by Girard, Dara
He hated rain. Peter sat in the back of the SUV he shared with Lance and Roy as the torrential rain pounded the windshield. Roy drove in silence while Lance listened to the weather report. The day had started off well when he’d left the warm comfort of Claudia’s bed to go get fillers with the two cameramen. Peter had heard about a tiny village up in the mountains from a local resident who’d told him that it was rarely visited by tourists and had a unique artist community. Frank agreed to the excursion, always eager to make sure they had as much footage as possible. Peter’s interest was piqued further when he heard about the village’s long tradition of making papier-mâché, known as cartapestra, and the area’s examples of cartapestra dating back to the seventeenth century. The location was also known for exquisite stonework carved into the churches and palaces, using an unusual rock found in the formations in the hills surrounding the village.
By the time they arrived, the town center was beginning to come alive with artisans, and Peter didn’t want to miss a thing.
“Don’t forget the stonework,” he told Roy.
Roy shot him a glance. “You got everything else—you want to take my job, too?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Roy shrugged. “Nothing. I wouldn’t want anything I say to get me fired.”
“Come on, I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it,” Lance said, hoping to defuse the tension between Peter and Roy.
Roy ignored him. “What are you even doing here, Warren? Isn’t it enough that you’re hosting the show? You have to manage us filming it, too?”
“I like being involved in every aspect of production. I wasn’t criticizing,” Peter said, trying to be fair. “I just know what to look for because I used to be behind the camera.” Peter rested his hands on his hips. “But you don’t like me for another reason, right?” He raised a brow and a slight smile touched his lips. “Is it Claudia?”
Peter’s smug expression made something in Roy snap. He’d seen that smile on the boys who’d stolen his lunch money, who’d made fun of his hand-me-down clothes. But he was bigger now and wanted to wipe that smile from Peter’s face. He set his camera down. “Yes, it’s about Claudia,” he said then punched him.
Lance rushed forward. “Are you crazy?”
Peter stopped him with an outstretched hand. “It’s all right,” he said then tentatively rubbed his jaw. “What’s on your mind, Fitcher?”
“You’re a fraud,” Roy said, further angered by Peter’s calm. “You’re a user and you’re using Claudia to cover for you.”
“I’m not—”
“I know you’re not gay, but you’re something. I just haven’t figured out what yet. What I do know is that everything comes easy for you and you take it all for granted, but I won’t let you treat Claudia like all the others.”
Peter sniffed. “And how do you plan to stop me?”
Roy saw the challenge and took it. He rushed at Peter, but at the last moment Peter moved aside then gripped him in a choke hold. “You’re right. I’m not what I seem,” he whispered in his ear, his voice dark with menace. “And I don’t care what you think of me, but when it comes to Claudia stay out of my way.” He shoved Roy from him and Roy stumbled forward holding his neck. “Now go shoot the stonework.”
Roy glared at him but knew better than to say anything. Lance opened his mouth to comment but stopped when Peter’s cell phone rang. That’s when their plans changed. Frank told him to start for the airport ASAP because a major storm was headed for the town. He’d packed their suitcases and everything would be there when they arrived.
Now the three men traveled down a steep winding road and could see that the rain battered the embankment. The immense volume of water raging down the river as a result of the torrential rain from up north was flooding the low-lying areas. Lance had speculated they could risk driving the SUV along the rugged country roads, and after a harrowing forty-five minutes, they finally drove onto a main road leading to the airport. But they still had twenty miles to go.
Peter heard Lance suddenly swear. “What is it?”
“The announcer said that a strong southerly wind was expected to push the Mediterranean deep on land. He expects the flood to be like the disastrous ones which have struck the south of Italy eight times in eleven years.”
Roy pulled the car over to the side. “I need to stop for a minute.”
“Can’t it wait?” Peter said, in no mood to get stuck in mud on some country road.
“You want to go out in this weather?” Lance said, also stunned by Roy’s request.
Roy did not answer. He got out of the SUV and walked toward a field. Thankfully, the heavy rain had lightened, but Peter and Lance didn’t understand their companion’s strange behavior.
“If it’s a nature call, he could use one of the bottles in the back of the van.” Lance looked at his watch. “We need to get going if we are going to get to the airport on time, especially in this weather.”
Peter did not respond. He was looking at Roy with growing concern.
Lance looked over at Roy as well. “What do you think is wrong with him? It’s like he’s having some sort of attack,” he said when Roy doubled over.
Peter shot out of the van and raced over to Roy. Roy gasped for air with the palm of his hands on his knees. The pallor on Roy’s face and the wheezing sound from his chest ignited Peter’s temper. “Why didn’t you tell us you have asthma?”
“I…I…need…” Roy turned and grabbed the cuff of Peter’s shirt, fear evident in his eyes. Peter could feel Roy’s panic begin to rise, and Roy’s heightened emotion made him start to cough while his breathlessness and wheezing increased. He fell forward, and Peter caught him before he hit the ground.
An unrelenting curtain of rain soaked through their clothes and softened the earth beneath them, making the path slippery and treacherous. Peter switched into automatic. After his brother’s attack, he’d learned all he could about first aid so that he could be prepared for any event. On the football field he’d helped a fellow player suffering from heatstroke. As a volunteer firefighter he’d performed CPR on a heart attack victim, reset a broken arm, even aided a choking child. But never this. He hadn’t dealt with a severe asthma attack since his brother’s years ago, and for a second his mind went blank and he was a helpless ten-year-old watching the brother he’d idolized slip away from him. If he didn’t act fast enough or do the right thing, Roy could die or end up like his brother.
He remembered the white walls of the hospital ward where they’d kept Thomas, the Asian nurse who always smiled at him but would never give him straight answers to his many questions. He remembered his brother’s physical therapy to help him walk and talk again and how they’d applauded when he’d been able to use a spoon again. He remembered the arguments his parents would have at night that would always leave his mother in tears.
I’m not going through this again, Peter thought, pushing back those memories as he registered the heaviness of Roy’s limp body. He wouldn’t let Roy’s family go through it, either. Let this be his redemption for what he hadn’t been able to do then.
“Roy, where is your medicine?” Peter demanded, shaking him.
Roy didn’t respond. He was drifting in and out of consciousness.
Peter yelled to Lance. “Bring me Roy’s backpack.”
“What’s going on?” Lance said, anxious.
“Just get me his damn backpack,” Peter snapped.
Lance reached into the back of the SUV, grabbed Roy’s backpack then rushed over to where Peter was.
“Roy’s having an asthma attack,” Peter said. “I need his medicine fast or this guy’s going to die.” He nodded to the backpack. “There should be an inhaler in there somewhere.”
Lance searched the bag. “I don’t see it. What does it lo—?”
Peter grabbed the backpack and swiftly searched through its contents until he found it. He adjusted Roy’s position. “Lance, I need you to support him.” He saw the
fear on the other man’s face and said, “He’ll make it,” knowing that Lance needed the assurance. He understood how frightening it was to witness someone struggle to breath and basically have their own lungs suffocate them, but he needed Lance to focus. “It’s probably a stress-induced attack brought on by the frightening storm conditions. His medicine will help.” Peter slapped Roy’s face hard.
Roy’s eyes briefly fluttered open, and Peter administered the medicine.
“Breathe, Fitcher. Breathe. It’s going to be okay.” When Roy’s eyes opened again, Peter could still see the panic and fear in them. “I’m not going to let you die. You’re going to be okay. I’m right here with you. You’re going to be fine.” Peter continued to talk to Roy while administering the medication, and soon Roy’s color started coming back and his breathing returned to normal.
Lance released a sigh of relief.
“We need to get out of here,” Peter said. “He’s going to be weak from this. Help me get him to the van.”
The two men carried the half-conscious Roy to the SUV and put him in the backseat.
“Hey man, how are you with driving an SUV in this rain?” Peter asked, jumping in the backseat with Roy.
“This will be easy. I used to be a long-distance truck driver before I decided to go into film. Buckle up. U.S.A., here we come.”
The medication was taking effect. Peter saw Roy’s color return, and he was no longer fighting for every breath. Roy closed his eyes.
But when they were within five miles of the airport, they saw a blockage ahead.
“I’m sorry, sir,” an Italian officer said, “but you cannot continue on this road.”
“We are with a film crew from America, and we need to get to the airport right away to catch our flight. We don’t want to be stranded here. My colleague just had a serious asthma attack and needs to get home and see his personal physician,” Peter said.
The officer looked at Roy.
“Okay, you can go. Drive slowly and instead of driving through the water, try to drive on the edge of the puddles. Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
At the airport, Peter picked up all three tickets and they were soon getting into a small plane. Roy had recovered enough to sit up, but the attack had exhausted him.
“How did you know what to do?” Roy asked, his voice barely audible.
“I have a brother with asthma,” Peter admitted with some reluctance. Then he bit his lip. “Can I tell you about him?”
Roy nodded and Peter told him the story of his past that he no longer wanted to keep secret or be ashamed of.
And as he spoke, Roy’s image of Peter as a calculated ladies’ man floated away, followed by his picture of him as a self-serving jock, rich jerk and arrogant bestselling author until all that was left was an ordinary man. He’d misjudged him on every level. When Peter was finished, Roy shook his head in admiration and disbelief. “I was right, you are a fraud.”
Peter laughed. “Thanks,” he said without rancor.
“No, in a good way,” Roy clarified, not wanting to cause offense. “You play a role that’s not really who you are. You’re smarter and deeper than anyone thinks. I’m sorry I didn’t see it before.”
Peter shrugged, brushing aside his praise. “It works for me.”
But Roy refused to let Peter dismiss him. He seized Peter’s hand, and when he spoke his voice shook with emotion. “I owe you my life. I didn’t have any brothers until now. Until you. If you ever need anything, let me know.”
A brother. Not to replace the one he had, but to add to his life. Someone he could depend on and trust. Peter gripped Roy’s shoulder and said, “I will.”
The scent of freshly polished wood and her favorite linen-and-sky scented carpet deodorizer greeted Claudia when she entered her apartment. “Thank you, Noreen,” she whispered while squatting down to pat Madame Curie, who had come up to welcome her. She sat down on the couch and didn’t realize she’d fallen asleep until a soft knock on the door woke her. She saw that it was dark. Opening her eyes, Claudia squinted at her watch then opened the door. Peter stood there, red-eyed and exhausted. She didn’t ask him why he was there. She just hugged him.
“I was worried.”
“You thought a storm and an ocean could keep us apart?”
Claudia caressed his face with her two hands, feeling the day-old stubble of his beard. “You look as tired as I feel. Come on.” She took his hand and led him into her bedroom. They didn’t speak. They got in bed, pulled up the covers and fell asleep, happy to be together.
Several hours later, Peter woke up with a start. “What’s that?”
Claudia yawned. “What’s what?”
He glanced at the door on alert. “I heard a noise.”
“It’s probably Madame Curie.” Claudia turned back over to sleep.
“Madame who?”
“My cat—I never let her hear me call her that—it annoys her. She only responds if you call her by her name.”
Peter didn’t respond. He was focused on what he perceived to be a danger. “No. The sound’s larger than what a cat, excuse me, Madame Curie could do.” He stood, tense. “Give me something.”
Claudia quickly grabbed a wooden clothes hanger out of her closet and handed it to Peter.
He waved it in the air, exasperated. “What do you expect me to do with this?”
“I couldn’t find anything. Wait.” She disappeared into the bathroom then returned.
Peter frowned. “A curling iron? Never mind. Stay here.” He exited and quietly closed the door.
Claudia waited by the door, and seconds later she heard a piercing scream. She ran into the kitchen and saw Noreen holding up a butcher knife.
Peter pushed Claudia behind him. “I told you to stay in the bedroom.”
“It’s okay. I know her. Noreen, he’s with me.”
Noreen kept her grip on the knife. “You’re not supposed to be back yet. What are you doing here?”
“We came back early.”
“It would have been nice if you’d told me.” Noreen looked somewhat relieved, but she still held the knife out.
“You can put the knife down.” Claudia came out from behind Peter.
Noreen returned the knife to the slot in the butcher-block holder on the counter then folded her arms, waiting for some sort of explanation. “You weren’t supposed to arrive back for another week,” she said, annoyed.
“I know. It’s a long story. But let me introduce you. Noreen, this is Peter. Peter, this is Noreen.”
Peter held out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Noreen briefly shook his hand. “You scared the s—”
“Noreen,” Claudia warned.
Peter grinned. “I’m sorry about that.”
Claudia turned to Peter. “Darling, why don’t you go and get changed so I can talk to Noreen?”
Peter took his cue and left.
Noreen watched him go, then whispered, “Talk about taking your work home with you. No wonder you’ve been keeping him a secret. He looks even better in person.”
“I can explain.”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me. I’m just surprised he’s the so-called Mr. I’ll-Never-Marry.”
“What do you mean?”
“That guy isn’t a player. He’s got ‘commitment’ written all over his face.”
“No, he doesn’t. He’s like me. We both don’t want to get married. Ever.”
Noreen shrugged, unconvinced. “If you say so.”
Claudia loved her friend, but sometimes she could grate on her nerves. “Besides, how can you know that?”
“I know men, and he’s the serious sort. Funny, he looks younger than his photos. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“No.”
“Just don’t break his heart, okay?”
“I’ll try not to.”
“Be gentle. Try not to get too serious.”
“When have you ever known me to get serious
about a man?”
“You have a point. But he’s a smooth liar.”
“What do you mean?” Claudia said bewildered.
“He said it was ‘nice to meet me.’ It’s never nice to meet a woman with a knife aimed at your chest. But with that voice, I almost believed him.” Noreen looked down at her watch. “Well, I’d better go.”
“Sorry for the mix-up. Thanks for looking after things for me.”
“It was fun, but Madame Curie doesn’t like to be left alone. Twice when I came back I saw papers moved and once a box knocked over.”
Claudia frowned. “Madame Curie is usually careful. Perhaps something frightened her.”
Noreen began to grin. “She won’t be left alone now.” She turned to the door.
“Wait.” Claudia rushed over to where she’d dumped her luggage. She reached inside a large paper bag. “Here. This is for you.”
Noreen pulled on her coat. “Thanks, you shouldn’t have.” She picked up her handbag and walked to the door. “Just a word of advice.”
“What?”
“Whatever he asks for, say ‘yes.’”
“I didn’t realize you had such dangerous friends,” Peter said as they ate breakfast in Claudia’s kitchenette.
“We surprised her. She didn’t expect anyone to be here.”
“She’s a little thing, but she’s lethal.”
Claudia laughed. “Noreen? Never.”
“Hmm,” Peter said, doubtful, then he reached into his pocket. “Oh, Roy sent us these,” he said, placing pictures of them on the table. “He also sent soft copies.”
Amazed, Claudia picked up the photos of her and Peter in the different countries they’d visited—one with them on the beach, another walking along a street, a third kissing behind an olive tree. “Roy took these? Why?”
“Blackmail?”
Claudia looked up and frowned. “That’s not funny.”
“I wasn’t trying to be funny.” Peter picked up one photo and studied it. “He thought he was protecting you.”
“Then why did he decide to give them to you?”
“It’s a long story. Let’s just say it’s done now.”
