Chapter Eight: Strength Limit
NICOLETTE surreptitiously checked over her shoulder, scanning the restaurant before pulling her phone from the shelf where she'd stashed it; Mr. Solis, the general manager had an unnerving habit of showing up when least expected. She and Chris had speculated whether there was a hidden surveillance system which Solis pored over, waiting for employees to slack off so he could rush out and lecture them -- seemingly one of his favorite past times.
She stared down at the screen, heart sinking with disappointment when she saw no messages waiting for her. Abruptly she chuckled ruefully at herself -- there was no way (Daniel) anyone could be texting her on this phone, but old hopes die hard. She frowned at the thought, her mind going back to another time, staring at the phone
on the kitchen table, waiting for Daniel to call. He hadn't been at school earlier that day, and hadn't been responding to her calls or texts. She was worried; it was unlike him to be unresponsive. She looked up, then froze, startled to see Mother standing in the doorway of the kitchen watching her, hanging back in the shadows.
How long as she been there?, she wondered, heart racing.
Mother affected nonchalance as she strode into the kitchen, smiling at her daughter looking away as she passed. Nicolette did a quick survey of the kitchen table, going over a quick mental checklist as she bent her head back to her homework, ostensibly finishing the AP Calc problem set Mrs. Treanor had assigned earlier that afternoon. She tried to put her mind back into a mathematical mood, but lost focus as she heard the whisper of Mother's slippers on the linoleum behind her. A moment passed before the clatter of dishes allowed Nicolette to relax, the tension easing as Nicolette realized Mother really did have a specific destination in mind.
She glanced through the glass in the back door, longing to be outside in the bright sunlight. Later that afternoon--
She jumped as her phone abruptly buzzed on the counter next to her, the sound making her wince with apprehension, knowing that Mother's attention had likely been drawn to Nicolette at the sound. Her heart skipped a beat then sank with disappointment when she saw it was only Greg.
"Dan's dad was in a car wreck." he texted.
She stared at the screen, uncomprehending. A queer freefalling sensation spread through her chest as she waited, dread shadowing her thoughts.
"I think he died," he texted.
She reread the message, trying to make sense of the words as her throat constricted, the air suddenly seeming hard to find.
She swore under her breath as her sight blurred
white exploded across her vision, her phone flipping out of her hands. Her hand stole to her cheek in surprise as she found Mother standing over her, expressionless. The phone clattered to the floor, preternaturally loud in the sudden stillness. When Mother was sure Nicolette was listening, she murmured, "That sort of language isn't welcome in this house, 'Colette."
Nikki nodded, her hand dropping back into her lap as she blinked back tears, "Yes, Mother. I'm sorry."
Rose nodded, seemingly satisfied, turning to leave, the incident already forgotten. The moment she reached the doorway, Nicolette unfroze, bending to pick her phone up off the floor, sighing in relief when she saw it was undamaged. She reread the message, still unable to process it.
Daniel needs me!
It was a feeling more than a thought, an imperative that demanded action. She was at the kitchen door before the thought even registered, rushing out the kitchen door into the backyard. She winced at the bright sunlight, hesitating again when she heard Mother calling her back.
Daniel needs me!, she thought, deliberately closing the door behind her, knowing there would be a heavy price to pay later. She was practically running by the time she hit the fence, struggling with the latch in her haste.
She rushed across the street to the Hayes' home, pulling open the gate, then rushing up the stairs along the side of the house to the elevated living room. She rang the doorbell, then pulled her phone out, texting Daniel that she was at the front door. A moment passed as she waited, listening for the creak of footsteps on the other side of the door. She leaned out over the railing, trying to see around the side of the house to the front driveway -- she couldn't remember if a car had been parked there.
She stepped back when the door opened, her eyes taking a moment to adjust to the shadowed interior of the house. Daniel stood expressionless before her, dark circles under his eyes. Behind him, the living room stood empty; it was hard to imagine the house without his father's larger-than-life presence, with his warmth and razor-sharp sense of humor. The house seemed...diminished, somehow, knowing he was gone. It seemed impossible, something too big to grasp, as if it wasn't real.
I wonder when they got the news, she wondered disjointedly, studying his face.
He was measured and controlled, his voice carefully even, "Now's not a good time, Nikki."
"I just got the news," she said, her voice breaking on the last word, "I'm so sorry."
He nodded, his expression unchanging, "Thank you. I should get back."
She studied him, startled when he began to step back into the house. Unthinkingly, instinctively not trusting his calm, she grabbed his shirt, pulling him back toward her. He resisted, but she didn't let go; she knew he was stronger, by far -- that he could probably drag her across the room if he wanted to. But he stopped. They stood poised, momentarily in stasis, her arms starting to quiver against the backward pull. His brow furrowed slightly, something in his expression softening as his resistance lessened. She didn't release his shirt.
"Your nose is bleeding."
"Your dad is dead."
His jaw clenched, lips tightening to hide a slight tremble. He glanced back over his shoulder into the still, quiet house. She had the distinct impression that it was listening, quietly absorbing their conversation. She stepped back, still clutching his shirt as he stepped forward, pulling the door closed behind him.
"Nikki..." he started.
She finally let his shirt go, sliding her hands up to his cheeks, "I'm so sorry, Dan. He was always so sweet to me; more my father than my real father."
He shook his head, trying to continue his thought, "Nikki..." his voice sounded ragged, his calm cracking.
She pulled his head down until their foreheads were touching, his skin feeling cool as his hands rose to her shoulders, his grip almost bruising, giving the lie to his surface calm.
He took a shaky breath, shaking his head, rolling it against hers where they touched, "I don't know what to do," he whispered brokenly.
She tilted her head back, their lips touching, tentatively at first, then molding together with sudden need. She tasted blood and salt as she realized he was crying silently; they both were. She pulled his head into the space between her neck and shoulder, feeling his shoulders shaking.
"It's okay, I'm here. We're together," she murmured into his ear as he broke down and wept. They sank to their knees, wrapped in each other's arms on the deck by the front door.
"Shh, I've got you," she murmured, "I'm not going anywhere," she said, his arms tightening around her as he wept, his guard finally dropping.
"I promise," she said.
That was the only time I ever saw him visibly grieve, she thought. Even at the funeral, he was stoic...like his mother.
She sighed, suddenly finding her throat tight at the memory.
I wonder if, even then, I'd already decided...
Nicolette was pulled from her reverie when a family of three entered the restaurant. They were dressed lightly, clearly expecting warmer weather, which probably explained the pale, shivery aspect they had about them. She smiled welcomingly, but couldn’t help the rueful amusement she felt at their expense; for some reason, out of towners never quite seemed to understand that there was a world of difference between the Northern California coast and a clip from 90210. She felt especially bad for the little dark haired boy in shorts and flip flops trailing sullenly after his parents. She won
dered if the poor kid had tried to wade out into the ocean -- if so, he was probably a very unhappy little puppy, she thought pityingly, though her pity was mitigated by the trail of sand that followed him into the restaurant.
Came straight from the beach, did you? Guess who’s going to be cleaning that up when the shift ends?
She checked the seating chart, then led the family into Brian’s section, suppressing a snarl as she heard the pen clatter to the floor behind her. Point to you, Mr. Marker, point to you.
She waited for them to seat themselves before handing out the menus.
“Can I get you started with something to drink? Some hot tea maybe?”
She smiled at the sulky, shivery boy, adding “Or maybe some hot chocolate?”
She was rewarded with a shy smile and an affirming nod from his mother.
As she turned away, he hastily asked, “Does the fog ever go away?” with an air of rapidly gathered courage.
She exchanged a knowing grin with his mother, a tall blonde with brown eyes, wearing a flowery blouse and loose white slacks more appropriate for a coastal Mexican resort than a Half Moon Bay evening. “I have no idea -- I’ve only lived here seventeen years. If it changes, I’ll give you a call.”
They dutifully chuckled -- it had been brilliantly sunny and warm that afternoon, though the ocean was probably uncomfortably cold for anyone without a wetsuit.
Nicolette paused by the bar to put in their drink order with Chris, the bartender, then returned to the podium to find the dry erase marker that had made a break for it, intent on taking it back into custody.
Five minutes later found her bent over, trying to jam her hand between two long planters filled with snake plants. How the stupid marker had managed to get itself into that tight little slot behind the podium was a mystery, but she steadfastly refused to let its recalcitrance have the last word. She could just feel the marker with the tips of her fingers as they grazed its slick, plastic surface. She heard the door open behind her as a group of customers arrived. Her heart sank as she realized her hand and arm were momentarily wedged between the planters. She couldn’t help imagining the view she was presenting to what was probably the largest group she’d had in the latter half of her shift and felt her cheeks heating as she tugged her arm in a desperate attempt to get it unwedged.
She sighed inwardly, And thus, balance is restored to the universe.
Daniel stood on the sidewalk outside of Harry’s, watching Dane and Shelly approach. They had all left the Cobra room at the same time, but he and Tommy had arrived well before Dane and Shelly. Tommy stood next to Daniel, silently eyeing the somnolent street. It was nearly half past nine -- almost closing time for the kitchen at Harry’s. It had taken Shelly almost twenty minutes to put in an appearance with the California T after he had texted Dane. While it was undeniably true that she loved driving the Ferrari, she drove it knowing she was responsible for a quarter million dollars worth of someone else’s car, which is to say, infuriatingly below the speed limit and oblivious to traffic that backed up behind her. Daniel could never figure out how Dane tolerated being a passenger in his own car with Shelly at the wheel, but as he and Shelly joined them, he seemed at ease as he walked with Shelly’s hand resting on his forearm.
Shelly pulled away from Dane and hugged Daniel warmly in greeting. He briefly enfolded her in his arms, once again surprised how slight she was. She was probably just under 5’ 2”, with wavy blonde hair and the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. She stepped back, her pleased smile highlighting the dimples of her heart-shaped face.
“Hey big guy. Dane mentioned you broke up with Carla!”
Daniel, annoyed that people would gossip about him, found that he couldn’t sustain his irritation at her effusive good cheer and genuine sympathy, “Yeah, I think we both hit the wall--“
“Literally,” Tommy mumbled sotto voce.
Daniel pointedly ignored him, “--and decided there was nothing left for us in the relationship. We still talk a little bit, but...”
He shrugged as he trailed off.
Shelly nodded sympathetically, but seemed to sense that he didn’t want to talk about it as she transferred her smile to Tommy, “Heya, T! How are you?”
While Shelly was normally more comfortable with a hug than a handshake, there had always been a standoffishness about Tommy which even Shelly could rarely comfortably bridge. He grinned back, then dipped his head in her direction before executing a mock bow. With a pleased giggle, she curtseyed in return then retreated back to Dane, hooking her hand back onto his arm. As if that was their signal, they all turned toward Harry’s and made their way to the entrance. Daniel hurried his steps so he could open the door for them. Tommy and Dane held back while Shelly stepped into the restaurant first.
Daniel smiled with amusement as she unconsciously raised her chin and threw her shoulders back, making an entrance ahead of them.
She’s establishing a beachhead for the rest of us, he thought, amused at the juxtaposition of imagery from his military service with 5’ 2” Shelly in heels with Dane’s jacket draped over her shoulders.
They crossed the simulated hardwood floor of the waiting area to the podium where they were greeted by the hostess’ rear end thrust into the air, her arm jammed between rectangular planters filled with snake plants. Daniel felt a moment of amused sympathy for her as he wondered whether she realized her black cocktail dress was almost transparent where it stretched over her hips. He briefly debated shrugging out of his jacket and throwing it over her in an attempt to preserve her modesty, but the ensuing mental image was so absurd, he wondered if he might still be a little buzzed.
Shelly cleared her throat and started to ask if the hostess was okay, but with a final grunt the hostess managed to pull her arm free, holding a black dry erase marker clenched in her fist. Despite her obvious blush of embarrassment (Yup, Daniel thought sympathetically, she knows) she radiated primal satisfaction as she straightened up, avoiding their gaze. She dropped the marker back into its proper place, then pulled several menus from the side of the podium. She turned, putting on her best professional smile despite her obvious blush and the awkwardness of the situation, “Welcome to Harry’s! Party of...?”
Her eyes widened as they met Daniel's, her practiced greeting sputtering to a halt as she unconsciously hugged the menus protectively to her chest. She stumbled back a half step and fell off her heel. Nicolette grabbed at the podium as she fell, the menus dropping to the ground as she uttered a breathless little shriek. Instinctively, Daniel lunged forward, roughly knocking Dane out to the way, grabbing at her but unable to reach her before she banged her knee painfully on the planter and half collapsed, right hip first into the line of snake plants. Distantly, her mind registered the painful jabs of several of the crushed plants into her backside, but her mind was too stunned to pay them much heed (or the spreading dampness soaking through her sheer dress from the damp soil in the planter). Time dilated as all other senses and distractions momentarily faded into the background while they studied each other.
She sat, making no effort to extricate herself from the planter, stunned, her mind frozen. She knew this encounter was bound to happen; she had suspected it would happen sooner rather than later. But so soon... She never would have guessed he would have walked into her work in the middle of her shift. She was paralyzed, eyes wide, suddenly finding breathing difficult, her thoughts spinning in crazy circles.
He’s taller than I remember, she thought, and he’s gotten broader in the shoulders. Such sad eyes he has now!
She stared at him, drinking in the details, taking in his lean angular face, saved from being elfin by his strong chin. He’s cut his hair, she observed, remembering how he used to be embarrassed by his wide forehead. He’d always complained that it made his eyes seem narrow, as if he was perpetually squinting in bright sunlight, hiding the rich brown shade of his eyes. His five-o’clock shadow softened the lines of his face, filling in some of the angles. She was aware
that he was more fit and muscular than she remembered, his shoulders filling out the worn, brown leather jacket he was wearing, the definition of his chest evident though the simple grey t-shirt he wore.
What happened to his hand?, she wondered in bewilderment as she noted he was missing most of his left pinkie and the top joint of his left ring finger (her mind noted that he wasn’t wearing a wedding band -- or any jewelry at all). She felt tears sting her eyes as she wondered what kind of terrible accident would leave his hand so scarred and injured.
My God, he’s beautiful, she thought, suddenly filled with longing.
Daniel stared, his mind frozen in a state of shock, paralyzed and unable to think or speak. He had often fantasized what this encounter would be like, but now that he was faced with her, all the things he’d imagined, all the words he’d practiced over the years completely fled his mind.
He studied her, heart hammering in his chest. He found himself staring at her face, unconsciously memorizing the details, still not completely convinced this wasn’t all too much alcohol mixing with leftover emotion from Carla’s departure to create this delusion.
Her eyes were darker than he remembered, striking when contrasted with her honey-blonde hair. Her eyebrows were thinner, more expertly shaped than he remembered, making her eyes seem more expressive -- though he noted a white, triangular scar running through her left eyebrow, pointing toward her hairline. Though it broke the symmetry of her features, it seemed to enhance the overall symmetry rather detract from it. His eyes followed the lines of her face, tracing her elfin chin and strong cheekbones, the lines turning almost straight to her hairline. He knew she had dimples when she smiled, but they weren’t in evidence as she stared back at him, breathing deeply with shock.
He had never expected to see her again, but here she was, dressed in a form-hugging stretchy black cocktail dress with a simple but elegant black cardigan. He was aware of her athletic figure, the hint of cleavage revealed by her dress’ décolletage. His eyes fell on the double loop of her necklace; St. Jude he recognized on the longer loop pointing downward, but the other pendant on the tighter loop -- a triangle perfectly contained in a circle -- wasn’t familiar. He noted the tattoo -- the black lines of a rosary -- on her wrist where it peeked from beneath the sleeve of her top.
Probably ending in a cross, he thought, his thoughts confused and jumbled. His eyes immediately tracked to her left hand, noting the iodized coil of wires on her ring finger.
She’s still wearing it, he thought numbly.
Indignant, frustrated rage swept through him. He had worked so hard to get her out of his mind -- he’d joined the Army for Pete’s sake! -- to accept that she had left Half Moon Bay and wasn’t coming back. Finding any sense of equilibrium after her abandonment had nearly killed him. He snarled as she plowed through his hard-won balance like a child kicking over a sand castle.
He struggled with the sudden urge to grab her hand and forcibly take the ring back. As if sensing his rage and pain, her eyes filled with tears.
“Daniel...” she murmured.
Her voice broke his stasis as time undilated, slowly uncoiling to return to its normal flow. He stepped forward and extended his hand, offering her assistance from her awkward seat in the planter of murdered snake plants. She hesitated before accepting the offered hand, her cool skin on his palm sending an electric tingle racing through his body, starting where her fingertips rested on his wrist. A detached part of his mind wondered if she felt it too as her eyes widened in surprise. Dazed, he pulled her gently to her feet, allowing her to use his hand and arm for support until she found her own balance. As soon as she looked stable, he snatched his hand back, shocked to find himself almost blinded by tears. He turned, intending to bail from the restaurant, hoping to preserve at least a little of his dignity.
She reached after him, “Daniel...”
He spun around as her fingertips landed on his biceps, tearing his arm from her grasp as he raised his fist to gesture emphatically at her with a forefinger pointed at her chin. He didn’t raise his voice, but the sudden silence that had fallen over the restaurant made his strangled growl into a shout, “Nikki -- you can go straight to Hell!”
Later, when he calmed down and replayed the memory with a mixture of anger and shame, he realized that she hadn't flinched back from his anger -- she hadn't even blinked, her eyes never leaving his, filled with sadness and hurt as her hand dropped to her side. Later he would be surprised when he found how much her pain disturbed him.
She shook her head, her voice tight with emotion as she quietly spoke into the silence, “Daniel...I’m...”
But he never heard the rest as he spun again, stalking toward the front of the restaurant, throwing his weight against the front door. It slammed open, then rebounded forcefully, the window in the upper half of the door shattering into myriad tiny sparkling cubes of tinted safety glass.
She stared at the safety glass scattered over the lobby floor, aware that her hands were shaking. Slowly conversation began to reestablish itself in the restaurant behind her as she became aware of her surroundings once again.
Guess who’s going to be cleaning that up?, she thought, then unceremoniously burst into tears as her earlier wry thought returned: And thus, balance is really restored to the universe.