We smile at each other. It worked. Relief is written all over Joanna’s face. And on mine as well, probably.
“Breakfast will be in the restaurant, from six thirty until ten,” the man explains. “Your room is on the third floor. The elevators are just here on the left. I hope you have a pleasant stay.”
The room is fairly spacious. Joanna takes a quick look around and lets herself fall down onto the king-size bed.
“At least we’re out of the line of fire for now.”
I pull up a leather armchair that’s diagonally opposite to her. There’s so much I’d like to tell her, but I don’t know where to begin.
“Jo. You can still go back. If you—”
“No chance.”
That’s what I thought she would say. And yet … now that I finally know she’s standing by me again, all I want is to see her safe. But at the same time I’m very happy she’s with me.
“I can’t begin to tell you how happy it makes me, what you did. But I still don’t understand why.”
“Erik—”
“No, please let me finish. If you still can’t remember us, that means you’ve only known me for a few days. A lot has happened in that short time; we’ve been through an awful lot together. But that doesn’t change the fact that I still must be a stranger to you. And the fact that there’s nothing in our house to remind you of me either, however that happened. So why on earth are you not just snubbing your father, but also risking your life, all for a stranger?”
Joanna looks me straight in the eyes the entire time I’m speaking.
“I hate having my father try and dictate how I should live my life. He’s a patriarch, and he’s used to everyone dancing to his tune. I put up with it to a certain extent; I mean, he is my dad after all. But I’m not having him determine the lives of people who mean a lot to me.”
Is this the part where I get hit with the sobering reality? “Does that mean you only stayed because you wanted to defy your father?”
Joanna shows no reaction whatsoever, and I’m just wondering if she even understood the question when she grabs hold of my hands.
“You must have blocked out part of what I just said.” Her voice doesn’t sound reproachful, but gentle. “The most important part, at that. Is that one of your character quirks? I’ll gladly repeat myself in case you didn’t understand. I said that I’m not having my father determine the lives of people who mean a lot to me.”
Sometimes, words can really do a world of good. I think of everything Joanna said, all the things she did over the past few days. Of all the times she pushed me away when I tried to get closer. And now …
“I mean a lot to you? After such a short time? After everything that’s happened?” My hands are still in hers. They feel very warm, all of a sudden.
“Yes, you do. But that’s not really a surprise, is it? I don’t know what happened to me, but whatever it was, it seems like I’m still essentially the same person. And if what you say is true, I’ve fallen in love with you once before. So why shouldn’t I do the same thing again if, from my perspective at least, we get to know each other all over again?”
41
I wait for Erik to say something, but he doesn’t. He leaves my confession hanging there in the air, and just looks at me silently, with a mix of hope and distrust.
I can hardly blame him. I can still see the bandage under his right sleeve; I imagine the pain is still troubling him, even though he never complains about it.
And yet we make physical contact, without him flinching or freezing up, for the first time since the knife incident. He gently squeezes my hand back, but lets go immediately when I stand up to draw the curtains. We’re on the third floor, but I still feel more comfortable if the windows are covered. And the door locked, but Erik has already seen to that.
For a moment I just stay there by the window, looking at him.
I wasn’t lying. He means a lot to me; more than I can explain even to myself. My decision back then at the airport was neither made on a whim nor based on an act of spite. I wouldn’t have been able to bring myself to get on the plane without him. Not just because I would have been abandoning him. But because the thought of being separated from him was, all of a sudden, unbearably painful.
I go back over to him, sit on the broad arm of the chair he’s in. Right now, nobody should have any idea of where we are, even if my father can check up on the booking via the credit card—that would only be possible once we check out. Until then, we’re safe. I had completely forgotten how that felt.
Was Erik feeling the same thing? Probably not, after all, he was in a room with the woman who had almost stabbed him to death. Who could become violent again at any time. Hurt him. Hurt herself. A woman who wasn’t right in the head. It was no wonder he was being cautious about the confession I’d made.
“What I said just then, I meant it.” I brush a strand of his hair off his forehead, letting my hand linger for a moment longer than necessary. “I can’t tell you exactly when it started, but it’s getting stronger all the time. You’re becoming more and more important to me…”
Erik closes his eyes for a few seconds at my touch. “Jo, I…” He interrupts himself. “Does this room remind you of anything?”
I look around. It’s a five-star hotel, the furnishings are tasteful and expensive—but not particularly memorable. “No. I’m sorry.”
He nods, as though that was the response he had expected. “Of course not. I shouldn’t have asked you. It’s just—it looks very similar to our hotel on Antigua; even the lighting is the same.” He gestures toward the funnel-shaped lamps on the walls, which cast their warm light over the cream-colored carpet. “Back then you said those things looked like torch holders.”
Something inside my rib cage tightens. Torch holders, that was the first thought I’d had when I saw the designer lights upon walking in. Except that, in my mind, I’d only just thought of it now.
“I proposed to you on that vacation. Beneath one of the most beautiful and tacky palm trees I could find. We had just done a cocktail class at the beach bar together, and you’d single-handedly broken five bottles of rum because you were absolutely hell-bent on throwing them around like the barkeeper. We had our first fight too because at some point you decided to go off and explore by yourself, without telling me. I was out of my mind with worry, and you simply couldn’t understand why.”
I can see how vivid the memories are for Erik, while none of the things he describes ring a bell with me, not even a little.
“It was ours, all of it. Our life, our story. Sometimes we’d only have to look at each other to know what the other was thinking. When you tell me now that you’re starting to fall in love with me, I know that’s wonderful, but…”
This time, I’m the one who doesn’t let him finish. It hurts me to see him grieving for our shared past, but I can’t change that—I can only share the here and now with him, that’s all we have. Who knows for how much longer.
I rest my forehead against his. “Our life,” I say, “is this, right here.” My lips brush against his, as if by instinct, very softly. A touch like a whisper, but it suddenly makes me aware how much I’ve been longing for him. Longing to be as close to him again as on that one precious afternoon.
For what feels like an eternity, the kiss is mine alone. My tongue tentatively moving forward; my hands stroking over Erik’s shoulders, his neck, his hair. He doesn’t move, as though he’s waiting to see whether there’s anything else hidden behind my attempt to get closer to him. As though he has to stay alert and be prepared for anything.
Gradually, though, the tension starts to leave his body. His hands glide down my back, around my waist; then he pulls me so close to him that I almost gasp for air.
I bury my face in his neck, begin to open the buttons of his shirt, breathing in his scent, which for me is the most familiar thing about him.
“Joanna.” He holds me, like he has to make sure I don’t slip away. “I’ve missed
you so much.”
As I strip the shirt off of his shoulders, he stands up, pulls me up with him and over to the bed. This time, our kiss is no longer a playful way of getting closer, but a prelude, making it clear that we both know and both want what’s about to come.
Erik’s hands beneath my shirt, on my skin. I barely notice him undressing me, little by little, I only feel his lips, his hands, his tongue. With every touch it becomes harder and harder to think, but one thing becomes utterly clear: this man must know me. He knows exactly where and how to touch me to make me lose control. I’m the only person in the room for whom this is new.
For a while, I still try to resist letting go, try to be stronger than the sensations Erik is awakening within me. With his lips and then, oh so softly, biting gently against my neck. With his hands on my breasts. I feel him pressing against me, feel how aroused he is. And all of a sudden I want nothing more than to feel him on me. Inside me.
He notices my agitation. He straightens up a little and looks at me.
“Come here,” I whisper, pulling him toward me, but he shakes his head with a smile. His hand glides down from my breast over my stomach, where it lingers briefly, and then between my legs.
I feel his touch throughout my entire body, like an electric shock; my breathing sounds like sobbing; Erik kisses me as though he wants to comfort me, while his hand does the exact opposite, more and more, stopping only at the point when my entire being is pure desire, a scream for more; at the point where I’ve long since lost control.
“I love you so much,” he whispers. Strokes my face. Looks me directly in the eyes as he lies on top of me and slowly pushes inside me.
It’s like flying, going up and up, a little bit more with each of his movements. I feel my body trembling in his arms, everything in me just anticipation now, a silent plea for him not to stop now, to please never stop again.
And then it’s like the world is shattering into pieces and me with it; I hear myself screaming as Erik grabs me tighter, holds me; the first and the second time.
Only then does he seek his own rhythm. Harder, quicker. Giving up all consideration and control, his body tenses, his fingers dig into my shoulders, and he groans my name. Screams it out, as though he is afraid of losing me again.
But he won’t. Never again.
* * *
Afterward, we lie there intertwined, my head on his chest. I gently stroke the spot where I can feel his heart beating. And I suddenly know that I’ve done it before, on more than one occasion. I don’t know when or where. But I’m sure that I’m not wrong.
“Erik?” He’s running his hand lazily through my hair, and now he turns to look at me. Smiles. “Yes, my darling?”
“I think I just remembered something. Nothing specific, although it is in a way. A situation like this.”
His smile widens. “You don’t remember anything that is connected to me, but you do remember us having sex?” He laughs. “My God, I must be good.”
I give him a playful shove. “Not the sex, silly. This, here. Lying together with you, and—” I stop, and wonder whether I should say what’s on the tip of my tongue, whether it sounds stupid. I decide it doesn’t matter. “Stroking your heart.”
He moves away from me a little. Looks at me in disbelief, and I immediately regret not having held my tongue.
“Did I say something wrong?”
Erik shakes his head. “No, Jo. No, completely the opposite in fact. That’s what you always called it, it’s very typical of what you would say.… Do you really remember?”
Not really, no. It’s more like having déjà vu. But it’s the closest thing I’ve had to a memory in the days since I’ve known Erik.
“Yes, I think I do.”
42
I’m lying on my back, holding Joanna close to me. Her face is resting on my chest, her breathing is calm and even. I don’t want to risk moving, as she may have fallen asleep, and because I don’t want to ruin this indescribably wonderful moment. I feel as though, if I lie there quietly, I can hold on to the bliss that’s currently surging through my entire being.
I eye the whitewashed ceiling. The stucco rosette in its center and the matching molding make for a stylish contrast with the room’s modern furnishings. Past and present can be compatible, even if they’re so different that at first glance they seem irreconcilable.
Does that apply to people, to relationships, as well?
I find it hard to resist the urge to pull Joanna even closer to me. To feel even more of her naked skin against mine. But even that probably wouldn’t be close enough. Not now, now that she has chosen to stay with me despite the danger, now that suddenly at least a tiny flash of my Joanna has come back. And with it, the hope that everything between us might turn out to be all right again after all.
It’s crazy just how little you need to be happy, at least for a moment.
But then, all of a sudden, there’s something else. No more than a notion, but it still threatens to destroy this wonderful moment. I fight the impulse to let the notion turn into a more concrete thought, but I can’t stop it from happening.
What if this brief spark in Joanna’s memory wasn’t the starting point for her to regain all of her memories of me, but instead the last little twitch before the history we shared disappears once and for all into a black hole in her mind?
What if, say, in an hour’s time, she goes crazy again and plunges some sharp object into my heart, the very heart she was stroking just minutes ago?
No. Whatever happened to Joanna, it’s wearing off. She’s in great danger now, and that’s because of me. If she wasn’t with me, Gabor and his people wouldn’t be interested in her, she knows that. And despite that she’s passed up her one chance of leaving the country.
What more proof do I really need to be sure that my Joanna is on the way back to me?
The sex, just now … it was exciting, just as it always is with her, and yet very different. I felt like she was exploring me in a very inquisitive way, and yet at the same time she seemed to know exactly what I like. She’d let herself go the way you only can with someone you trust, but had still watched how I was reacting to her body and what she was doing.
I picture her beneath me again, eyes shut, her hips thrusting against me, her hands on my waist, directing me.
I can feel my body reacting to these images in my head; crazily enough I’d almost find it a little embarrassing if Joanna noticed. I don’t want her to think I’m insatiable; she hardly knows me, after all. Not yet. But hopefully that’s going to change again soon.
Joanna’s eyes are shut; she doesn’t react to the movement.
She really is sleeping again, despite all the hours we already spent asleep during the day. Or perhaps she’s just pretending because she wants to think in peace. To try to remember.
I set my eyes on the ceiling again, and suddenly I can’t help but think of Nadine. I don’t want to; it’s as though she’s pushing herself in between Joanna and me in this intimate moment.
It’s unfathomable to me, the fact that she’s dead. I’m still finding it hard to believe. It reminds me once again that this isn’t some Hollywood movie, but real life.
“Are you feeling as good as I am?” Joanna asks softly, and starts to stroke my chest again.
“Yes, I…” I start to say. “I’m really happy you remember me at least a tiny bit. And I’m really enjoying this moment.”
Our eyes meet. The love I feel for this woman is like a warm current flowing through my body. I can’t help but pull her closer. And closer. She’s on top of me now, her hair brushing over my face, her mouth so close to mine I only have to shift upward a little for our slightly parted lips to meet. When they do, it’s so tender, so soft, that it barely feels like we’re touching. I drink in her breath, move closer to her; we seem to melt into each other. My hands wander down her spine, grab hold of her buttocks, gently press her hips against my own. Joanna reacts, matching the thrust of my abdomen. The arousal I feel
is nearly making me lose my mind. I start moving to a slow, steady rhythm, enter her almost instinctively, hold her as she arches her back, moaning. Then, there is only feeling and movement, losing ourselves in each other.
* * *
Joanna eventually falls onto her back next to me, spent. We’re both breathing in quick bursts, our bodies gleaming, dripping with sweat.
I want to do nothing, to not have to brood over anything, to just lie there in the certainty that she’s with me again. Finally.
After we’ve been lying there for a while, I have no idea for how long exactly, she asks me, “What are you thinking about?”
“I’m trying to put the feelings I have for you into words,” I reply, keeping my eyes fixed on the stucco rosette above me.
“And?”
“I can’t do it. Everything I can think of is either trite or too tame.” Now I turn to face her. She does the same.
“I love you, Jo. But it’s more than that. People use these words so carelessly for every little surge of emotion they might feel.”
“I know what you mean.” She raises her hand, strokes my forehead with the tips of her fingers. “And it’s such a wonderful feeling. I’m so sorry.”
“About what?” I ask, both surprised and confused at once.
“That I can’t make you feel loved. But you have to believe me, there’s more than…” She breaks off as I put my finger to her lips.
“What are you talking about? You can’t make me feel loved? Jo, you just ran away from your own people with me, to stay here with me, in a place where you’re risking your life. You think that doesn’t make me feel anything?”
Strangers Page 27
