*
Tommy’s presence was like a constant pressure on the back of her neck -- not painful, but too persistent to ignore. He wasn’t staring at her or watching her every move, but he didn’t move from the bar, his red ball cap acting like a beacon, reminding her he was there every time she started to forget. She glanced at the clock mounted on the podium, noting that it was almost 9pm -- he’d been sitting at the bar for at least half an hour. At some point, he had turned around to stare at the monitor mounted over the bar, watching a hockey game, but some instinct -- something about the way he didn’t react to the game at all -- suggested that he couldn’t care less about the game, that he was patiently biding his time.
Earlier, she had intercepted Chris on his way back from the men’s to ask him about Tommy. He had glanced over the top of her head (Chris was nearly 6’ 2”, after all) then looked back down at her. By Chris’ reckoning, Tommy had been sitting at the bar for almost an hour.
“Are you sure?” she’d asked anxiously, “Are you sure you’ve got the time right? I didn’t notice him at all until half an hour ago.”
Chris shrugged, favoring her with a crooked smile, “What, is he an ex or something? Is he stalking you?”
She glanced over her shoulder at Tommy’s back as he turned the glass of whiskey in his hands, the closest to a nervous or impatient gesture she’d seen him make that night.
Are you stalking me, Tommy?, she wondered, And if so, why?
She shook her head, genuinely puzzled at her reactions, Good Lord, Nikki, she scolded herself, it’s just Tommy! Tommy is harmless! Hell, he probably saved your life the other night at the club!
She started as Chris cut into her thoughts, a worried frown crossing his expression, “Is everything okay? You look upset. I was just joking about the stalking thing, but If it’s really a problem--“
She interrupted him, “Has he said anything to you? Anything at all?”
He glanced over her head again, then shook his head, “He’s been quiet, mostly just watching the game. He’s ordered a couple of whiskeys, but he’s been nursing that second one for most of the last half hour or so. He’s been ordering the good stuff, tipping well. He hasn’t mentioned you or anything.”
She nodded slowly, “Okay. It’s cool, I think, but let me know if he starts asking questions.”
“What’s going on, Nikki? You’re acting spooked.”
Nicolette shook her head, forcing a reassuring smile as she patted his biceps, “It’s nothing, Chris. Tommy’s a good guy, but sometimes he just” scares me “puzzles me a little bit. I’ve known him since we were kids.”
His concerned frown faded slightly, be she could see that he was unmollified, poorly concealing his resentment that an unwelcome and possibly dangerous element had entered his peaceful, well-run domain.
“I can kick him out, if you want.”
She frowned thoughtfully; despite Tommy’s unassuming, slightly geeky demeanor, some intuition filled her with doubt that Chris could make Tommy do anything he wasn’t already going to do. She realized with surprise that Chris was prepared to follow through on his offer.
I wonder if Chris knows about my previous career, she thought, surprised at his unexpected protectiveness.
She shook the thought off, alarmed as his demeanor subtly changed, “No Chris, it’s okay. Leave it -- I’ll handle him later, after my shift.”
He nodded, “You going to call Wreck-It Ralph?”
She frowned, detecting the derogatory note in his voice. After a long, uncomfortable moment, a surprised, puzzled smile stole across Chris’s features, “Wreck-It Ralph? The Pixar movie? A video game character that breaks things?”
Wreck-It Ralph? Must have been something I missed while I was away, she thought with a mental sigh. It sometimes felt as though she was perpetually stuck in the shadow of Culture Lag Mountain after years in prison.
She couldn’t keep a touch of asperity from her voice when she responded, “His name is Daniel. And yeah, I’m going to call him since he’s close friends with Tommy -- he probably knows why Tommy is here.”
Chris shrugged, “Let me know if I can do anything, then. I have to get back to the bar before Solis notices. Don’t want to get another one of his BS lectures on responsibility or whatever. I get enough of that from my dad.”
Nicolette headed back to the podium, pulling her phone out of the slot near the top (automatically catching the pen as it rolled free, seemingly of its own volition). She hesitated for a long time as she considered whether she wanted to go through with it, or if she was just grasping at any pathetic excuse to call Daniel.
Daniel reclined on his living room couch, aimlessly channel surfing as he absently sipped a beer. He had just finished a double shift, but hadn’t fully transitioned out of work mode, his mind and body still tense. It sometimes took him several hours to relax if the shift had been exceptionally busy or stressful. Doubles generally hit him even harder, and he tried to avoid them when could -- but after the disastrous conversation with Nicolette -- coupled with events at the Club -- the long hours gave him a welcome distraction.
Their disastrous conversation still filled him with a kind of baffled, hurt anger. Distancing himself from her seemed like the right decision, that her return wasn't as propitious as he had allowed himself to hope...but there was a nagging voice in the back of his mind that insisted he wasn’t seeing the whole picture, that he was sitting in the trough between the waves, caught between his own feelings and something he couldn’t see, casting obscuring shadows over everything. Part of him wanted to latch onto that nagging voice, to embrace the hope it implicitly offered, but that hopeful little voice had brought him too much disappointment and pain to be trusted. He struggled to shut his mind against its persistent little whisper.
And yet...
And yet, the little voice insisted that Nikki-from-seven-years-ago had been unable to pass a dog without petting it or see a stray cat without trying to make friends with it -- and succeeding more often than he would have believed if he hadn’t seen it himself!
Could something so fundamental to a person’s personality be erased?, he wondered.
Nikki’s story seemed to suggest that it could...but even in his most cynical moments, that little voice rose up, echoing some of Shelly’s words.
He jumped when his phone buzzed, his eyebrows rising in surprise as he read the message from Nikki: Tommy is here at H’s. It’s weirding me out. Any idea why?
Daniel frowned, annoyed at his heart’s little skip of excitement when he saw the sender. He quashed it with a snarl, resenting her intrusion into his reverie.
No, he typed, Did you ask him?
He waited, struggling with his conflicting emotions. Her response was quick: Yes. Said he wanted to talk. This isn’t you?
His frown deepened, Tommy...what are you up to? You know I’m not on great terms with her. Now I find out you’re over there chatting her up when I’m not around?
Daniel shook his head, puzzlement and unease beginning to coalesce as he tried to guess what Tommy was doing there.
Harry’s is only 5 minutes away, maybe less, the little voice asserted, what could it hurt to go and see for yourself? She sounds pretty upset...
"I can't protect you," he said disgustedly to his phone.
He tossed it aside, watching it bounce on the sofa cushion next to him. He turned back to the television, determined to watch the game and put thoughts of Nikki and Tommy out of his mind. Right now, he just wanted to unwind with some hockey, a couple of beers, then bed. He had all day tomorrow and most of the next to relax and figure out what his next move should be. He sat back, trying to concentrate on the game. He gave up during a commercial break, tilting his head back, staring at the ceiling.
"I can't protect you," he repeated, sadness and a sense of failure bubbling from old wounds in the back of his mind as he thought about
the eucalyptus grove, he thought. That was one of her favorite places to go when she was fe
eling out of sorts.
He walked around the track, squeezing through the hole in the fence. It was a shortcut off the school grounds that he and Nicolette sometimes used -- sort of their little secret. It didn't significantly shorten their walk home, but it allowed them a brief spell of privacy after school. He frowned, lost in thought as he walked along the chainlink fence, following it as it curved round the track. Since they'd walked to school that morning, she'd seemed depressed and withdrawn, her mood evoking a deep uneasiness in him. He approached the small grove of trees, absently replaying their interactions throughout the day, struggling to find a common theme, trying to quash the dark whispering little voice in the back of his mind. He was determined not to listen to it, to not let it ruin his day.
He didn't see her at first, the stand of trees casting deep shadows under the overcast late afternoon sky, his uneasiness briefly sliding into worry when he didn't see her amongst the trees. But a moment later he sighed in relief at a flash of blue, her hoodie catching the light from a break in the branches overhead.
He approached cautiously, watching as she paced slowly through the clearing, her brows drawn together. For a moment, he debated whether she'd want company, whether it might be better to walk away and leave her alone with her thoughts. As he watched her pacing, something in her body language seemed troubled, hurting. He sensed her need, though he couldn't have articulated it even if he'd thought to try; leaving her in that state was unthinkable.
"Nikki!" he called softly, startling her out of her reverie, her hand flying to her chest in surprise, "I didn't see you out front, so I assumed you were taking the short cut."
She nodded dully, but didn't immediately answer. They hugged perfunctorily, but she stepped away sooner than he'd have liked; he liked the way she felt in his arms, but he knew that sometimes she didn't want to be touched. It didn't help that their disastrous outing up into the hills was still fresh, the wounds inflicted still raw.
"I've been trying to catch up to you all day," he continued. He hesitated as he studied her out of the corner of his eye, momentarily nonplussed as he tried to guess the bent of her thoughts and realized that he couldn't. She walked slowly, wincing uncomfortably as she opened and closed her hands.
They walked in silence for a few minutes, breathing in the strong herbal scent of the eucalyptus trees.
"I spoke with Mrs. Chandler today; I think I'm going to apply to USC and UCLA. I know you were going to apply to UCLA as well. When you get there, maybe..." he hesitated, suddenly overcome with shyness as he stared fixedly at the other end of the grove ahead of them, "maybe we can move in together."
She smiled, "Maybe we can."
"We'll both have to get in," she added.
He frowned, her voice sounding slightly breathless as she spoke, his earlier nameless unease resurgent.
What if she's not applying to any West Coast schools?, the dark little voice whispered, what if she only applies to East Coast schools?
He wondered if she'd applied to Brown University.
Like her mother, the dark little voice observed.
"That's ridiculous!" he murmured under his breath, then abruptly blushed as she glanced at him quizzically.
He smiled, "Talking to myself. I must have missed my meds today."
She smiled perfunctorily at their in-joke, but let the moment pass.
He cleared his throat, struggling to pick up his earlier thread. "It'll be really great -- to finally get away from all this," he gestured expansively around them, but secretly they both knew what he really meant. She hooked her arm through his, letting his words wash over her as he began to enthuse about college plans, about life after Half Moon Bay...about life together. As he spoke, her gait slowed, her hand coming to rest on her abdomen. He frowned when she stopped, bending at the waist as she unlinked, her hands clutching at her knees until her fingers turned white.
She was panting, a clammy sweat breaking out on her forehead, worry and fear creeping into his voice as he watched her helplessly, "Nikki? Are you okay? What's going on, babe?"
He could see her pulse racing as veins began to stand up on her temples and neck. She sank slowly to her knees as she gasped desperately for air, "I can't...Daniel, I can't..."
Daniel knelt next her, his hand rubbing her back in reassuring circles, feeling helpless panic begin to rise as tears spilled down her cheeks, "Nikki, talk to me. Are you okay? What's..."
He forced himself to calm down, to forcibly push his panic into the background. He felt it pressing against mind as he briefly considered his options, even as the clamminess of her skin disturbed him. A cold part of his mind -- a part rarely accessed -- began to make a list of things he could do. He paused, listening, looking like the RCA dog, even as his fear stormed around the periphery of his thoughts.
"Do you need 9-1-1?" he asked, forcing deliberate calm into his voice as he pulled his hand off her knee to reach for his cell. He grunted in surprise when she grabbed his hand, holding onto it with a crushing grip. He stared at her, watching her gasp for breath, the veins in her neck and forehead standing out, pulsing. His fear and frustration roared through him, spinning up on her distress.
He snarled wordlessly, still stroking her back reassuringly while she crushed his other hand, the tendons in his hand creaking. Her eyes rolled sideways, seeing his concerned expression, seeing his frustration and anger at his own helplessness. As their eyes met, something clicked in his mind, though he couldn't articulate the thought until years later. He struggled to project calm as he began rubbing the back of her neck.
He stared into her eyes, forcing every ounce of love he could muster into voice, "Hey, it's going to be okay. I'm here, Nikki; I'm here. We're in the eucalyptus grove because you like the smell."
He hoped the heat of his hand against the clammy skin at the back of her neck gave her a sensation to focus her attention away from her distress.
"Try and breathe with me," he carefully enunciated, taking a deep, deliberate breath. Patiently, he drew a second breath, raising his eyebrows encouragingly, "smell the eucalyptus."
She nodded, eyes still wide as she tried to force her lungs to cooperate, her brow furrowing as she focused on his voice, on the calming herbal scent permeating the air.
"I'll take care of you, Nikki," he promised, gently stroking the back of her neck, willing her to feel his love through the contact, "I'll protect you," he promised.
He sighed, his eyes tracing the cracks in the old paint on the ceiling of his apartment, the guilt like an old wound that he'd grown so used to, he could almost forget about it. He was surprised when a tear streaked down, the sensation bringing him back to the present. His last words to Nikki behind her apartment juxtaposing with his words at her panic attack in the eucalyptus grove.
New guilt, meet old guilt, he thought wryly.
The little voice insisted, Harry's is just down the street...there and back again...take 20 minutes round trip...you won’t even miss the second period.
He tried to push the voice down, to focus on the game as he sipped his (warm) beer.
Abruptly, he gave up with a snarl. He retrieved his phone where it was threatening to slide between the sofa cushions and stood, heading toward the door of his apartment. It felt like he was making a mistake, that it would be way, way smarter to just let it go, to back off and let Nikki take care of her own damned problems.
But the nagging little voice coupled with some innate intuition demanded action. And she had texted him...not Shelly or Dane or anyone else she might still be friends with. And while he was still angry and betrayed...he was surprised to find he still couldn't leave her in distress; it would bother him with worry all night if he didn’t at least do a little reconnaissance.
What could it hurt to check?, he thought.