Simon was standing just outside of the customs checkpoint staring at his iPhone when Julia rolled her bags out. He looked up suddenly as she moved toward him and shook his head, half-concealing a grin. Then he slid his phone in his jacket pocket and walked down the corridor toward her, his grin growing wider by the moment. She stopped and they embraced. Simon. Her fiancé. The handsome salt-and-pepper, leather jacket, British chap she was going to start a family with, spend the rest of her life with. She longed to breathe in the scent of him, but when she inhaled all she could smell was cigarette smoke and stale coffee and gasoline and airport air, and the combination turned her stomach a little.
She pulled back and he lifted up her chin.
“You okay, love? You look a little green.”
“I think so.” She nodded. “I just need some fresh air.”
“Come on, my little magnolia blossom,” he said with a chuckle, then he took her bags and led her toward the taxi queue at the far end of the airport by the baggage claim area. “You’re going to love this city, Julia.” He was gesturing with his free arm. “It’s one of my favorites. I’ve got a reservation for dinner tonight at the castle quarter on the very top of the west bank. We’ll have a fantastic view of the city and the Danube. Oh, and tomorrow we can go to one of the thermal baths or the spa. You don’t have to check in at the university until Monday, right?”
“Right.” She was concentrating on the front door, but her eyes kept glazing over. She really did need some fresh air.
“Well, we’ll have a romantic weekend then,” he continued. “And you can tell me all about your trip to the backwoods.” She took a deep breath. She hated to say it, but she just wanted him to be quiet for a moment. He grinned down at her and winked. “You’re crazy, you know that? Absolutely crazy.” He shook his head and she blinked and tried to steady herself. Her hands felt clammy and the airport seemed unusually warm. “But charitable,” he continued. “I suppose I can’t fault you for that.”
JULIA PEELED OFF HER JACKET WHEN THEY GOT IN the cab. Simon was busy pointing out the sites as they bumped along the crowded streets—the State Opera House, Mathias Church, Heroes Square flanked by the Fine Arts Museum and the Mucsarnok Art Gallery. As they crossed over the picturesque Chain Bridge, which spanned the Danube River linking Pest to Buda, she saw stars and felt like she might faint. So she rolled down her window and took long, deep breaths as he pointed out the promenade and the massive Parliament Building, which even in her green and fuzzy state she had to admit was truly grand with its Gothic Revival spires, symmetrical façade, and enormous central dome, its mighty image reflected in the river.
She was staying at the foot of the Buda Hills in the green belt of Budapest at the Congress Center where the Hungarian University of Fine Arts had a few studio apartments for visiting faculty and Fulbright scholars. The inside of the Center looked promisingly modern with mirrored walls and a well-suited doorman, ornate cap and gold-trimmed jacket and all, but the heat hit her immediately as the doorman confessed, “The air condishun is under restoration.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pressed black pants and nodded. “To be fix afternoon.”
Julia felt so tired she thought she might collapse right there. She thought she had slept pretty well on the flight, but she seemed weary to the bone in addition to feeling queasier by the moment. Simon and the doorman divided her bags and settled her in her room on the eighth floor where she was shocked to have a view of the river and the Parliament building. Then the men went around attempting to open the windows, most of which seemed sealed or stuck closed. They managed to get one open near the futon and she plunked down there and closed her eyes.
“I’m going to let you rest, all right?” Simon said. “I’ve got an appointment with another art dealer in Pest who has a well-heeled client, a parliament member, who wants to commission Hockney for a piece. I’ll be back at seven to pick you up for dinner. Call me in the meantime if you need anything, love.”
She fanned herself and nodded. He pecked her on the cheek and left, and she fell into a fitful sleep that must have incorporated the honking cars below and the foreign city—new to her—into her dreams. She woke in a cold sweat and could only remember bits and pieces of her imaginings: walking across a bridge, chasing a man who grew smaller by the moment. She thought it might be Jed or Simon, but when he turned around she saw it was her father back in his prime without the gray or the shuffle or the potbelly, and she stopped in her tracks as he stared at her, the cars and taxis flying by them, the river spinning below them. She could remember two feelings. One of which was to run into his arms. The other of which was to run away, head in the opposite direction back to the bank. She had wanted him to give her some indication of which he’d prefer, but just as he started to move his arms as if to open them, a car came up behind him honking and barreling in his direction, and she opened her eyes.
She sat up in bed. The sun was setting. Simon would arrive in less than two hours—she had managed a long rest and seemed to feel a little better as the apartment cooled down. She unpacked her bags, putting her clothes in drawers, setting up her laptop, her few files, her camera. There were two boxes in the closet, which she had ordered. They had a few small canvases and paints and brushes.
After a shower and a debate over what to wear—she decided on a gray linen sundress and a gauzy, pale green wrap—she put on a little lipstick and was not surprised to hear him, right on time, rapping on her door.
She stood up from the vanity, feeling a little dizzy, caught her breath, and opened the door.
He was freshly shaved and in a new tweed jacket and polished cognac loafers he must have bought over the last few weeks, smelling like some sort of expensive European cologne.
She made a step toward him and before she realized it, she was sick, and she lost her airport dinner—with immense violence—all over his new shoes.
“That’s romantic.” He stepped back as she leaned against the open door and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“I’m sorry,” she said as he scooted back in the apartment and went to wipe off his loafers. “There was this stomach bug going around Edisto, and I must have gotten it.”
She felt her stomach flip-flop again, and she raced toward the bathroom, shoving him out of the way.
“So I’m guessing dinner at the castle is canceled?”
She coughed and pulled herself up from the green tiled floor. “I’m sorry, Simon. This is probably going to last twenty-four hours.”
He grimaced and nodded solemnly. “All right, then. What can I get you? Want me to track down some ginger ale or tonic water?”
She felt so awful she lay right down on the floor. “Why don’t you go have a nice meal? I hate for you to spoil the reservation. Just bring me home some bread and some sort of soft drink afterward.”
“All right,” he said. “I will.”
He squatted down and squeezed her shoulder. “Call me if you need anything.”
“I will,” she said. And after a few more trips to the bathroom, she drifted into a very deep sleep, so deep that she didn’t stir when he came back and left three sodas and a baguette in the little studio kitchen.
THE WEEKEND DID NOT TURN OUT TO BE ROMANTIC AT all. After Julia recovered, Simon went down with the bug, and he left for the airport looking very green on Monday afternoon.
“Call you when I get to New York,” he said.
“Good luck on the flight.”
He embraced her hard. “I love you,” he said.
It wasn’t something he said very often, and she noticed that he was staring at her with a great intensity that could have been caused by the sickness or perhaps something more. He lifted up her left hand and held the sapphire to the sunlight.
“Five more months and it will be official.”
She smiled and nodded, feeling strangely separate and distant—from him, from the wedding, from New York, from everything.
“You’re okay, aren’t you, Julia? Nothing has changed, right?”
She nodded firmly as the taxi honked from the sidewalk. “Yeah, I am.” She swallowed hard and felt her ears pop. She hoped she was all right.
He embraced her again and turned toward the cab. “Paint like crazy,” he said. “I can’t wait to see what you come up with.”
She crossed her arms and smiled at him as the driver clicked the door shut. Then she turned and walked back into the building. She had a lecture on postmodern American art at the university in three hours, and she needed to go over her notes.