Under the Same Sun (Stone Trilogy)

by Mariam Kobras

  She held out the roll to him, and he grinned. “Ah. I see why he’s slightly turned off. I remember Andrea giving you that for breakfast sometimes, and you like the stuff! You’ll never be a proper LA vegan, my dear; good thing we’ll be living in New York in the future. That’s not a trend you’re likely to establish in Hollywood.” Politely he declined her offer to share but remained with her until they were ready to board.

  “You know what makes me sad?” Naomi said just as they were about to get on the plane, while Jon was finishing the coffee he had just picked up. “The most wonderful scent in the world is a newborn’s head. I don’t know why that is; one would think it would be disgusting, so fresh from the womb, but babies just smell delicious.”

  “Why does that make you sad?” Jon put down the cup.

  “Because you’re supposed to smell it on your own baby’s head. And you never will.” She gathered her purse and jacket from the chair, “And you should have.”

  He had refused to hold little Marisol when Solveigh offered, afraid of dropping the infant, afraid of crushing her; but he had never in his wildest dreams thought of smelling her. Mesmerized, he had watched Russ handle the baby as if it was the most natural thing in the world, as if the ability to look after her had been delivered to him the same instant she was born. Solveigh, sitting upright in her bed and eating a hearty breakfast of eggs and bacon, had watched her new family with the complacency of a well-fed cat, her face radiant, her blue eyes sparkling. There had been no trace of exhaustion; she was as fresh as a daisy and as healthy as ever. Compared to her, Naomi looked like a ghost, like her own shadow: bloodless, tired, impassive.

  Jon wanted to hit somebody. He wanted to feel his fist connect with flesh, break bones, feel something—anything—crumble under his wrath, and for the pain to be transferred from Naomi to that other body. He wanted someone to be guilty, to pay for her hurt, take the burden; only there was no one. If at all, he would have to smash his own face, for of all the people connected with the shooting, he was the most responsible.

  Defeated, he climbed the gangway, the last to board.

  Their little group didn’t fill even half the plane; they had enough room to spread out for the short flight. Naomi had picked a seat in the back, well away from the others.

  “You really want me to divorce you just so I can smell a baby’s head?” He dropped into the seat beside her. “Or are you thinking of becoming a Mormon so I can have more than one wife?”

  “I think you would have to become a Mormon for that; besides, they don’t allow that anyway, Jon. No, I don’t want you to have any other wife but me.” Her seat belt was tangled, and she pulled impatiently to close it.

  “Ah. So no other wife. That leaves only one option. Divorce. Well then. Let’s get a divorce.” It had been said so calmly that it took a while for the words to register with her. Her face paled as if all the blood had dropped from it with one breath, and her eyes closed for an instant. Jon was almost sure he could see her lashes tremble.

  “All right,” Naomi said.

  The softly spoken word felt like a long, hot needle pushed into his throat.

  The plane was moving, taxiing toward the runway. A flight attendant came to check on them, nodded, and left again.

  “You would really do that, wouldn’t you? You would jump off this plane just to atone for something that’s not your fault.” Jon gripped her hand hard, probably hurting her, but he didn’t care. “You would divorce me. And what do you think would happen then, huh? Do you really believe for one second that I’d ride off into the sunset with a young nubile maiden and get her pregnant within the next twenty-four hours just so I could hold a baby in my arms? Don’t you understand anything?”

  She didn’t react.

  “Look at me, damn you. Don’t sit there like a dying swan. I will never divorce you, so you can stop hoping for that. I don’t give a shit about a baby’s head, and you have to stop punishing yourself.” He drew a deep breath. “You can’t go on like this, my love; it will destroy you. You’re torturing yourself every day; you wallow in the pain.”

  That shook her out of her distress. Furiously, she pulled her hand out of his to tug at her clothes. “Do you want to see my scar? Do you want to see where they cut me open from top to bottom; do you want another look at the X-rays with the black hole where my lung should be? Would you like to watch the video again, of the shooting, when you were not there, and…”

  Jon caught her against his chest when she started sobbing, fighting for breath, cradling her head, just as the plane took off. The land slipped away beneath them, just like his anger; and he wondered, miserable now, why he had felt the need to lash out at her, dump something as stupid and painful as the prospect of divorce on her, when he wanted nothing of the kind.

  chapter 11

  She refused to talk to him, even changed places as soon as the seat belt light went out, scrambling over his lap because he refused to get up and let her pass. He went over to her once and tried to apologize, but she turned her head away and leaned her cheek against the window, her arms wrapped tightly around her body in an attitude of rejection.

  “There’s nothing out there but clouds,” Jon said in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Look at me instead. Look at me, and talk to me.” He could have slapped himself for his outbreak, seeing her cry now. “You were driving me crazy with this baby talk, Naomi. Can’t you just let it go and forget the whole issue? Hurting yourself like this doesn’t help at all. It doesn’t help! It won’t give you a baby. For that we need to do different things, loving things.”

  But for once she didn’t listen to him and his lame attempt at bantering. Jon felt like an idiot standing in the airplane aisle, in the way of the flight attendant when she came around with coffee and drinks. He had to squeeze himself into the row next to her and wait there until the serving cart was past. The band and everyone else was farther up front, most of them dozing or reading and not paying attention to them.

  “You know I’d never divorce you. I was just…” Exhaustion crept up on him as he looked up the aisle to where his friends were, accepting the offered beverages, stirring, beginning to chat over their plastic cups. An insane longing to be up there with them, have an orange juice with a hint of vodka, crack a couple of stupid jokes, and relax, overwhelmed him. “It was a stupid, senseless joke, okay? I thought I’d be able to shock you out of your sadness, but it didn’t work. Can this please be over now? Can we have a cup of coffee and forget this whole thing?”

  She barely glanced at him. “Go and have your coffee. I don’t want any.” Naomi turned even farther away, her face shuttered, lips tightly closed.

  Art was calling him, asking why he was standing around in the aisle, if he wanted something, and why they were hiding in the back anyway. He held up a glass of tomato juice. “Come here; we’re discussing where to live in New York; you should be able to make some suggestions.”

  For a moment longer Jon looked down at her, waiting for a response, then he left and joined Art and Sal.

  The clouds broke when they crossed the Alps, the white-capped peaks gleaming below the plane in the sunlight, the meadows and forests in the valley sparkling like jewels, the rivers blue ribbons outlining the landscape. Naomi nearly cried again when they approached Geneva and she could see the huge plume of the fountain in the distance and the rainbows its haze cast. She remembered being a young girl, enjoying the easy life of a teenager without a worry in the world but which dress to wear for the party that night or which invitation to accept for a cruise on the lake. She had been so free, like a moth dancing in the warm air. For a short while she had been carefree, happy, the burden of her family’s business forgotten. Sometimes she had even been able to pretend she was someone else, just one of the girls who were the butterflies on the promenade, eating ice cream, dipping their bare feet into the sm
all waves of the lake that kissed the pier with little smacks while they laughed at the boys slowly passing by and ogling them. They had been so sassy, hitching up their short skirts to show off tanned, sleek legs and confuse the young men. Young queens, trying out their power on everything in trousers; and when one of them dared to come forward, they quickly closed ranks and retreated, their silver giggles like a trail of perfume, fading.

  Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she raised her head to look for Jon, but he had sat down somewhere with the others and she couldn’t see him.

  None of those boys had appealed to her despite her friends’ attempts to set her up and their constant questions about why she didn’t pick one, even if only for the fun of it. She had not wanted a boyfriend. In her dreams, there had always been someone else, someone who wouldn’t blush and stammer when she batted her lashes at him and who would wipe away all the silliness and play with one glance.

  She wanted, she had told the other girls, a man. Not one of the kids. It was not the entire truth; but it made them stop matchmaking and look at her with a new attitude, something like respect, and envy.

  The warning lights for the seat belts blinked.

  Naomi rose from her isolated seat and wandered up to the others. Jon was sitting beside Sean, listening to something on his headphones, but when he noticed her he jumped up.

  “If the plane crashes during landing,” she said, “I want you beside me. I don’t want to die alone.”

  Her hand was in his again. They hadn’t spoken yet, but her body had relaxed against his when they sat down on the bus, side by side, the way he wanted them to be every moment of their lives.

  Jon recalled only too well the one time he had been in Geneva before. He had never returned there on tour, despite the many requests and invitations, even once by the mayor himself, saying his wife was a great fan and they wanted to show him a great time in their lovely city by the lake.

  Without Naomi he couldn’t. He couldn’t stand the thought of entering that hotel lobby again and not see her standing in the entrance, looking at him across that space, or taking a walk down the promenade along the lakeside and thinking of that first kiss, that enchanted moment, and not having her there, beside him.

  Out of sheer sentimentality he had insisted on the same hotel they had stayed in back then. Sal had given him the eye and asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm, if he hadn’t been able to find a more expensive or exclusive one; and Jon, with a shrug, had replied that he didn’t care. They had been able to afford it back then and no one had complained, and now they were wealthier than they were then.

  “You want to repeat that moment with her,” Sal had said, and earned himself a withering look in reply. “You think it will be just as magical. Dude, I have news for you. That’s not how it works.”

  Jon had nearly choked on his coffee.

  “Oh,” Naomi sighed softly, and he woke from his reverie. Her fingers were curling around his as she looked out at the promenade and the old buildings, at the grand facade of the hotel. “We’re here. Jon, we’re back where…”

  “Yes.” It was a moment he had dreamed of for many years, being back. During the time they had been apart he had resisted the temptation to come back, to once again sit on that sofa in the lobby of this hotel, sit there and wait and look toward the entrance; and maybe, if the gods were kind, she would walk in and stand there, bathed in sunlight.

  “Please, baby,” Jon said as the bus stopped, “please stop punishing yourself for things that aren’t your fault. Isn’t it part of marriage, to bear the bad stuff together and enjoy the good? You’d never leave me if I lost my voice, would you? You wouldn’t have turned away from me that day when I came to find you in Halmar if I hadn’t been famous, successful, wealthy anymore, would you? If I had told you I sold vacuum cleaners door-to-door now? Would you?”

  She shook her head, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

  “Or…”—dramatically Jon spread his arms, right there outside the impressive entrance of the most exclusive hotel in Geneva, ignoring the stares of the passersby—“if I had lost a leg, or I was bald and fat. You’d still want me, right?”

  “I’m not sure about the bald and fat.”

  He laughed when he saw her turn her head to hide the grin from him. “Yeah, I’d think about that twice too. Come on. This is our day, and we’ll play this out. Let Sal think we’re maudlin fools. I don’t care.”

  But she didn’t budge. “Jon, this is different, serious. You’re throwing away the chance of having another child.”

  On the point of walking up the stairs after the others, Jon stopped. She was still down on the pavement, amid the piles of luggage the driver and the hotel attendants were beginning to take inside, her purse clamped in her hands, waiting for his reply.

  “Yeah.” Slowly, nodding, he took the two steps back to her. “Yeah, I’m throwing it away. I’m very deliberately throwing this away. I’m cutting the thought of ever having another kid out of my heart. And yes, I wanted it very much. But, Naomi, I don’t want it as much as I want you. I have this choice and it’s mine alone to make. You have no say in this. It’s either you, or some other woman and a baby. Well, I choose you and no child. I can’t imagine my life without you. But I can well imagine it without another child. It’s that easy. My choice. Now will you please come inside and let me see you in that lobby, and relive that sweet moment when I first saw you? Please?”

  Naomi gazed at his outstretched hand for a moment and then took it to follow him inside.

  Sal watched them enter the lobby, her arm through Jon’s, like a bride walking into a church. The picture was like a heartbreaking déjà vu, like a painting of that moment when he had first seen them together, right here in this spot. Only then they had not come toward him like royalty, their faces serene. Back then she had been a schoolgirl in jeans: now she was everything he wanted her to be: a beautiful, elegant woman with jewels gleaming on her skin.

  He remembered that moment only too well, when he had stepped out of the elevator and into the tableau of love at first sight: Jon, the hot young rock star, holding the hand of a stranger, lost to the world; and Naomi, her head tilted up at him, so lovely it had made him forget to breathe.

  It had been like looking at one of those cheap postcards that could be bought at tourist stands, the ones that when tilted showed a second, hidden image, as if by looking from a different angle at them he would be able to see the kiss they were both longing for.

  “The rooms, Sal?” Jon asked, breaking into his reverie, and Sal nodded. He had the key Jon had requested, of course requested, to the same suite he had occupied all those years ago.

  He had watched them leave the venue all those years ago, vanish into the limousine before anyone even understood where they had gone, and known Jon was taking her here, to his room, to his bed, claiming her before any other had the chance, putting his mark on her so no one else would dare approach her, ever. This had been different, Sal had realized. This was not a tour flirt, a fling along the way; this was serious, magical, final, and it had broken his heart. He would never have a chance.

  Naomi glanced down at the key. “The same room?”

  Her softly spoken words felt like drops of molten lead on his soul. And when Jon replied “Of course. I can’t wait,” he turned away, pretending to be busy with the other keys he was still holding in his hand, so he did not have to see them go upstairs, did not have to imagine the door of the suite closing behind them and her in his arms, just like then, lost forever.

  Sal stayed behind after everyone else had left, the lobby suddenly eerily quiet and empty. There were a couple of guests sitting in the far corner, a map spread out on the table between them, discussing the day’s adventures, and some liveried hotel employees hurrying past; but he was alone.

/>   Slowly, almost surreptitiously, he strolled over to the couch where Jon had waited for that writer he wanted to meet so badly, the one who had sent the lyrics to them from here, not knowing she would be the love of his life. He sat down, his hands on his knees, and tried to feel what Jon had felt then, seeing her come in. She hadn’t been at all what they had expected—not a seasoned professional, someone who wanted to sell them something and strike a deal with the Hollywood star, but a mere girl.

  And how she had changed all their lives, had turned everything upside down that day.

  Out on the terrace, where the three of them had sat down together, he had watched them stare at each other, ignoring the ice cream and cake that were offered, the air between them simmering; and he had felt old, left out, lonely. For the first time he had been envious of Jon, of his good looks, his intense dark eyes, his voice, the power he had over women, the talent, the success.

  A pretty young waitress came over to him and asked if he wanted anything, and he gave her a tired, lopsided grin as he asked for a whiskey, make that a double, and the best they had. Bourbon, if possible. She rattled off a list of brands; and he waved at her, picking one, not really interested, just craving the solace of the familiar burn in his throat and the moment of ease when it went to his head.

  It was still early afternoon, and the show was not until the following night.

  Sal wondered if they were in bed yet, she in Jon’s arms, sighing, softly whispering his name, her arms around him, her skin white and silken, her lips open to his. The same room, the same bed; and he could just see Jon, overcome by his memories, wanting her right away, intent on reliving that first night, wanting to make love to her.