When In Rome...Find Yourself: A Sweet New Adult Romance (18 page)

CHAPTER nineteen

Rory turned and rushed inside, so grateful to be home that she even welcomed the familiar hiss of Tom as he accosted her before strutting off down the street, tail twitching. All she could think about was collapsing on her bed and sleeping for three days straight. But as soon as she was through the door, she could hear Theresa’s voice, high and panicky, from the office. The door stood open, and Ned stuck his dreadlocked head out the second Rory walked in.

“Shit, I’m glad you’re back,” he said. “Theresa’s totally freaked.”

Rory wasn’t sure she could hold up another minute. This was the last thing she needed now. “Her son again?” she asked with all the concern she could muster.

“No,” Ned said, giving her a funny look. “You.”

“What? Me?” Rory asked as Theresa shoved past Ned, pushing him back and rushing past to wrap Rory in the tightest hug she’d ever had. Her whole body was shaking.

“Where have you been, girl?” she asked, strangling Rory in her embrace. “I thought we’d lost you. You had me so worried.”

Suddenly, without warning, the night caught up with Rory, came crashing down all at once, and she burst into tears. Theresa patted her back and sniffled, but Rory was flat out crying, shaking as hard as Theresa. After a minute, Ned put tentative arms around them both.

“We tried to call you,” he said after another minute. “You know how Theresa worries.”

“Not about me,” Rory sniffled. “My phone was dead, and I got lost. I thought I’d have to sleep on the street, and I couldn’t get a taxi, and I couldn’t find a phone, and I didn’t know my way back.” She couldn’t seem to stop talking, either. It all came rushing out of her, amid a stream of tears. “I don’t know what I was thinking, going out alone here. I’ve never been alone in a city. I don’t even know the language, and all the street names are in Italian, and I’m such an idiot. I’m sorry, Theresa. I didn’t know you’d be worried. I should never have gone out at all. What was I thinking?”

“Dude, it’s okay,” Ned said. “You’re back, and you’re okay. Right? You’re okay?”

“I’m okay,” she said, pulling away to wipe her eyes and smile in embarrassment. “I’m fine. I didn’t know you’d be here…I mean, that you’d be waiting up.”

“Well, yeah,” Ned said. “She’s been freaking out for a while.”

“I’m fine,” Theresa said. “But I should sit down.” She trundled into her office and collapsed into her chair. “Ned, make us some tea. I need to rest.”

“What are all the pictures for?” Rory asked, hovering in the doorway, not sure if she should go help with the tea, but not particularly wanting to be alone with Ned just yet.

“These are all my babies,” Theresa said. “All the ones I’ve hosted. Almost all have written at least once or twice. Some of them many times.”

“Wow.”

Theresa’s smile returned to its customary warm, crinkly one, the tension seeming to melt off her as she looked at the wall of photos and postcards. “You and Ned are number twenty-five and six.”

Rory swallowed hard and glanced at the kitchen, where Ned was banging around with pans, probably not even aware that teakettles existed. “And your…your family?” she asked. Her hands felt so useless again, just hanging there by her sides. She was sure Theresa would notice them in a minute, how huge and obvious they were.

“Yes,” Theresa said, picking a piece of lint off her navy slacks. “I had a family.”

Rory squeezed her hands into fists. She knew she was prying. Theresa obviously didn’t want to talk about it. Should she let it go? Or just ask? Like Maggie said, it was worse not to know.

In the kitchen, a pan clattered to the floor with a huge bang. Rory and Theresa both jumped a mile. “I go help that poor boy,” Theresa said, pushing up from the chair. She avoided Rory’s eyes as she squeezed past and into the kitchen.

Rory was about to go upstairs when Theresa called, “Come and join us, dear.”

With a sigh, Rory trudged to the kitchen. She sank into one of the chairs and examined her knee while Theresa and Ned figured out the tea situation. When the kettle whistled, Theresa dropped the tea ball in and brought the kettle to the table. Ned delivered cups and saucers before joining them.

“You asked about my family,” Theresa said, pouring a stream of tea into a cup and setting on a saucer. “I don’t like to talk about it much, because it’s not a nice story. But I’ll tell you if you want to hear.” She filled another teacup and set it on the saucer, then pushed the two to Rory and Ned.

“It’s okay,” Rory said. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want.”

“I don’t mind sad stories,” Ned said.

Before continuing, Theresa filled her own teacup and set the kettle down on the hot pad in the center of the table. “I had a big family,” she said. “I have two daughters, a son, my husband, my sisters…and they all have big families, too. And I have the attacks like you saw, all my life. They come and go, more often sometimes, then sometimes not one for years.” As she spoke, she turned her saucer slowly on the table.

“That’s why they won’t talk to you?” Ned asked.

“Not that,” Theresa said. “My husband, Arthur, he always tells me to go to a doctor, to get medicine. But I know how to stop it, see, to breathe into my hands and lie down. I don’t want to go to a doctor for that. It only happens so…so...”

“Seldom?” Rory whispered.

“Yes, thank you. So seldom. And then one day, well, it’s Easter, actually. And we are all going to church. I have with me my daughter, my son and his wife, and their daughter. She is two. And there is traffic, we are late, my husband keeps calling to see where we are, the baby is throwing a tantrum, my daughter starts saying I must calm down, and I have one of these. I am not going so fast, but…there is a bus.”

For a minute, no one said anything. Theresa wiped at her eye but continued studying her cup. Rory clenched and unclenched her fists in her lap. What could she say to that?

Ned sipped his tea and set it back in its saucer. “Dude, it’s not your fault. You can’t blame yourself. You didn’t try to have a panic attack.”

“I didn’t pay enough attention,” Theresa said. “My daughter, my son’s wife, and the baby… They did not survive.” She looked up at them, her bright eyes shiny with tears.

“I’m so sorry,” Rory said. She wasn’t sure if she should go hug Theresa or not.

“And your son never talked to you again?” Ned said.

“Can you blame him?” Theresa asked, brushing away a tear. “I don’t. It was my fault. All my family, they say it’s not, but they don’t believe it. Soon, my husband, he is gone. He says I’m going crazy. Maybe I am.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” Rory said, pushing back from the table. She went to Theresa and put her arms around her and rested her head on her shoulder.

“Yeah, dude, not at all.” Ned scooted to Theresa’s other shoulder and put his arms around her from that side. “You’re a great mom. I mean, you take in all us vagabonds, and for sure you’re better than my mom. She shoved me off on the nanny so much she didn’t even know I liked art until I was applying for school. And then when I went for art instead of business… Let’s just say you’re not the only one on the outs with your family.”

“Is that why you don’t drive?” Rory asked.

“Yes,” Theresa said. “At first, it was not so bad. I could go out and do other things. I even get this purple car, that is my favorite color, so I will want to drive. But when Arthur left…I stop driving. And then I think, anything can happen. I have already lost so much. I go less far, and less far, and less far…and then I stop going out at all. Except to water the roses out back, and to give Tom his saucer of milk each day. I still do this.”

Rory hugged her tighter. “I’m sorry.”

“If you want to try again, we’ll help you,” Ned said.

“No, it’s okay. I have no need to go out now. I do not have anyone to see.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” Rory said. “I’ve been selfish. I’ll make sure to check in next time.” She’d been so busy thinking about her anxiety, and making friends, and what to do about Ned that she hadn’t been a very good houseguest. Here she’d been living with Theresa for almost a month, and she hadn’t even bothered to ask about the most significant event in her life, or about her housebound state. She hadn’t even offered to help except the one time she got groceries.

They sat a while longer, mostly in silence, and finished their tea. Theresa said she was going to lie down afterwards, and she shuffled off to her room. Rory looked at Ned. The drama of the day had filled her mind so completely that she’d forgotten her little dramas with him. They seemed so insignificant now. Did it really matter if he was mad at her or she was mad at him? And over something so stupid, just a kiss that wasn’t even unwelcome.

She said goodnight and went upstairs to plug in her phone. Her parents would be freaking out that she hadn’t called at her usual hour, around noon their time. And she was so tired, she thought she might fall asleep on her feet. When her phone was charging, she sent a quick text to her parents and hit the shower. She’d never been so thankful to be clean. Afterwards, she stepped out, wrapped herself in a towel, and headed for her room.

Ned was sitting in her chair.

She almost screamed and dropped her towel, but managed to clutch it closed at the last moment.

“Sorry,” Ned said. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I was just going to see if you wanted to smoke. After today, I figured you might need it.”

For someone who locked his bedroom door while he was still in the house, he was quite loose with the concept of personal property. But then, she had left her door open.

“Um. Okay, yeah,” she said.

“Cool,” Ned said, turning to retrieve the pipe that he’d set on her desk. He didn’t seem to notice that she was wearing only a towel.

“Can I, um, get dressed first?”

“Oh, sure. Sorry, dude.” He stood and went to the door. “Come on over when you’re ready.”

Well, at least she now had an invitation to his mysterious room. She dressed quickly in a pair of pajama shorts and a t-shirt, pulled her wet hair back into a bun, and slid on her glasses. No runny mascara this time. No makeup or sexy clothes, either. She was just Rory. It made her feel oddly naked as she tiptoed to his room and tapped on the door. Inside, Ned was sitting on his bed. His desk was piled with fabric, brushes, paint trays, spools of thread and wire by the hundreds, unidentifiable rusted metal pieces, and tubes of paint. His canvases were…weird. Big and bright as the night before, but this time, she had a chance to really look at them. They didn’t make much more sense with her glasses on, though.

“They’re not done,” Ned said, startling her. She hadn’t realized he was watching her see his art, really see it, for the first time.

“Oh. I mean, I can’t tell they’re not finished.”

“I don’t know if I should take that as a compliment or an insult.”

“No, they’re really cool,” she said. After a short pause she asked, “But what are they?”

“I do multimedia,” he said. “So those are kind of the backdrop. And then on top might be thread, or metal, or plastic. So it becomes three-dimensional.” He started pulling the canvases forward, flipping through them, and pulled one out. It had obviously been one of the bright, splotchy paintings at one point. But now, he’d put hundreds of tiny nails and needles through it, making an entire city, complete with towers, cars, tiny trees and people.

“Wow,” she said, coming to look at it more closely. “Am I supposed to be seeing this?”

“What are you seeing?”

“No, I just meant, I thought it was some big secret. You’re always locked in here, and some of the girls from your classes…I overheard them talking about the big secret of your project.”

Ned laughed. “It’s not a secret. Everyone knows what I make. And if I want to show you, I guess you’re supposed to see it, right?” He replaced the canvas and returned to his bed.

“But…I mean, you had your door locked…”

“I guess from when I was growing up,” he said. “I always had to lock myself in my room and do my stuff in private. If I left my door open when I went to school, my nanny would send the maid in to throw all my stuff away. She really hated me.” He shook his head and reached up to pull his dreads back into a bunch at the back of his neck.

“Wow,” Rory said. “That sucks.”

“Yeah, I guess. But after a couple times, I learned to keep my door locked, and nobody bothered me. Like as long as it was in there, they could pretend it didn’t exist. So, you wanna smoke?”

“Can I ask you a question?” Rory asked, fiddling with a spool of thread on his desk. She wished she’d worn more clothes. At least a bra. Or brought her camera, or something to keep her hands busy. “This morning…were you mad at me?”

Ned took a hit off the pipe. “Why would I be mad at you?” he asked through a mouthful of smoke.

“Because…you know. Last night?” She practically grabbed the pipe from his hands, so relieved for something to soothe her nerves.

“I told you it was cool.”

“Yeah, but then you were blasting Brody Villines.”

Ned laughed. “That was Just 5 Guys, not Brody the solo artist.”

“I don’t think that’s the point.”