Interlude [Book 2] Read online

  With his head still down, I finally get the courage to speak up. “Excuse me, may I?”

  Glancing up with a pool behind his hazel eyes, he solemnly nods.

  I take the empty seat and allow several minutes to go by without a word.

  What am I doing here?

  And then my mind recollects all the tender moments I have witnessed, all because of this man and the woman he loves. Loved.

  I clear my throat. “Excuse me, sir. My place is right across the street.” I pause and point at my building. “Although I haven’t lived in the apartment full-time in years, when I’m home, I have been able to see you and your lady friend at the same time at the park.”

  With a solemn voice, he says, “Oh, yes, my wife, Edith.”

  Edith.

  His wife.

  “Yes, I’ve watched you and Edith at the park. I … I apologize for intruding. I noticed she’s not here today, and I was concerned.”

  Up until now, the elderly man has kept his head slightly down. Slowly raising his head, his glassy eyes meet mine. “My Edith joined God last night.”

  I focus on his eyes that are soft and tired. Moving a few inches closer to him until our knees almost touch, I offer, “I’m saddened to hear that.”

  A tear falls from his eyes. “My Edith is no longer in pain, and for that I am grateful.” We remain quiet for the next few minutes, two strangers sitting on a bench. “What is your name?” he asks before leaning in to listen to my response.

  “Evangelina James. But I go by Lina.”

  “I’m Franklin.” He takes one of his hands out of his coat pocket and shakes my hand. I notice the gold wedding band that hugs his ring finger. “Lina, I’m not much company right now, but I’m glad you decided to join me. This is the first time I’ve come here without Edith.”

  “Do you live around here? You and Edith were here each day at the same time.”

  Straightening his back, he says, “Yes, we lived in our townhome on Sullivan Street for years until our son, Frankie, convinced us to live with him. We moved into Silver Towers with him a few years ago.”

  I look over my shoulder and notice the residential buildings that house NYU faculty members. I don’t want to pry, but I can’t help but have this need to know more about the old man before me and his Edith.

  “I’ve watched you from afar for so many years. You and Edith made me believe in love,” I confess before smiling.

  Franklin cocks his head, and a heartbreaking grin appears. “Well, it was so easy to love my Edith.”

  “Do you want to talk? Do you mind talking about her?” I ask, noticing that the recent widower has closed his eyes as if reliving a memory.

  He slowly opens them, and the sorrow I had seen a few minutes ago completely dissipates. Yet he remains silent.

  “I hope you don’t mind me telling you this. Franklin, you make being in love look so easy.”

  “Well, loving my Edith was easy, but love itself wasn’t always so easy,” he admits while trying to twirl his wedding band. I notice his ring doesn’t move.

  I wait for him to open up. I watch cars passing by, young toddlers playing in the gated playground a few feet away, and students strolling, when he offers, “My Edith was always a beauty. When I came along, she was already engaged to my best friend.”

  “Your best friend?” I am unable to hide the surprise in my voice.

  “Yes. I met Edith a few months before her wedding. I had been injured in Nam and when I returned home unexpectedly, my best friend Kevin told me he was getting married. With her raven hair and violet eyes, Edith was the most attractive woman I had ever seen. When I met her, I just knew she was it for me. Of course, she didn’t want to have anything to do with me. She was engaged to a good man. I had known Kevin my entire life and knew he would be a devoted husband and father. But love, love isn’t always easy.”

  Taken by Franklin’s admission, I urge him to resume his story. “Please.”

  “I didn’t want to watch the woman I was in love with marry my best friend. I took my chance and never looked back. In the end, I lost my best friend, but I married the love of my life. No regrets. Not a single one.”

  No regrets.

  For the next hour, Franklin reminisces about the life he had with Edith− the two miscarriages before having their only son, living in Westchester for several years before moving back to the city, their many adventures abroad, and their last day together before his love passed away in her sleep.

  Taking a gold timepiece out of his pocket, Franklin voices, “I can’t believe we’ve been chatting and time has caught me. I have a few more minutes before I need to meet my son. So, Lina, I’ve spent the entire time talking about my Edith.” Noticing my wedding band-free ring finger, he asks, “Do you have a fellow?”

  I smile. “Yes,” and I divulge my relationship with Julian and the conversation I just had with my former fiancé. I also reveal the fact that Julian hasn’t returned my sentiment.

  He shakes his head. “Oh my, you certainly have a lot to think about. Let me add that although my Edith left me too soon, I know I have been blessed. Follow your heart. And dear, family is what you make of it. It doesn’t necessarily mean marriage. And just because your Julian fellow hasn’t said it, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. It took me a long time to say those words freely to my Edith although I had loved her from the moment I met her.”

  Franklin rises from the bench, retrieving the brown cane on his right side. With slow, trembling hands, he buttons his coat. “I’m glad we met. My Edith would have adored you. Thank you for joining me, Lina.” He holds out his hand and I take it.

  All I want to do at this moment is hug the man who was so generous to retell his story to me. But instead, I refrain from doing so, still holding his hand. “Thank you for sharing your special moments with Edith with me. Will I see you again?”

  The elderly man doesn’t respond. He simply offers a slight smile, and his departure tells me he plans to join his Edith soon.

  I sit alone on the bench, reflecting on the conversation I just had with Franklin. My heart knows Julian is the one. How is it possible that brief time I’ve had with him hold more meaning than the years I’ve spent with Andrew? My childhood friend and now lover has become such a deep part of my psyche that I can’t imagine what my life was like the past fourteen years. All I can and want to remember is my life with him in it. I long to have my days and nights begin and end with him. I long to have his child. And although there was a time when I had wanted to marry Andrew, it is a fraction of the love I have for this Englishman.

  And in an instant, I am reminded that the man I’m in love with doesn’t do relationships, and my heart wonders if he’ll ever commit ... to me.

  He’ll be in London next week.

  I finally leave the park and cross the street. As soon I get home, I open the fridge and grab the bottle of Sancerre Roger left a few weeks ago. I retrieve a glass and uncork the wine. Turning on my sound system, I select Bryan Ferry’s “Slave to Love” and set myself on the couch. I’ve loved before, having loved Andrew for half of my life. But this time, by loving Julian, I am utterly helpless.

  Stupid me. Thinking my interlude with Julian would be just amazing sex when all along I’ve not only loved him, but I fell in deep, dark, love as well.

  Hours go by and I don’t move except to refill my wine glass. After drinking an entire bottle of Sancerre alone in the comfort of my home, I still don’t know what to do. I look out my window. It’s beginning to drizzle and all I want to do is feel it between my fingertips. Leaving the loft, I stumble out into the now pouring rain, drunk with sadness.

  Twenty-Seven

  Everything attacks me all at once.

  Loving Julian.

  Andrew’s marriage proposal.

  Meeting Franklin and having him reaffirm that love is not always easy.

  Loving a man who may never love me the way I want and need.

  Andrew.

  How is it wh
en I think I know what I want and what I need, Andrew interrupts my willingness to finally let go of our relationship? I need to remember that although we lived together for several years and simply shared a bed, Andrew had become a stranger. I don’t know Andrew Nielsen anymore. For goodness’ sake, I wasn’t even aware of the title of the book he had been writing for the past two years until a few hours ago. I had been living through memories, loving a person who didn’t know me either. Loving a man who forgot he had a fiancée. Yet something pushes me back to him.

  I brace myself as I remember Andrew, the man I still love. Andrew is ready to give me a family− something I have always longed for. If we were to go back to the way we used to be years ago, would I be happy? Would Andrew be happy? What about my body’s needs? My desires? I’m certain that Andrew, even if he were to move heaven and earth, would never, ever fulfill my body’s needs like Julian.

  What would he think of my voracious sexual appetite?

  My head hurts and my heart feels like it’s about to burst. I love two men. I love a passionless man who wants to spend his entire life with me. And I love a passionate man, who, deep down inside, will never settle down.

  He hasn’t invited you to join him.

  I’ve fallen hard for Julian. He has excited me more in the past few hours than Andrew did in the past sixteen years. But it’s beyond the physical. I long to share my thoughts and fears. He devastates me with his intelligence, humor and his romantic ways. And although I’ve known him since we were kids, I want to learn everything about him.

  Julian Caine is an enigma my heart longs to unravel.

  Yet this torturous heart of mine won’t disappear. Will I ‘still be it’ for him a few months from now?

  The pain in my chest is unbearable, and although I have no inclination to go anywhere in particular, I find myself striding south along Broadway, still drunk with sadness.

  In the midst of all the New Yorkers and tourists, I find myself totally and completely alone. The makeup can’t conceal the tears I’ve tried to hide, and as I walk along the city streets, without an umbrella, the rain drenches me. Unfamiliar eyes stare. I must look like a mad woman. Hell, I am a madwoman. How can this possibly be happening to me? Harsh reality hits me. A part of me wants to go back to Andrew because I want safety.

  I stop and stare above at the building that has been more of a home than the bungalow in Santa Monica. Julian’s building. The new doorman, Luke, immediately comes to my rescue.

  Opening the front door for me, he says, “Miss James?”

  I face him, dumbfounded. My black mascara runs down my cheeks. My hair completely flattened by the rain. My wet clothes reveal the black undergarment under my light gray jersey dress.

  I nod as my body shivers.

  “Do you need assistance?” His face is etched with concern.

  “No, thank you. I’ll … I’ll be fine.” I head straight to the elevator that will lead me to Julian. All I need at this moment is for him to hold me.

  It takes seconds, it takes minutes, but it feels like an eternity before I reach the penthouse. Luke has contacted Julian because he is standing before me as soon as the elevator door opens. Within seconds of seeing the man who holds my heart, I fall to the floor and everything fades to black.

  “Darling.” I hear in the distance. Then it disappears.

  “Darling.” And I feel his soft lips on my forehead. I smell his heady scent, one that has been lingering for the past few months even when he is not around. “I need you to be alright.” He continues to stroke my dampened hair. His sonorous and raspy voice. The voice I long to hear as soon as I wake up. The voice that weakens me. The voice that gives me love. The voice that brings me heartache. I fall back into darkness.

  In the dead of night, I finally wake up. My body feels like a freight train ran over it, and sitting up takes everything out of me. Was I in an accident? The ringing in my head is so loud that I can’t bear the deafening silence around me. Completely covered with sweat, it is his concerned voice that reminds me of where I am.

  “Lina.” I hear, and suddenly his hand reaches out to me.

  “Julian.” My throat is so dry and parched that I can barely talk.

  In a matter of seconds, Julian is up and fetches a glass of water that sits on a cart by the bed.

  I gulp the water down quickly. Raising my head, I notice the worried expression on his handsome face. A line forms between his eyebrows. Rubbing my left throbbing temple, I ask, “What happened?”

  He retrieves the empty glass from my hand and refills it. “You fainted. You were out for several hours. Dr. Bailey came by, but he was unable to perform a proper examination since you were out cold. You may have been dehydrated and intoxicated.”

  I rub my temple again and feel the effects of drinking that delicious bottle of Sancerre. “Dr. Bailey as in ‘he’s almost a hundred years old’ Dr. Bailey?” My retired and ancient pediatric physician just checked me out a few hours ago. Julian does remember everything.

  Julian grins. “Yes, your pediatrician. He was surprised to receive my call.” Studying my face so that I can’t hide my weak smile, he asks again, “Were you drinking? Did you walk in the rain?”

  “Yes. I … I drank wine and I just felt the need to walk in the rain. It never rains in LA, so it felt so incredible. The drops, one by one.” I pause as I stare at my fingers. “I didn’t have anywhere to go, but somehow, I found myself back to your place.”

  Julian instantly wraps his strong arms around my aching body. “Lina, I’m just grateful you’re okay. You’re home. How much did you have to drink?”

  Embarrassed, I play with the hem of the white t-shirt I’m dressed in. “A bottle.”

  Julian chuckles. “Christ, no wonder you passed out. You’re what, a hundred pounds soaking wet? You’re quite petite.” As he kisses my hair, I can feel him inhale my scent. I must stink. He continues to stroke my damp hair. “I called you. I sent you several texts, but you didn’t respond. You were gone for hours. I was on my way to your loft when you walked out of the elevator.”

  “I’m a bit upset.” I slightly lift my head to study him. Those mesmerizing eyes of his capture me every time. At this moment, his eyes are gray.

  “Do you want to discuss it?”

  How do I let him know that Andrew, who has been MIA for the past few months, wants to marry me? How do I tell him that I’m confused about our relationship? How can I tell him I’m also upset over a woman’s death, a woman I had never met before? How can I tell him my heart is slowly breaking because I want more than he’s offered?

  I want more than an interlude.

  I shake my head even though a river of tears is threatening to break.

  “Darling, you can always confide in me. But I understand. When you’re ready. Just rest. I’m here to hold you, Lina. I’m here if you need to weep. I’ll always be here for you,” he says before placing his lips on the top of my head.

  And it’s as if I were seeing Julian for the first time, I mean really seeing him. My heart knows it doesn’t need to hear those three words anymore. They were words Andrew said freely but never showed. With Julian, the gentleness in his haunting eyes says it all.

  Peering down at me, he continues to stroke my damp hair with his fingers−untangling the strands at the ends. I faintly recall the way he gently used a washcloth to wipe off the mascara that stained my cheeks. I remember the way he pushed my hair back when I wrapped my arms around the porcelain god. I remember the way he had whispered, “I’ve got you,” several times before lifting me and carrying me to bed.

  Exhaustion greets me. With heavy, sleepy eyes, I yawn.

  Still cradling me in his arms, Julian leans forward, his soft lips trailing up to my ear. In this room where we have made love over the past few months, he utters the words that will make my heart soar. “It’s much more than love that I feel for you. Should you have any doubts at all, know that I love you. I’m so in love with you that it frightens me.” I feel him exhale. �
��I love you, Evangelina Darling James. Only you.”

  Spooning me from behind, Julian wraps his arms around my middle, just the way he did several weeks ago when I needed him the most. The way I need him now. In his arms, I feel safe. I feel warm. I feel loved.

  I am loved.

  Twenty-Eight

  I won’t marry Andrew. I won’t marry Andrew. I won’t marry Andrew. That has been my mantra this entire morning. The past two days and nights were spent in bed, as Julian fed me ice chips, matzo ball soup, and cupcakes from my favorite bakery. After falling asleep in his arms early last night, I know in my heart that maybe, yes, maybe, something has happened between Julian and me. Even if he goes to London, it doesn’t mean we’re completely over. My heart prays that he’ll ask me to join him. Or maybe, just maybe, he’ll be there for only a few days and he’ll return and we’ll play house again.

  Lina, tell him what you want.

  Maybe this is and will be more than a fleeting affair for both of us.

  He loves me! At least, I think that’s what I heard last night. What if it was just a case of drunken delirium?

  I turn over, lie on my side, and watch him sleep. I could do this all day and all night when we’re not making love. I love the physical and emotional warmth he gives me. And as I watch him in this restful state, the corner of his lips curve up, offering me a warm smile before he murmurs, “Darling.” He dozes off again, this time with his hand resting on my hip.

  I think of Franklin and Edith. Franklin’s words come to mind. “Love isn’t always easy.”

  Loving Julian and being in love with him is easy. Trying to get a gauge as to where I am in his life after he leaves for London is the difficult part.

  I sigh at the thought of spending my life with Julian Matthew Rutherford Caine. I believed a one-month fling with Julian would get him out of my system. Of course, I’ve deceived my heart, and the thought of our time together ending soon brings me unfamiliar pain. I need and deserve more, but how much am I willing to give up in order to have something with Julian? I sacrificed so much by remaining with Andrew. For years, I fooled myself into believing I had it all. But how could I when I lost myself?