Tell Me More (29 page)

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Okay. Well, not really, but I’ve an hour to go before the next painkiller.” I hesitated. “Remember how in
Pride and Prejudice
Mr. Bennet goes into shock when he finds out that Darcy has saved the family from ruin? That’s how I feel. Like I can never repay you for what you’ve done.”

“Oh, yeah. I remember that in the movie. Can you reach this cabinet? You probably shouldn’t be climbing onto chairs.”

“I have a step stool.”

“Okay, then. I’ll get my stuff.” I heard him run upstairs and when he came down again he was in jeans and sweater once more, his suit in a bag and his backpack slung over one shoulder. “Say hi to Kimberly from me.”

I followed him to the front door. “Patrick, what happens next? With you and me? Will anything happen?”

He opened the door. “I rather think that’s up to you, Jo. You’ll figure it out.” He gave me a quick, friendly kiss on the lips and left. I watched him drive away and wandered back into the house to discover, rather messily, how difficult it was opening containers of yogurt one-handed.

And then things began happening to take my mind off Patrick.

First, because I enjoyed the painkillers so much but was getting tired of the nausea, I switched to ibuprofen and found my mind cleared remarkably. I wasn’t unhappy, although I did feel a pang every time I remembered how Patrick had strolled to his car and deposited his suit and backpack in the backseat without a backward glance. He hadn’t been unfriendly or bitter but I was at a loss. I owed him so much and I didn’t know how I could possibly reciprocate. I loved him and I was absolutely certain he loved me back but I didn’t know what to do next.

My one-hand typing skills were abysmal, so I abandoned email and Facebook and phoned people and discovered what a joy real conversation was again. I called my mom and the Great Abe, and told them I’d broken my wrist and had decided to leave my job at the radio station. I didn’t go into any lurid details, but my mom was shocked and concerned and said all the right sort of things to make me feel better. She offered to pay my fare home for my Christmas visit and I began to look forward to the holidays.

Then Kimberly invited me to lunch with her and Liz Ferrar, and after we’d caught up, Kimberly dropped her bombshell.

“I’m leaving the station,” she said. “It’s not so much fun without Bill there and I’ve been there long enough.”

“What are you going to do?” I asked.

Kimberly and Liz looked at each other and giggled. “I’m gonna fundraise for the shelter,” Kimberly said. “And that’s where you come in.”

“Me?”

Liz leaned forward. “I need somebody who understands media and marketing and can work with Kimberly to coordinate those efforts with fundraising, and I hear you’re available.”

“Yes, I am, but I’m—I was—a classical music radio announcer. It’s not—”

“Oh, give me a break,” said Kimberly, eating fries from my plate. “You’ve done news. You’ve handled press conferences for the station. The times I’ve seen you take apart press releases and rewrite them—”

“But I—”

“Liz, you ever heard someone talk their way out of a job offer so hard? When it’s being offered to her on a plate? Jo, you email your resume to Liz right away when you get home, you hear? And no excuses about not being able to type. You’re already using that hand a bit now that you’re not wearing the sling.”

Liz smiled at me. “Jo, I’d love to have you think about it. Maybe you could start when Kimberly does, at the new year? There’s not a lot of money, but you’re already in a nonprofit so you know what it’s like.”

“I’m overwhelmed,” I said. “I’d love to. Really. It’s a great opportunity. Thank you. Thank you both.”

“Don’t cry,” Kimberly said. “I don’t think I’ll have any, but what do you want for dessert?”

When I reached home again I walked barefoot through the house, marveling at how things had turned out better than I could possibly have hoped for. I wasn’t going to starve or lose the house or beg on the streets. I still missed being on air fiercely, but maybe, in a few weeks, I might want to turn the radio on and be able to listen to the music and not just what the announcer did in between the pieces. I went into the apartment above the garage—Patrick’s apartment—and appreciated anew what a great space it was. I remembered, without bitterness, what fun Hugh and I had had when we worked on it. And the first time Patrick and I had kissed properly here.

I should put word out that I was looking for a tenant. Soon.

I was lucky. I had wonderful friends, a loving family, the prospect of interesting work for a good cause and a great place to live.

The sun streamed through the windows, creating bright warm rectangles on the carpet, the sort of places that Brady liked to stretch out in and sleep in for hours. I moved into the sunlight and removed my sweater. I thought again about Patrick kissing me, making me come here for the first time, and lay on the carpet, enjoying the stretch and strength of my body, the return to wholeness I could feel in my wrist and knee.

Brady had the right idea. I took off my jeans and saw I was wearing the battered Christmas panties that I’d worn, or, more accurately hadn’t worn, the first time I’d met Patrick. And then, since my socks were gray, dismal things that were probably about as old as the panties, I slid them off. My T-shirt came off, too. I wasn’t wearing a bra, because the cast and my lack of manual dexterity made it too awkward.

I stretched out and reached for my cell phone in my jeans pocket.

“Call Patrick,” I said, and lifted my hips to remove the panties. I laid the phone down next to my ear on the carpet.

He picked up his phone. “Hi, Jo.”

“What are you up to?” I said, mentally kicking myself for not telling him I was naked first thing.

“Oh, not much. Look, I’m sorry I left like that. It’s that I enjoyed being a jerk in a suit and I needed to think things over. I’m doing some legal work for Liz now, for a pittance. It’s a beginning. So, actually, yes, I’m up to quite a lot.”

“Oh, that’s great. It’s so nice to hear your voice.” I considered telling him I’d be working for Liz, too, but then we’d never get to the point.

“It’s nice to hear you, too. How are you? How’s the wrist?”

“I’m great. Are you alone?”

“Well, yeah.” He sounded puzzled.

“I’m in your apartment. I’m lying in a sunny patch.”

“Like Brady does.”

“Yes.” I took a deep breath. “What are you wearing, Patrick?”

“What? Jeans and stuff. Why?”

“Patrick,” I said, lowering my voice to a sultry growl,
“what are you wearing?”

“Oh.” Now he understood.

“I’m naked,” I said.

And I heard a sound that filled my heart with relief and love and joy—the metallic sound of a zipper going down.

He said, “Tell me more.”