign. She stepped into the stream of water, turning her back to him so the water soaked through her filthy hair. She closed her eyes. Her breath caught as one of his hands wrapped around her stomach and his fingers grazed the bottom of her breast. The other hand tangled itself in her wet hair. She could feel the strands of grass from the fight with the Infected hit her shin as they washed away, and the clots of blood that had caught in the ends from her wound dissolved as he carefully slid his fingers through the tangles. Her head felt heavy from the extra weight of the water, but the rest of her felt lighter, younger as the week's dirt sloughed away. His hands slipped away from her and she smelled the sharp sweetness of chemical citrus as he opened the shampoo bottle. She smiled to herself. It had been years since she'd even seen real shampoo, but she recognized the smell immediately. She felt the weight of her hair disappear from her neck as he gathered it up and the rough pressure of his hands on her scalp. He tilted her head gently to one side and kissed the base of her neck with his soft lips. The lobe of her ear vibrated with his breath. "You didn't think that I didn't want you, did you?" his voice was heavy in her ear as the feathery foam of the shampoo slid down the small of her back, tracing slow rivers into her skin. She shivered. The soft weight of her hair slipped back onto her neck as both of Frank's long arms wrapped around her waist and good arm. He kissed the top of her good shoulder and she felt the hard bone of his cheek brush her ear. She leaned back into him and he tightened his arms. The last of the shampoo dissolved and streaked away and she felt as if she could follow it. "You can go to your grave sixty years from now knowing that a day didn't pass since we met that I did not want you."
She turned to face him, his arms loosening to let her. The thin stream of water began to grow cool between them. She leaned through it and tilted her face up toward his. She kissed him as the water wicked the heat and soap out of her hair and down over his arms and her legs in a last warm gush. The water turned frigid and he let her go to turn it off. She stepped out on shaky legs. She began to wrap a towel around her, but he stopped her, tossing it aside and pulling her into him. His skin was sun-baked stone, a tumbledown ruin left to the wind, all the jagged edges smoothed away. He kissed her too roughly, almost biting and his hand clamped shut just below her wound and she yelped as a jolt of pain sizzled up her arm and into her neck and breast. He dropped away from her as if she'd shoved him. "Oh, God, Nella, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He gently lifted away the soaked bandages with fingers light as leaves. The wound was unbroken, but he was shaken and reluctant to touch her. She turned his face away from the red scar that laced her skin until their eyes met. She smiled and felt his frame immediately loosen. The shower plinked like a metronome in the quiet. She stretched as tall as she could. Her lips brushed the ragged scar on his cheek.
"It's too cold in here," she whispered. Her hand slid gently down his arm and her fingers tangled in his. She led him out into the bedroom. She kissed him, her cool hand making a slow current down his chest as she gently backed him to the edge of the bed. He sat down, his hands spread over her hips in long streaks of warmth. She eased him back and hovered over him, her thighs touching the outside of his, her wet hair like cool grasses passing over his baking skin. He closed his eyes. Nella paused to look at his face. She traced the gentle ridge on his temple, feeling the fragile bone beneath, the frail globe that held everything she cared about. She leaned in closer, her breasts grazing his chest. She closed her eyes. Her breastbone ached as if it were too small to hold everything in. Her cheek rested lightly against his.
"I love you Frank," she said softly and with one small movement, enveloped him, like a still lake closing over a stone. He cried out and his eyes flew open to meet hers. She kissed him, her hips were like the currents in the maps above them, moving endlessly over the same hidden rocks and trenches, without pause. He twisted one arm around her back, needing her ever closer, as if he could dissolve into her. His other hand smoothed her hair from her face as she kissed him. He arced up toward her, a stone bridge that shattered and then collapsed into something new. He pulled her down with him and turned sideways so that she lay beside him, their faces level with each other. She watched the great breaths pulsing in his chest. He pulled her c
hin up gently with one hand. She glanced at his face and burst into tears. She pressed a sob into the back of her hand.
Frank pushed himself up one arm. "Nella, what is it? Are you hurt? Is it your shoulder?"
She shook her head and slipped a hand into his. "I can't help thinking about the missing samples. Even now. It hangs over everything. Maybe this is the last day. Maybe this is the last time I get to touch you. For a while I could pretend we were going to find them. That everything would turn out all right. But now, when it matters most of all," she brought his hand to her cheek, warming her face, "now I doubt. Now it seems impossible and everything seems closer to an end."
He curled himself over her, his too thin chest, his patchwork of scars suddenly beautiful to her. His thumbs smoothed the tears from her face. "Nella, we are going to find them. I will find them. This isn't an end." A broad smile spilled across his face, "Trust me, we're going to be making love hundreds of times. Thousands."
She laughed in spite of herself. He touched her forehead with his own. "The whole world had to die before I found you. I've been through hell. I even became the devil himself for a while. I can't lose you now. The universe can't be that unjust."
He made love to her again, slow and powerful, until she forgot the samples, forgot the trial and the loneliness of the empty world. Until she was lost in the sharp, clean smell of him, the rough, sandy feel of his hands on her skin. Until every touch was a splash, a little ripple growing inward and colliding with each other, colliding and merging and smoothing again into stillness.
Nella Knows