Nick

22

The following weeks were the most singular of my life. I woke up with Annabelle in the morning and fell asleep curled up around her at night. It was the safest I had felt since I was a child, before my family fell apart. I tried not to dwell on a month passing so swiftly, assuring myself that we would start to get sick of each other before the three months were up. Right.

It was Annabelle who convinced me to let in the light. She drew open all the drapes in my house, letting the warm March sunshine in. I don’t think I imagined the lift in the spirits of Jackson, Lupita, and Juan at this abrupt change. Either the light made them happy, or possibly, the haze of happy I was looking at them through made them seem happier, or perhaps it was a bit of both.

Annabelle was like having an exotic being from another dimension around. She saw things I missed like the way a hawk rode the thermals over the construction site for Lexi’s development or how the leaves in the trees turned upside down before a rain.

She sat completely still on a chair in the backyard for hours, watching the birds interact, and then she made up voices and conversations for them. My favorite was a big black cowbird that she called “the Masshole,” a mash-up of Massachusetts and asshole, and she voiced him with a thick Boston accent, saying things like, “The grub heah’s a wicked pissa.”

I’m not sure at what point I became one hundred percent smitten with her. It might have been when she voiced the birds, or maybe it was the night after I’d made love to her, twice, that she announced she needed pancakes right then and there or she was going to perish. I’d obviously lost brain cells during the orgasm portion of the evening, proving once again her theory that orgasms made you stupid, because instead of refusing I said, “Okay.”

I never left my house at night. Hell, for the previous nine months I had practically never left my house at all. This was madness.

But Annabelle didn’t live within the tight boundaries of my very narrow comfort zone. She was new to Phoenix, and she wanted to do all the things and experience every nook and cranny of life in the Southwest.

Over the past few weeks, she’d dragged me and Jackson to the Phoenix Art Museum, the Heard Museum, the Desert Botanical Gardens, and we’d even toured Tovrea Castle. When I say toured, what I mean is I found a quiet place to sit while they walked through the various places. If Annabelle resented that I didn’t participate fully, she never said so. I was doing my best to meet her halfway but I’d be lying if I said I enjoyed it.

The truth was that leaving the safety of my house was torture. I think she believed that if I kept doing it, it would get easier, but it didn’t. The anxiety and panic bubbled just beneath the surface, and I didn’t draw a full breath until we were back home. With any other woman, I would have just said no, but I found that being with Annabelle overruled my need to stay within the cocoon of my safe space. As for tonight, at least a midnight pancake run wouldn’t take long and I’d be sitting down, and so it was that I found myself in the passenger seat while she drove us to the neighborhood Denny’s.

“I miss diners,” she said. “There just aren’t that many diners in Phoenix. Back East, every town has two or three diners usually in those weird, silver tube-like buildings, you know, so you feel like you’re eating in an old railroad car. The coffee is hot, the food is plentiful, and the grease is thick enough to write your name in.”

“That may be true,” I said. It was true. There really weren’t that many authentic diners in Phoenix. “But we do have Mel’s Diner from the show Alice.”

“No, suh,” she said in full Boston mode.

“Yes, suh,” I countered. “It’s over on Grand Avenue, but it’s only breakfast and lunch. We should go sometime.” I couldn’t believe I’d just said that.

The smile she sent me about stopped my heart. “I’d love that!”

Of course she would.

We parked at the Denny’s and walked in. The place was hopping for one o’clock in the morning, and as I glanced around the restaurant, I felt woefully underdressed.

“Did we crash a party?” I asked.

“No, sugar, we always come here after a show.” A deep voice spoke from behind me. I turned to find a very tall black man, dressed in a glorious blond wig and a gold lamé dress, with full makeup and in heels. While I gaped and pretended not to, Annabelle extended her hand and said, “Hi, are you a performer?”

“Phoenix’s finest female impersonator, at your service.” He curtsied and then struck a sexy pose. “Did you recognize me?”

“No, I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m new in town.”

“You’re forgiven then, cutie,” he said. He batted his long purple eyelashes at her. “I’m ManDee. You can catch me at Club Twenty-One every Friday at nine thirty.”

“I’ll definitely check it out,” she promised.

“Bring this handsome fella with you, too.” ManDee winked at me and sauntered away as if the industrial flooring beneath his enormous high-heeled feet were the red carpet.

Annabelle and I watched him for a moment and she said, “I sure wish I could walk like that.”

I glanced down at her, noting that she still wore the afterglow of our evening’s activities, and I felt a ridiculous burst of pride that I’d given her that sleepy-eyed sated look.

“If you walked into a room like that, I’d probably keel over dead of a heart attack,” I said. She laughed but I’d only been partly kidding.

We ordered piles of pancakes, eggs, bacon, and orange juice to wash it all down. Annabelle kept up with me in the food department, and I started to look forward to going home so we could work it all off.

We were slumped in our seats on either side of the booth, waiting for the waitress to bring the check, when I happened to glance out the window. The usual midnight fare of drunks, hipsters, and dates that didn’t want to end filled the area, but amid all of that, I still saw them.

I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand on end as I watched the family drama play out in the parking lot. A feeling of déjà vu hit me so hard, I couldn’t breathe.

The man appeared strung out, and the woman was crying. The children—oh god, the children—a boy standing beside his mother, visibly trying not to cry, and a baby in the mother’s arms, fussing because she looked exhausted. I watched as the husband threw his hands in the air and started to walk away. The mother shoved the baby into the boy’s arms and ran after the man. I watched the boy comfort his baby sister, looking scared, lost, and confused. I thought I might throw up.

“Nick, are you all right?” Annabelle reached across the table and patted my hand. I realized she’d been speaking but I’d missed it.

“Yeah, come on,” I said. I slid out of the booth, and with a surprised look, she followed. I grabbed our waitress on the way out and shoved a fistful of bills at her. “Will that cover it?”

“More than,” she said. She went to hand me back a twenty but I shook her off.

“Keep it.”

Her eyes went wide. “Thank you!”

I barely heard her as I was already shoving my way out the door, past the line of people trying to get in.

“Nick, wait, what’s going on?” Annabelle asked from behind me. “Are you all right? Do you feel okay? Should I call Jackson?”

“I’m fine,” I said. The night air was chilly and not appropriate for two little kids to be out in. I strode across the parking lot. The husband was gone and the mother was coming back to her children. She was crying but she opened her arms and they clambered into the safety of her embrace. I felt the panic inside me ease, just a little.

“Hi,” I called out to her. Her eyes went wide and she looked in both directions as if searching for an escape. She started to pull her children in the direction of the bus stop. “Wait. You look like you could use some help. Can I help you?”

“No, we’re fine,” she said. Her voice shook. “Go away. Leave us alone.”

It was clear. She was terrified. She probably thought I was social services, coming to take her kids.

“Do you have a safe place to sleep tonight?” Annabelle asked as she stepped up beside me.

The woman ignored her and continued to pull the boy, still holding the baby, away. He wasn’t having it. He locked his legs and said, “Mom, wait.”

“Not now, Elijah,” his mother hissed. “Abigail needs—”

“Daddy’s gone and we have no place to go,” Elijah interrupted. His voice was wobbly, and he sounded so very tired. “Please just listen to him.”

My throat got tight. I knew this boy. I’d been this boy. I swallowed hard, blinked twice, and forced a gentle smile.

“Have you heard of the Sunshine House?” I asked.

The woman stopped pulling her son and nodded. “They help women and children . . .”

“When their spouse or parent has an addiction problem,” I said. I reached into my pocket for my wallet and she flinched. “I’m just going to get my card.”

Thank goodness I had one on me. I didn’t do outreach; in fact, I didn’t do anything with the Sunshine House except read their monthly report and cut them a check accordingly. I held it out to her. She looked from it to me to Annabelle, then she snatched it as if afraid I was using it to trap her. She looked at it and then me. Her gaze was suspicious. “You work for them?”

“Yes,” I said. I wasn’t about to explain that I was just the money behind the program. I felt Annabelle staring at me, but I kept my gaze on the woman. “We can help you. We’ll find you housing and get you some job training and child care. You don’t have to be trapped in this.”

She shook her head as if I were as dumb as a brick. “Don’t I? We were kicked out of our apartment yesterday. All this time I thought my husband was working, but it turns out he lost his job two months ago and he’s just been sitting in a bar every day, drinking. Everything we had, everything we worked so hard for, he just drank it all away.”

She broke down then, sobbing. I thought again that I might be ill. It was too much. I glanced at the boy. Tears were coursing down his cheeks. He was me. I’d lived his life, but I’d be damned if I’d walk away and leave him to live mine.

“What’s your name?” Annabelle asked with a gentleness that wouldn’t even cause a ripple on still water.

“Emily,” the woman choked out through her sobs. It broke me.

“See that hotel, Emily?” I asked. I pointed to a standard businessman’s travel hotel across the street. “We’re going to get you set up there for the night or for however long it takes for the Sunshine House to find you something more permanent. Would that be all right?”

She sobbed some more then she gave me a suspicious look. “Why? Why would you help me?”

I glanced down at Elijah, who was openly crying in relief as he pressed his cheek to the top of his baby sister’s head.

“Because I’ve lived your life. I’ve walked in your shoes,” I said. She gave me a doubtful look, and I pushed aside my usual reluctance to talk about my past. I knew Annabelle was listening, and I didn’t even have the capacity to feel the usual shame I harbored about my childhood. It was nothing compared to the moral imperative I felt to get this family to safety.

“When I was his age.” I jutted my chin in Elijah’s direction. “My parents were junkies, and they abandoned me and my sister, leaving us to fend for ourselves most days. I was homeless, scared, hungry, because my parents were more interested in their next fix than they were in being parents. I was completely alone and there was no one reaching out to help me or my baby sister.”

I paused to shove aside all the memories that were so thick, they were suffocating me. “I’m telling you, you can climb out of it, but you’re going to have to be very brave. Can you do that, Emily? Can you do that for them?” I asked.

That got through. Emily glanced at her children and nodded. Annabelle stepped forward, herding the mother and her children to the crosswalk. I brought up the rear, hoping my body didn’t decide that this was the perfect moment to collapse like a wet noodle. I didn’t have Jackson. I didn’t have my wheelchair. I started to feel the panic rise. Instead of dwelling on it, I stared at Elijah, still carrying his baby sister. I would not fail him. Not now.

The hotel associate was happy to take my card and keep it open. We walked the family of three to their small suite, and I scrawled my personal number on the back of the Sunshine House card and told Emily and Elijah to call me if they needed anything. Meanwhile, Annabelle managed to finagle the kitchen into sending some food up to their room.

When they were all safe and sound, Annabelle and I left them to rest. We were walking to the bank of elevators when Elijah came tearing out of their room. My first thought was that something bad had happened and I started forward, prepared to call an ambulance, but that wasn’t it.

Elijah threw himself at me with all the strength in his scrawny little boy body. He wrapped his arms about my waist and buried his face against my shirt. Sobs wracked his frame, and I reflexively hugged him close while making soothing sounds, just like I used to do with Lexi when our parents were out getting stoned, leaving us home alone, hungry and terrified.

“Thank you,” Elijah said. He lifted his face to look at me. His brown eyes glistened with tears, and the tip of his nose was pink. “Thank you for saving us.”

My heart cracked in two right then and there. As fast as he’d arrived, he turned and ran back to their room, slamming the door behind him. It was too much. I was gutted. I leaned against the wall, feeling the shock waves of the evening ripple through me. My breath was shaky, my heart was pumping hard, and I could feel the tingles start in my fingers and toes. Wouldn’t it just be fitting to stroke out on Annabelle right here, right now?

“Nick, are you all right?” she asked. “You look pale.”

“I’m fine,” I lied. “Let’s get out of here.”

I wasn’t fine. As we crossed the street, I felt the entire left side of my entire body give out. One minute I was walking, and the next, my leg couldn’t support me, I felt like my heart was going to explode out of my chest, and I was going down.

“Nick!” Annabelle screamed, and reached for me.

But the pavement got me first, and my face bounced off the hard ground like a cantaloupe.

---

I woke up, lying on the curb with Annabelle and, improbably, ManDee crouched over me.

“Ambulance is on its way, pumpkin, don’t you worry,” ManDee said. He patted my arm. “I saw you from the window, and I thought, What the hell is wrong with that guy? And the next thing I knew, you went down, right in the road. I ran over to help your girlfriend get you up on the curb.” He fanned himself with a prettily manicured hand, sporting several very large rings. “I think you scared a year off me.”

I could hear a siren increasing in volume and assumed it was for me. I glanced at Annabelle. Her eyes were enormous in her face. She was shaking. I wanted to comfort her and assure her that I was fine. I fully expected not to be able to find the words or to be able to speak them, but aside from the thumping pain of my forehead, I found I could speak.

“What happened?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “One minute you were beside me and the next you went down hard. Oh, Nick, I—”

Whatever she was about to say was cut off by the arrival of the ambulance. Damn it. I would have given a lot to hear what she had to say.

ManDee and Annabelle made room for the paramedics. When I realized I hadn’t had a stroke and could, in fact, move all of my limbs, I let them look me over but refused to go to the hospital. I wasn’t going to take a bed from someone who needed it because I’d had a fainting spell and bumped my noggin, for fuck’s sake.

The EMT who checked my vitals let it be known that he didn’t approve of my decision and said, “You lost consciousness when you hit your head. You really should go to the hospital.”

“No.” I shook him off.

The guy looked annoyed but resigned. He cracked a cold pack to activate it and handed it to me to hold on my forehead. He glanced at Annabelle, who was standing behind me, and spoke loud enough for her to hear. “You need to watch for a headache, ringing in the ears, vomiting, nausea, fatigue, blurry vision, and if you go to sleep, have someone wake you up every few hours to check that your pupils aren’t dilated.”

“Got it.” I’d say anything for them to go away so I could go home. Cars slowed down to see what was happening, pedestrians paused while walking by. It was a nightmare.

“You need to follow up with your regular doctor. From what you’ve described, I think you had a massive panic attack and hyperventilated.”

“Panic attack?” I asked. I knew I frequently got stressed and anxious about having another stroke, but this seemed like a new level.

“They can be pretty dramatic,” he said. “You probably felt weak like you were going to faint but you wouldn’t have. Fainting rarely happens during panic or anxiety.” I glared at him. Did he really have to keep saying that? “You did manage to knock yourself out on the pavement, though, and you really should have that checked out.”

“That” was a bump the size of an egg on my forehead. I promised that I would. He clearly didn’t believe me as he glanced at Annabelle to confirm that she’d heard him. She nodded and gave me a steely-eyed stare that let me know she wasn’t going to let me off as easily as he did.

ManDee left us when the ambulance took off, clearly appreciating that the show was over. Annabelle drove me home. We were silent for most of the ride with me reclined in the passenger seat and holding the cold pack on my head.

I was caught between feeling terrible that I’d clearly frightened her and horribly embarrassed that I’d had a panic attack. A freaking panic attack. What Jackson and Dr. Henry had gamely called post-traumatic stress, which I had rejected, really was just me having a huge freak-out. They were right. I was a head case. This was not my finest hour.

Annabelle parked in front of the house, and I’d never been so grateful to be home in my life. As if by stepping over the threshold, I could leave this vulnerable version of myself behind.

“You don’t have to stay,” I said. I climbed the steps, pulling out my keys. “I’m fine.”

I didn’t want her to lose sleep waking up every few hours to check on me. Also, there was a part of me that was certain she must see me differently now. She’d learned more about my past than I’d ever planned to tell her, she’d found out about the Sunshine House, and she’d witnessed me having a complete and total nervous breakdown, culminating in knocking myself out. I’d never felt like such a complete loser in my entire life.

That was the moment that I knew that this crazy thing between us was done. It had run its course and we hadn’t even hit the three-month mark. But there was no way I was going to keep her tied to me, a broken guy with mental issues, when she deserved so much more. I turned to face her.

“Go home, Annabelle,” I said. I felt ridiculous, like a kid yelling at a stray puppy to stop following him, but I did it anyway for her sake. “I don’t need you to look after me. I’ve got this.”

“Shh,” she shushed me. “Don’t be an idiot. And you have exactly two choices here, I can stay with you and check on you every few hours or I can call Jackson, tell him what happened, and we’ll put you back in that car and go to the hospital.”

The fierce light in her eye told me she was not playing. Okay, then. I’d let her tuck me in, which was galling, but then she was out of here.

I unlocked the door and we slipped into the house in full stealth mode, not wanting to wake anyone up. That lasted all of three seconds when the moonlight caught Annabelle’s delicate profile, and the longing for her, to be inside her, hit me so low and deep, I couldn’t think of anything else.

She turned to walk to my bedroom, but I grabbed her hand and tugged her into my embrace, then I brought her down to the floor, surprising even me. I was so not an impetuous guy when it came to women, but Annabelle was different. She let out a startled gasp, and I braced for her to push me away. Naturally, she flipped the script, and pulled off her dress in one sweeping motion, leaving herself mostly naked beneath me.

“Are you sure?” she whispered.

“Positive.” Since this would be our last night together, I planned to commit every inch of her to memory.

Without even a pause, she unsnapped my jeans and drew the zipper down. She shoved them aside until they rode low on my hips, setting my dick free. It jutted forward, obviously seeking its favorite place in the known universe, and Annabelle accommodated by pushing aside her underwear and then she looped her legs around my waist and pulled me deep inside her. Fucking bliss.

I drove into her, again and again, as if in the euphoria of her, I could obliterate the fact that after tonight, I was letting her go. She made hot sexy noises in her throat that drove me right to the edge and then she whispered in my ear, “I love you, Nick. I love you.”

I was undone.