Just A Woman (Marina: Part Two: Naughty Nookie Series) (3 page)

Talk about the
story of my life.

“His silence is
unusual, Marina.  You’re lucky the doctors haven’t sent him up for a psych
evaluation.”

God, if anyone
needs the psych evaluation it’s me!  Nate’s the most rational and logical
man I know. 

I snort at the
idea of him needing to see a counselor.  He told me once, that when he
lost half his forearm after his ‘stay’ in Somalia, his medical team tried to
make him see a psychiatrist.  Their suggestion was ignored.

If he didn’t go
then
,
when he probably should have done, then he sure as hell won’t now.

“There’s nothing
wrong with Nate.  Not in that sense, anyway.  He’s pissed off at
me.  It’s not like he hasn’t spoken to the doctors.  Only the nurses
know he ignores me.”  Tears gather in my throat.  I know the blame
for all of this lies on my shoulders, but I wish I could just press my lips to
Nate’s.  Revel in the realization that he’s alive and well. 
Celebrate his release from the hospital with him.  Instead, I’ll have to
herd him out of here. 

I don’t even know
if he’ll accept the fact we’ll be returning to the ranch together.

“Yeah, well, Fran
told them.  It’s only because I said there was nothing to worry about that
they backed off.”

“Thanks,” I
whisper.

She shrugs. 
“If they’d really believed her, they’d have had him evaluated.  My voice
just nudged them in the right direction.”

“Still. 
Thank
you
.  If he’d had to go through that, he’d ignore me until the next
Millennium.”

Pulling her bottom
lip between her teeth, Betsy studies me a second and on a sigh, asks, “I’m
dying to know why he ignores you.  Why he won’t talk if you’re in the
room.  I know it’s not my place to ask, but you know what they say. 
Curiosity killed the cat and only the answer brought it back.”

In the bright
overhead light, I could be anywhere in the world.  There’s no scent of
hospital.  That turbo-charged essence of disinfectant and bleach is
nowhere to be found.  It just smells clean. 

Sleek slats of
teak panel the walls and silver-embossed signs indicate which ward number is
which and the general direction of certain departments.  Low, black
leather sofas with silver feet and matching armchairs are dotted about for
patients’ relatives to use, when they’re asked out of their relatives’
ward. 

I hate
hospitals.  Have done ever since Jimmy died.  The only reason I can
stand it is because this place could be an office, or a hotel. 

Only the people in
white coats with stethoscopes, nurses in scrubs and janitors with huge trolleys
spoil the designer effect.

It will be weird,
but a good weird, to be out of here.

My eyes dart to
the large silver clock behind the neat and streamlined administration
desk.  As the minute hand ticks away, I ponder what to say.  We or
should I say
I
lied to the police about what happened that night. 
As far as I’m aware, considering I’m still here, Nate stuck to the story I
spouted off to the officials.  Something I told him about one night to
make sure our tales were straight, and to which he’d shown a complete lack of
disinterest...  Either that or he pulled the amnesia card, when they
interviewed him.

Otherwise, I’m
sure I’d have been carted off.  Maybe for perjury.  Maybe for having
contacts with the Russian mafia in the Big Apple.  Maybe for owning a
brothel!  Christ knows what I’d have been charged with.  As it is, my
freedom is still my own. 

Before I can put
my thoughts in order and reply, Betsy mutters, “I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t
have asked.  It’s none of my business.”

Quickly, before
she can think I’m insulted by her curiosity, especially after all she’s done
for me this last month ̶ hell, she’s kept me sane after the endless bouts
of silence in Nate’s room ̶ I shake my head.  “No.  It’s just
hard to think about that night, that’s all.  Nate blames me for the
accident, I guess.”  That much is the truth.

Betsy
frowns.  “That’s hardly fair.  Unless you pulled the trigger, it’s
not like you deserve to be blamed.”

I might as well
have pulled it; the guilt still rests on my shoulders but I don’t tell her that. 
I just shrug and tell her the lie I told the police.  “Maybe it’s
irrational of him.  I guess he deserves it, because I was stupid.  I
put our safety at risk.

“We went out that
night and I was wearing a necklace that was worth a lot of money.  I
refused to take a taxi back, when it would have been far safer, with a piece of
jewelry like that around my neck, to be dropped off outside our hotel. 
But I wanted to stretch my legs.  It was a hot night, too nice to waste on
a cab.  I didn’t know a mugger would follow us to the hotel.  Or that
he’d make it past hotel security and force his way into our room.”

“Oh my God. 
He didn’t just attack you in the street?”  Betsy’s mouth drops open as I
shake my head. 

“No.  The
police figure that he saw my necklace, thought I’d have more of the same stuff
in my hotel suite and got greedy.  He sneaked in past security and broke
into our suite.  He was unlucky, because we’d packed everything away into
the safe for the night.

“He waited until
we were asleep to break in.  I don’t know why the security cameras didn’t
pick him up, because he must have been skulking somewhere in a corridor.” 
Shaking my head, I lift a hand and rub at my temple.  The ache gathering
there isn’t a fabrication.  “Nate woke up when the guy broke in and got a
bullet to the gut as a reward.”

The lie burns a
hole in my belly and makes me wish for the antacids I’ve been popping like
candy.  But I manage a weak smile, when Betsy pats me on the shoulder
again, her fingers squeezing in a noiseless apology for asking me to talk about
something so painful.

Christ, if she
only knew the whole tale.

Thankfully, the
Russians had done something to the security footage that night, which had made
my story plausible.  The police hadn’t been able to spot
anyone,
never
mind my fictional mugger on the CCTV. 

On top of that,
they’d done something to the door to force their way in, which also
corroborated my story. 

I’d shown the
police the contents of my safe, my tablet and laptop, some jewelry and the
‘necklace’ at the heart of the fictional tale.  A recent purchase and
something that had cost me nearly six grand. 

I’ve tried to
cover myself at every opportunity and I guess lying comes to me too easily,
because they bought the simple story.

“But it’s
irrational to blame you.  You weren’t to know some creep would do that!”

“No, but I should
have listened to him, when he told me we should be careful.  That we had
to think of our security.”  I shrug.  “If I’d have listened to him,
instead of being obstinate, we wouldn’t be here today.”

“I guess, but
still, he’s taking it a bit far, Marina.  Nearly three weeks without a
peep to you and after everything you’ve done for him?  Most people leave
that kind of thing to us.”  I guess by
thing
she means my
nurse-maiding him.  “He should be thankful for that alone.”

I pat Betsy on the
shoulder and make to turn on my heel to return to Nate’s silent side. 
Before I do, I mutter, “He’ll get over it eventually.”

I hope.

****

When my father
died, Uncle Sam insisted that if he were to agree to stay on as the guardian of
the commune, there were certain conditions I’d have to comply with otherwise he
wouldn’t help me.

I’ve been driving
since before I was legally of age to do so.  It’s like that at Blue
Ridge.  Kids are treated like adults and can do whatever the hell they
want as soon as they’re old enough to leave elementary school.  But I
never bothered to get a license and that was one of Sam’s conditions.

Another was to
take a course in animal husbandry as well as some classes in genetics. 
Science has never been my forte, but I had no choice but to comply.  I
understood his reasoning.  Eventually, when I returned to the ranch, I’d
have to be the head of both the cattle operation as well as the commune. 
The animal husbandry saw to the former and the genetics to the eugenics project
that has a home at Blue Ridge. 

The final
condition was to learn to fly a plane.

I guess now, with
the prodigal daughter returning, it’s a good job he set me on the right
path.  It means I can fly Nate and myself back home without having to go
to the fuss of having someone fly out to collect the plane and return it to the
ranch.  It also means we can land on Blue Ridge’s private runway. 
All can be achieved without a lot of hassle and considering the ranch has been
without Nate for nearly a month, getting the place back on track is the number
one priority.

That isn’t to say
the silence on board isn’t excruciating and that for once in my life, I wish I
was flying commercial.  I’d even settle for the chicken coop over First
Class!  Anything but
this
.  I want to scream and shout. 
Force him to do the same.  Force him to talk to me.  I want to clear
the air.  Anything but this horrific, endless silence.

Instead, the
tension is mounting and not even concentrating on flying us to Montana is
absorbing all of my attention.

“So, I guess it
will be good to be back at the ranch again?”  I expect this attempt at
conversation will be batted away like an irritating fly, as has my every other
attempt!  Only this time, he replies.

For a minute, I
wonder if I’m dreaming when Nate’s voice fills the cockpit, but his words wake
me up with a bang.  Think cold water in the face after a deep sleep.

“Just stop it,
Marina.  Stop trying to make conversation.  I have nothing to say to
you.  There’s nothing I want to say to you.  Just concentrate on
getting me home.  If you want to do something for me,
that’s
it.”

Understanding his
anger doesn’t make the pain of his rejection hurt less.  I nod and feel
like one of those stupid dogs you see on a car’s dashboard.  The endless
nodding as the mutt sways to the car’s rhythm. 

The thought jerks
me out of my shock at his words and I whisper, “I didn’t mean for any of this
to happen.”

Nate sighs and for
a minute, I tense, waiting for him to snap at me again.  Instead, he bites
out, “So you keep on telling me.  But it did happen.  I
was
shot
by the Russian
fucking
mafia, no less, and all because my girlfriend of
nearly five years has secretly been running a brothel.  Apparently, it’s
an important enough establishment to warrant some of the mob breaking into our
hotel suite to steal the goddamn client list!

“How the hell do
you expect me to react, Marina?  Do you think I can just be fine with
you?  I was furious at knowing you’ve been lying to me all these
years.  Lie upon deceit upon deception.  Has anything we’ve had
together been true?  Christ, I learned more about you that night than I
have in all the time we’ve known each other.  But you brought criminals
into my life, Marina.  Dangerous men.  Men willing to kill to get
what they want.  I took a bullet and I can’t just smile at you and play
nice.  I’m angry,
furious
.  I’m royally fucked off with you
and just looking at you, just knowing all the things you’ve kept from me makes
me want to punch something.

“So if you don’t
like the fact I’m ignoring you, it’s tough shit.  You got us into this
mess; you have to deal with the fallout.”

“What is the
fallout?” I ask, wondering if he’ll sink back into silence or if this sudden
conversation will continue.

“Are you asking if
we’re still together?”

I’d nod, because
my voice is so weak it’s almost mute but with his head turned away from me, he
wouldn’t see.  Apparently, even glancing my way is more than he can
bear. 

I clear my throat
and tell him, “Yes.  That’s what I’m asking.”

“I don’t
know.  My feelings for you can’t be erased.  Just because you’re a
liar and because you’ve brought this shit into my life, doesn’t make them not
exist.  You’re a different person to the one I thought I knew, but deep down,
you’re still Marina.  The details are new, but the bare bones are just
that.”  He sucks in a strained breath and grits out, “No.  We’re not
breaking up.  You have to deal with the mess you’ve made and if I let you
go, then you’ll just run away like you’ve always done.  You’re not running
away now, Marina.  You’re going to make this better.  You’re going to
work for my forgiveness.

“
This
is
your punishment.  And it’s something only I can dole out.  Because
don’t think I’m blind.  Or deaf.  I know what you did for me during
those early days at the hospital.  But don’t expect me to be grateful for
the position you put us both in.  I only mention it, because it’s
telling.  You’re not the touchy-feely sort, Marina.  You feel for me. 
You’re not as distant as you’d like to make out.”

“So what? 
Because I care for you, you can force me to do whatever you want?  It
doesn’t work that way, Nate!” I cry, hurt at his interpretation.  Stung by
his words.