Chapter Twenty-Eight: Questions Asked
SHE jumped when he finally knocked on the door, pausing with her hand on the doorknob, heart pounding as she fought not to pant. Her throat constricted painfully as she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against the door, feeling the cool foggy night through the whitewashed wood.
I can do this, she thought.
She continued to hesitate, hating herself for her fear, wanting to be anywhere but here. When Daniel knocked again -- more insistently this time -- she took a deep breath and tried to force a calm, welcoming smile as she opened the door.
Daniel smiled, “Hey Nikki! What’s going on?”
He stepped forward, surprising her as he enfolded her in a hug that made her heart ache.
He stepped back, studying her, noting her welcoming smile had already faded. She was wearing her white knit sweater over her pale blue jeans. It was a casual look, but one which appealed to him, making her seem both relaxed and vulnerable. He wanted to fold her into his arms again.
“Nikki?”
She shook her head, guilt and shame warring as she realized his happiness at seeing her was going to be short lived.
“I have a little private deck area behind my place. It came with some lawn furniture.”
She picked up a heavy men’s fleece jacket and quickly pulled it on over her sweater.
Daniel nodded, suppressing a shiver at the prospect of walking back out in the chilly evening. The fog quickly enveloped them with its clammy embrace as they stepped into the Magnusson’s back yard, then followed the paving stones around the side of Nikki’s cottage to the lawn furniture sandwiched between the back of her cottage and the darkness leading down to the beach. A low hedge peppered with faintly aromatic pink flowers separated the Magnusson’s backyard from public land, paralleling a small asphalt pathway which wound its way up and down the coastline. Beyond the pathway, the ground sloped steeply toward the narrow, rocky beach, the slope covered with sere coastal grass, nearly waist high and faintly glimmering where the light from the cottage reached it. Nikki thought it was cool that she had her own private pathway onto the beach from her home; she liked listening to the waves crashing against the rocky coastline when the wind came up. The night felt mysterious and fey, the beach grass intermittently whispering to itself beyond the island of illumination created by the patio flood lights, underlaid by the hidden pulse of the ocean, beating against the rocks.
She settled onto one of the white, rococo iron chairs which surrounded a heavily constructed inlaid patio table, the uneven tiles forming an oceanic pattern of blues and greens. She crossed her legs as she sat, a detached part of her mind aware that Daniel watched the gesture before realizing he was being obvious and quickly looked away. It confused her, his glance making her feel simultaneously self-conscious and sexy.
Daniel sat across from her, the darkened ocean to his left. The fog closed them in, isolating them in a moment of timeless intimacy. They were illuminated by lights mounted on the cottage, though the fog tended to diffuse the light, giving everything a soft, dreamlike aspect.
They sat in silence, contemplating the sound of the distant waves as they crashed into the coastline, the fog enhancing the night’s mysterious, unpredictable quality -- it was a night made for sharing secrets, and they instinctively recognized it, unconsciously reacting to it.
After a long pause, Daniel leaned forward, a question on his lips. She stared back at him expectantly, her dark eyes drawing his gaze and holding him, causing him to lose his train of thought in their depths.
How can she still do that to me?, he wondered. It’s been seven years, and she can still stop my thoughts in their tracks.
He wanted to keep staring, wanting the silence to stretch, not wanting to risk hearing anything that couldn’t be taken back or denied. But he remembered his confusion from the night before. His hopeful optimism slowly drained away, absorbed by the wild, mysterious coastal weather, and some subliminal cue that warned him of impending change.
“Well?”
They both heard the strain in his voice.
Nicolette winced at the question. She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. When Daniel frowned at the ashtray she put on the counter, Nicolette couldn’t keep the snarl out of her voice, “It soothes me -- and since I’m going to be... I’ll take any assistance I can get to help me through this,” implying that she’d get none from him, causing him a small twinge of responding anger, “since Dutch courage isn’t really an option,” she fingered her necklace, “I’ll have to settle for French courage instead.”
Daniel, surprised at the vehemence in her tone, sat back, feeling her anger. He was startled to find himself involuntarily chuckling in nervous anticipation as he replayed her words, “I, mm, don’t think ‘French Courage’ means...has anything to do with smoking.”
Nicolette eyed Daniel uncertainly for a moment, then snorted, “Well...whatever you call it when you smoke a cigarette for courage.”
She glared at him as she tried to light her cigarette, her shaking hands belying her facade of calm. He watched her for a moment, then reached across the table, taking her hands in his, steadying her. She hesitated at the contact, her cheeks heating as she focused on the lighter, momentarily unable to meet his eyes. He leaned back a moment later. For one instant, he thought she was going to grab at his hands, prevent him from withdrawing. He was disappointed when she didn’t.
After a long drag, she broke the silence, “But I know which questions you’re going to want me to answer first.”
She began ticking off the questions on her fingers, “Why did I leave in the first place, and what have I been up to since I left?”
Daniel nodded, then gestured for her to pick one and answer it.
She took a long shaky draw on her cigarette, watched as the smoke trailed away and joined with the fog. Nikki wanted this conversation to be over, to be through with it. She wanted to sink onto her makeshift bed with the heavy comforter pulled over herself. She doubted she would sleep much, but the thought of being able to lie still, to be invisible and unnoticed...
She realized she desperately wanted a drink; the last time she wanted a drink this badly...well...if she was being honest, it was the day the bus dropped her off after her long ride from Southern California.
Nicolette sighed as she realized she was stalling. She stared out into the night as she sifted through her words, waiting for her throat to loosen. She closed her eyes, recalling the memories to her mind’s eye, surprised that the inflicted hurts were still fresh.
“Nikki--“ “I had to--“
They both stopped and stared at each other, waiting for the other to pick up the thread. Daniel felt his frustration rise, then abruptly give way to amusement as Nicolette smiled in unison with him. For a brief moment, it felt like she had never left, that they still could lapse into the same familiar and sometimes irritating patterns. For just one instant, he felt as though everything could resume as they had left off, as though everything that had happened in the intervening years had been little more than a vacation.
Then she began her story.