This is One Moment

by Mila Gray

  When the movie’s over, Didi gets up off the bed. Disappointment rushes at me that it’s time for her to leave, but then she surprises me by switching off the TV and lying back down beside me. I’d been getting ready to get up, but now I sink back down against the cushions, wondering, waiting. My heart rate speeds up. I can’t tell what she’s thinking and it’s as frustrating as hell. I decide to wait it out.

  ‘Do you ever think about what you’re going to do when you get out of here?’ she asks.

  ‘You mean besides go on a date with you?’ I answer.

  ‘No,’ she says a little timidly. ‘I mean where you’ll live, what you might do?’

  I shake my head. ‘What about you?’ I ask, not wanting to focus on me. ‘You got plans?’

  She takes a deep breath, let’s it out in a rush. ‘Get my PhD, start my own practice, buy a place in LA, somewhere near the water . . .’

  ‘You’ve got it all mapped out.’

  I can tell I’ve said the wrong thing, that she’s tensed up. ‘I used to,’ I say quickly, ‘map things out, I mean. But now . . . I don’t know. Now I know how meaningless it all is, how it can all be ripped away in an instant, I just don’t see the point in it.’

  There’s a long silence, but it’s one of the things I’m getting used to between us. It’s not uncomfortable but actually, weirdly, comforting.

  ‘How’s the training going for the triathlon?’ Didi asks after a while.

  ‘Not bad,’ I say. ‘Being tied to Sanchez isn’t exactly my idea of a good time, though.’

  ‘Is it the being tied to someone you object to, or being tied to Sanchez?’ she asks with a laugh.

  I smile. ‘Well, you know, I’m down with a little bondage now and again. I would just rather it wasn’t with Sanchez.’

  Didi laughs. I want to take that laugh and bottle it so I can pull it out and listen to it when she’s not there.

  ‘Bondage, huh?’ she asks.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, wondering where I’m taking this conversation. It’s suddenly veering into territory that feels uncertain, and not being able to see her expression, I’m worried about saying the wrong thing. ‘You know, nothing too S&M,’ I add in a joking tone. I don’t know why I’ve just made a joke like that. It’s not as if I’ve ever done it before. Miranda would probably have broken up with me for suggesting it.

  ‘No paddles and whips, then?’ Didi asks, laughing.

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘But tying someone up and blindfolding them? I could be down with that.’

  ‘Oh?’ There’s a hitch in her voice.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, feeling the buzz between us suddenly increase a notch. ‘I can state with some expertise on the matter that blindness has one very clear benefit.’

  ‘What?’

  I pause, enjoying the slight breathlessness in her voice. ‘It heightens all your other senses.’

  She swallows. I hear it. And then I hear her lips part.

  ‘Touch, taste, hearing, smell,’ I continue.

  ‘Right,’ Didi whispers.

  Another pause.

  ‘Walker?’ she says, after a beat.

  ‘Yeah?’

  She hesitates. ‘I need to go home.’

  ‘Oh.’ Shit. Did I take it too far? I can feel the disappointment flooding onto my face. Suddenly her hand is against my cheek.

  ‘I need to go home,’ she says, ‘because I’m scared that if I don’t leave right now, then I’m never going to be able to leave at all.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say, and I have to fight hard to keep my arms by my sides and not pull her against me. She has no idea how much I want to hold her, trace her face and her lips with my fingertips, how much I want to get to know her in every single possible way.

  ‘Goodnight,’ she says.

  I make to get up off the bed to see her to the door, but she pushes me back down. ‘No, don’t get up,’ she whispers and then I feel her leaning over me, the soft sweep of her hair brushing my face. I have to hold my breath, clutch the covers to stop myself reaching for her. She kisses me softly on the cheek. Then she hovers over me, and I can sense her just an inch away from me, her breath warm against my lips. I hear her breathing quicken. Is she going to kiss me? It’s torture not knowing what’s coming, not being in control – having to relinquish the power to her. I can’t make a move because I can’t see what I’m doing, and that’s not a position I’ve ever been in before. With Miranda and every other girl I’ve always made the first move. Having said that, I don’t think I’ve ever been so turned on, either. My own breathing has ratcheted up. My hands are gripping the sheets.

  After a long, tortuous moment, Didi gets up and crosses the room.

  ‘Sleep well,’ she says before she shuts the door.

  I lie there, heart racing, trying to steady my breathing but getting nowhere. Sleep? I don’t think I’m going to be sleeping any time soon.

  Didi

  The next day I’m walking around like I have ants in my pants. I’m so on edge, so distracted by the internal battle waging in my head, that I can’t concentrate on anything.

  ‘What’s with you?’ José says when I have to ask him three times to remind me what patient I’m supposed to be observing at what time.

  ‘Nothing,’ I say.

  He shoots me a suspicious look.

  The elevator doors open and I step out. ‘I’m just going to check in on Dodds,’ I say, trying not to stare over my shoulder at Walker’s room. ‘How’s he doing today?’

  ‘Not talking,’ says José, shaking his head grimly. ‘He had a visitor, though. Some cousin of Valentina’s.’

  I grimace. Oh God, is that who she rustled up? I walk quickly to Dodds’ room and knock. He’s alone, sitting in his wheelchair, staring blankly out the window.

  ‘Hi,’ I say.

  He doesn’t turn his head. I step into the room and walk towards him. I open my mouth to ask how he is but then shut it again. I can imagine that’s the last question he wants to be asked. He’s probably sick of it.

  ‘Can I do anything?’ I ask.

  A faint smile flickers on his lips before being snuffed out. He shakes his head.

  ‘Did you have a visitor?’

  He gives a dismissive shrug. I frown. Where’s Angela?

  I glance at the photograph on his nightstand. ‘What about her?’ I ask, wandering over and picking it up. ‘Can I call her for you? Do you think she’d like to visit?’

  He frowns at me. ‘No, just leave it. Leave me alone.’

  I put the photograph down. ‘OK,’ I say, noticing as I walk away from the nightstand that the brochure I gave him yesterday on careers is in the trash can.

  I pause by the door, glancing back at him over my shoulder. How do you do it, I want to know? How do you keep an emotional distance from people? I’m really not sure I’m cut out to be a psychologist, and the doubt that’s been niggling at me for the last few weeks is increasing in volume. It’s no longer niggling, it’s harassing me. What if, after all this study and all this dreaming, it turns out I’m not suited to the job?

  Just outside Walker’s room I hear voices, or rather one voice – a woman’s – and pull up sharply. I peer through the crack in the door and see Walker pressed up against the foot of the bed while Valentina’s cousin Angela talks at him ten to the dozen. She’s wearing another of those flowery kaftan dresses and her bosom, which rivals my own for size, is torpedoing him. She’s in danger of knocking him backwards onto the bed.

  I burst into the room. ‘Hi,’ I say loudly.

  Angela turns around, her sentence trailing off.

  ‘Are you ready for your appointment, Lieutenant?’ I ask.

  I see the question start to form on Walker’s lips, the frown of confusion, then a second later realization dawns and his expression clears. ‘Oh, yeah, my appointment.’ He nods vigorously. ‘I’m so ready for that. Let’s do it.’

  ‘OK, great,’ I say, stepping into the room.

  ‘What appointment is that?’ Angela asks, frow
ning at me. ‘Are you a doctor?’

  ‘Um,’ I say. I’m so bad at lying.

  ‘Yeah, she’s my doctor,’ Walker cuts in.

  ‘Yeah. I’m his doctor,’ I repeat, nodding. ‘I’m here to . . .’ I blank.

  ‘Change my dressing,’ Walker finishes for me.

  ‘What dressing?’ Angela asks, looking him over.

  ‘On my . . .’

  ‘Knee. His knee,’ I blurt.

  ‘Your knee?’ Angela asks, scrunching up her face.

  ‘Yeah. Surgery,’ Walker explains, pointing at his knee. ‘I had surgery. Busted my kneecap.’

  Angela pouts, one hand flying to her chest. ‘Oh, you poor thing. Shall I wait for you to be done?’

  ‘No,’ Walker answers quickly.

  ‘It’s going to take a while,’ I add. ‘After I’ve changed the dressing I have to give him a thorough . . . physical exam.’

  Walker’s eyebrows shoot up and he gives me a smirk. ‘Oh,’ says Angela. ‘OK. Well, I’ll come by later.’

  ‘Why don’t you go see Callum?’ I ask, even though I regret it the instant it’s out of my mouth.

  ‘Callum?’ she frowns.

  ‘Dodds? The guy in the room next door.’

  ‘The guy with no legs?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Her nose wrinkles. ‘I’m not sure. I don’t think he really wants a visitor. He’s kind of – ’ she lowers her voice – ‘weird.’

  I grit my teeth. Any sympathy I might have had for her just went entirely out the window.

  ‘Well,’ I say, stepping to one side and motioning to the door. ‘I’m sure you’re busy.’

  She takes the hint and, turning back to Walker, squeezes his arm. ‘Bye,’ she says. ‘I’ll drop by later.’

  ‘Bye,’ he answers with a fixed smile on his face. He really is the worst at pretending, and for that I’m stupidly glad.

  Angela leaves, shooting me a suspicious look as she goes. I’m wearing jeans and a blouse and I definitely don’t look like a doctor.

  ‘Oh my God,’ Walker says, collapsing onto the bed once she’s gone and I’ve shut the door behind her. ‘Thank you. I wanted to pull the emergency cord in my room but I couldn’t find it.’

  I laugh. ‘It’s OK. I don’t mind you owing me.’

  ‘Chalk it up. Let’s start keeping count.’

  ‘Count?’ I ask.

  ‘Yeah. Then when I get out of this place and we can finally go on a date, I’ll start paying you back all I owe you.’

  I take another step towards him. ‘How?’ I ask.

  A smile lifts the edge of his mouth. ‘In ways you cannot even imagine.’

  My stomach gives way again as if the floor’s collapsed beneath my feet. ‘I don’t know,’ I manage to say. ‘I have a pretty good imagination.’

  He pulls a face and shakes his head. ‘No,’ he says. ‘Your imagination will need a reboot after this.’

  He isn’t even touching me and I’m as breathless as if we’d just spent half an hour making out. ‘Oh,’ I whisper.

  We’re standing just inches apart now, and I can see he’s breathing as fast as me. Neither of us says anything.

  ‘Didi?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes?’

  He bites his lip and frowns. ‘Can I—?’ He stops and frowns.

  ‘What?’ I ask.

  He lifts his hand and I freeze, not sure what he’s going to do, but then, very lightly, with just his fingertips, he starts tracing my face. First my cheekbones then my brow, then stroking along my jawbone, his touch so gentle that I feel like I’m made of glass. He traces his fingers down my nose, over my eyebrows, strokes his fingertips over my eyelashes, and finally runs his thumb over my lips.

  I haven’t breathed the whole time he’s been touching me, but I start almost hyperventilating when he strokes my lips with his thumb.

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ he says, finally taking my face in both his hands.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say, my voice shaking.

  His thumb presses against my lips again. My resolve is one thin iota away from vanishing completely.

  Walker

  ‘If in our heart we still cling to anger or anxiety or possessions – anything at all – then we cannot be free.’

  I hit the pause button on the meditation that Didi has put on the iPod. Sometimes she’s as subtle as a sledgehammer. I know she’s trying to get me to open up about what happened, but the closer I get to her the less I want to tell her the truth – about what happened in Helmand. I can’t bear the thought of what she’ll think if she knows the truth.

  The elevator doors open at the end of the hallway and my ears prick up. It’s Didi. I can tell first by the sound of her heels clicking on the tiles, and then from her laugh when she greets José. I smile at the sound of it. She doesn’t come straight to me. I hear her stop in with Dodds and chat to him for a few minutes, but I can tell by the lack of response on his part that it’s a one-way conversation. I went through the same thing earlier with him.

  A minute later there’s a gentle knock on my door.

  ‘Hey, Miss Monroe,’ I say.

  ‘How do you always know it’s me?’ she asks, and I hear the happiness in her voice, a slipstream of bubbles beneath the surface.

  I shrug. ‘I’m blind, not deaf.’

  She laughs.

  ‘But even if you tiptoed like a ninja I’d still be able to sense you.’

  ‘I remember, you told me. You always know how I’m feeling or where I’m standing in a room. That’s quite a party trick.’

  ‘It only works with you.’

  ‘OK, so what am I feeling now then?’ she asks. ‘And where am I standing?’

  ‘Well, the second part’s easy. You’re over by the window. It’s where you always stand. I’m thinking it’s because you like to keep the table between us because you can’t trust yourself.’ I grin, hoping I’m right.

  From the sharp breath she draws in I’m guessing I am. ‘And you’re happy this morning, but underneath it there’s a little sadness. No, maybe not sadness, maybe . . . frustration? Conflict?’ I’m guessing this. It’s actually how I feel. But there is a slight breathlessness to her voice and I know I’m not imagining the electric buzz passing between us.

  ‘You guessed right,’ she says quietly. ‘You’d make a good therapist. You have really great intuition.’

  Not that great, I think to myself. If my intuition had been better, five people wouldn’t be dead now. And just like that my mood swerves into darkness.

  ‘You still haven’t shaved,’ Didi comments.

  I shrug, running a hand over my chin, forcing a smile. ‘Figured I might see if the Seals were recruiting.’

  ‘Did you ever think of becoming a Navy Seal?’ she asks, and I hear her putting her bag down on the chair and coming towards me.

  I shrug. ‘Yeah. But my dad pushed me towards the marines. He was a marine, so, you know . . .’

  ‘I thought he worked in military intelligence.’

  ‘He does now, but he made colonel in the marines. I think he’s pretty disappointed that I’m no longer following in his footsteps.’

  ‘And are you?’

  I frown. ‘What?’

  ‘Are you disappointed? Is that what you wanted? Before, you said that you never thought about becoming a marine when you were growing up, but that when your brother dropped out of school you kind of ended up following the path set for him.’

  ‘Um . . .’ I pause and sit down on the bed. ‘I guess. I mean, I love it. Loved it.’ My fingers are twisting the sheet into knots. ‘At least, I thought I did. But—’ I break off. ‘I thought I loved a lot of things. Turns out I was wrong.’

  Didi sits down beside me. Her thigh brushes mine and for a second that’s all I can focus on, the heat of it, the pressure. It’s a welcome distraction from the images that are starting to flicker at the edge of my memory.

  ‘What would you have done otherwise?’ Didi asks. ‘If you hadn’t become a marine?’


  ‘I don’t know. I wanted to do something using my hands.’

  Didi laughs under her breath and I grin in response, the dark thoughts vanishing. I can guess what she’s thinking. I elbow her lightly in the ribs. ‘I’m good with my hands. Woodwork, metalwork, engines . . . other things too.’

  She takes a deep breath.

  ‘At the Naval Academy, my degree was in naval architecture. I had this idea that I’d one day design boats, build my own.’

  ‘Really?’ asks Didi, sounding surprised.

  I nod. ‘My grandpa had this old boat he used to take us out on when we were kids. Nothing fancy. Wood hull, only twenty foot, but big enough. It was so beautiful. I think it’s still moored somewhere up the coast here. He sold it just before he died.’ I smile to myself, recalling all the times my brother Isaac and I went out on the water with our grandpa, every summer spent learning how to sail until our hands were calloused and our skin so tanned and our hair so long and bleached so blonde that our own mother didn’t recognize us.

  ‘That was where I was happiest,’ I tell Didi, and I realize as I say it that it’s true. I was happier as a kid learning to sail than I’ve ever been before or since. Even Miranda didn’t make me as happy.

  ‘Out there it’s just you and the water, and nothing else really matters. It’s the closest you can get to freedom. To being in the present.’

  I can feel Didi nodding beside me.

  ‘It’s just this immensity,’ I go on. ‘Out there, away from land, you realize how small you are in comparison. How insignificant.’

  As soon as I say the word insignificant, the image of the boot – the foot still in it, the bone sheered clean through – slams into my mind. The laces were tied in a double bow. Who did it belong to?

  ‘You’re not insignificant,’ Didi says quietly, almost as if she’s picked up on the shift in my thoughts.

  I turn my head towards her, momentarily confused and disorientated. Why did I think of that and why now?

  Suddenly I feel her hand against my cheek, her fingers sliding against my jaw, stroking the stubble. ‘Do you want me to shave you?’ she murmurs softly.