Aqua - Christmas in New York City (Aqua Romance Travel Series)

by Amanda S. Jones

  Harry handed Casey a glass of cool water, surprised at the longing in his body with the slightest brush of her hand. All the while the hosts kept talking, he held in a desire that was inappropriately growing given the company, and he clamped his hands onto the water cup, imagining it was Cassandra’s body.

  Cassandra took another swig of cold water and then doused some over her head. “I’m really heating up,” she said.

  Harry grabbed her hand. “Come cool off.”

  “Where?”

  “Outside.”

  The moment the door opened, a wall of cool air seeped into her pores and she felt like she could breathe again. Elated at the release, she leaned over the railing and Harry scooped up a fistful of snow and placed it on her bare back to cool her. A squirrel sprung to a nearby branch overhead and dropped snow on her arm; they counted the seconds till it melted.

  When she walked down the stairs and first stepped into the snow, an electric energy shot up from her heel to the tip of her head. She bounded over the hard surface, till she was standing at the base of a tree and Harry bunched snow together in his hands and packed it into a thick ball. He tossed it high against the tree trunk and the snow shattered down on them, each flake tingling their bodies. It was an electrifying sensation and Casey followed suit, lay down on the snow at the base of the trunk and tossed a snowball. She felt her whole body tingle under the shower of snowflakes as if her body was smoldering.

  Harry looked at her tracks that led to the tree. It was primal, their bare bodies, Casey writhing in the snow with delight as big flakes fell onto her body. She opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue to catch a flake. Her nipples were drawn firm against the cold and an excitement rippled under his skin and spread to his groin.

  He dropped to his knees, crunched snow in his fist and ran a single edge along the base of her breasts. Thin shards of ice had formed on the tip of her hair, but her body was warm to the touch. She pressed a cold palm against his warm inner thigh and interchanged a thick pack of snow for the warmth of her body. In response, he spread the curves of her flesh till he found a spot warmer than her body melting the snow. At the slightest pressure, she heaved her body toward him and pulled him into her. He lifted her small body into his big hands and pushed her against the tree trunk. They abandoned all resolve, their bodies steaming from the sauna, their passion setting them on fire.

  The sauna door creaked open and Harry stopped for a moment and they both listened, panting against their bodies to break the sound, kissing and licking silently as the current of desire kept rippling. A calm patter of snow fell around them and Casey felt a tingle of the cool flakes against her warm skin. She leaned back and opened her arms and mouth to the sky. It was so raw that Harry reached out for her breasts and pulled her towards him, their bodies coming together again, melting the snow.

  They heard quiet footsteps and saw two figures walk toward the main house. Light from the backdoor flooded the backyard and then the door closed and darkness returned. Casey and Harry turned over in the snow, and let the dark forest receive their voices, and the tall pines swallow their desire.

  La Belafana

  THREE DAYS later, the hospital called. Casey had just given Harry his gift of tickets to the Annual Winter Solstice Celebration.

  “You’re like La Belafana,” he said.

  “Wait, wasn’t she a witch?”

  “A good one.”

  “I like the notion of Santa better.”

  “She’s special to Venetians though. She only arrives to us by boat.”

  They were talking of traditions while their hands were dipped in water, washing pieces of salted cod till they had removed surface sodium, and then submerged them in a container.

  “So why can’t we just buy fresh cod and make the same dish?” Casey rubbed her nose with her forearm. “I mean, if your ancestors had refrigeration, they would have preferred that over this method.”

  “I always asked my mother the same thing.”

  “She said?”

  “It’s tradition. That’s what makes holidays so special.”

  “I could think of other traditions that are more fun to uphold.”

  “It wouldn't feel like Christmas if I didn’t go to the deli three days before Christmas and choose the salted cod.” He recalled one year when he came back with meat that was yellow and his mother returned to the store with him, showing him the creamy white flesh, the light-colored skin, the proper thickness of the filet.

  “Just think, women have done this for centuries.”

  “And now we have refrigeration!”

  It was the last time she joked. The phone rang and Casey answered it, her face turning pale, water dripping onto the floor from her limp hands.

  CASEY TURNED the pages of the magazine, put it down, then picked up another one, tapping on the chair as she aimlessly flipped the pages. Harry put his hand over her restless fingers. “This is precautionary,” he said with confidence.

  “The tests I had last week were routine procedure. They never call that quickly with results unless they find something.”

  “It might not be anything serious.”

  “But if it is.”

  “Then we change our plans. You do the surgery now rather than in the spring.”

  “Good thing we did the twelve days of Christmas already,” she said in a brave voice.

  “We still have three more to go.”

  She bit her lip. “Really, I’m not feeling very celebratory.”

  “Okay,” he said in a soft voice.

  Earlier, her eyes had scouted the waiting room. A couple sat with heads bent together, a mother held her daughter in a strained embrace. Casey looked toward the window where a woman sat all alone, her eyes closed, rocking to the music from her iPod.

  Casey wondered if life had been simpler before Harry? If there was no one to live for, major illnesses didn’t matter as much. On the ship, she had it all figured out. She decided to start her Chair position during the fall term and then give the university notice so they could fill her classes for the winter. Recovery was a long process and she would take that time, directing academic requirements from her home office as required.

  It felt good to have the decision made. It wasn’t something she wanted hanging over her head whenever she started dating again. It was bad enough to decide when to get more intimate, when to trust a guy with family issues, without bringing up the subject of health. Getting a guy to stay nowadays was bad enough without a health issue to make him run. And if she told him too early, it could dampen a romantic momentum. If she told him too late, he would question why she held back this information. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to him if the guy had developed feelings. It’s what happened to Harry or he wouldn’t be with her right now. Who would be with a woman who had both breasts removed?

  Casey looked down at her chest and felt disconnected, as if she were drifting away from her body, away from who she was. She thought back to the previous night when Harry ran his finger softly along her breasts. Now she would feel as if he was touching a stranger. Even when back in the comfort of their own home, if he leaned down to kiss her nipple, she’d feel too vulnerable after being poked and prodded by doctors all day long.

  “If something happens to me.”

  “Don’t talk like that, Cassandra.”

  “It’s important to me.”

  He nodded his head, obliging.

  She reached into her purse and pulled out a sealed envelope with his name on it. Harry reached out slowly, and when their fingertips touched, he grabbed her hand tightly and held on.

  For a moment, she longed for Roger. Not because she missed him but because he would have stepped in and told her what to do, been so belligerent about it that he didn’t give her much of a chance to say anything else. He would have made the decision for her.

  Although she wanted the choice to be hers, at this point, she was too exhausted to think. Harry ran his finger softly along hers. “We’ll know the righ
t thing to do.”

  “I shouldn’t have dragged you into this,” Casey said.

  “It’s not a problem. It’s a part of you.”

  “You have to say that now. I should have told you earlier.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  She shook her head back and forth. “I do.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t want you with me because you pity me.”

  “I don’t at-”

  “Or that you let me down easy.” She turned her head and Harry ran his hands through her hair, along her back, kissing it. He heard a sniffle and then her shoulders started shaking. Eventually Casey turned toward him red-eyed. “I can’t bring you into my future pain.”

  “But I want it with you.” He kissed Casey’s face. Her cheek was salty.

  “But I’m putting you into a corner. You’re the bad guy if you can’t handle it day to day and you’re the bad guy if you leave now. You can’t win, so I’m solving it for you.”

  “What I want,” he grabbed her shoulders firmly. “Is you. Nothing else. Being with you in whatever form that comes. Cruising under the stars, gazing at Christmas lights or right here, holding your hand and nothing more.”

  “You have to want more out of our life than this.”

  “There is more than this. There has been. But right now, this is our life. I love you here, in your pain.”

  She chortled, “Yeah, I’m a thing of beauty.”

  “You always are. Right here, in your drafty hospital gown, you are beautiful to me.” He kissed her on the forehead. “Don’t you get that I long for you always. That I treasure every evening we cuddle up together and I can’t wait till you open your eyes in the morning and I see your smile.”

  “But your biggest dream won’t be fulfilled.”

  “You are my dream.”

  And children she wanted to say but she couldn’t.

  Her eyes filled with tears. “When they get me for the tests, please go home.”

  “You want me to leave?” Harry asked.

  She nodded.

  He was struck with a bolt of sorrow that cut him open and emptied him. “I’ll come back to pick you up.”

  “I’ll grab a cab.”

  “I’ll bring you some dinner.”

  “I’m not feeling hungry.”

  He felt a vacuum seep into his body. “You need to eat. I’ll stop in at La Maison du Chocolat for a dessert.”

  She shook her head. “I need to be alone tonight.”

  “You’ll call me in the morning?”

  “I won’t be calling you, Harry.” It’s because I love you that much she wanted to say, but her throat locked and she looked away to hide her tears.

  The Window

  WHEN CASEY pulled her hands from her mouth, the stench was awful. She looked in disbelief and then fright. It was all irrational, she knew. Cancer wouldn’t cause this. And the doctor didn’t have any earth shattering news; he was simply reviewing her surgery details. It was probably something she ate. Yet a heat rose in her body, and a perspiration covered her forehead and arms. She could feel more food rising inside of her.

  She tried to breathe deep, tried to keep it down but there was an involuntary action that kept pushing her food, digested and not, right up into her mouth. She just made it to the bathroom in time.

  She heaved into the toilet, with such convulsions that her eyes watered and her body shook. She kneeled down, holding onto the seat, until the cold filtered from the floor through the bath mat. She shivered once more.

  She tried to push herself up off of the floor but her body shook so hard that she couldn’t move. She clasped her elbows and tried to give herself a hug to calm herself down. Eventually, she worked her way against the wall and leaned her head back. Her head spun.

  Casey tried to get up but she felt dizzy again and crawled into the bedroom to reach her phone. There was only one person she could call.

  “Harry.” Her throat burned from the stomach acid had just worked its way up. She could hardly talk. “I-” her voice froze and a shudder ran through her. “Sick.”

  “I can’t hear you.”

  She tried to muster up strength to talk but her throat felt raw and it hurt just to clear it. “I vomited.”

  “I’ll be right over.”

  THE WAITING room in the nearest hospital was overrun with patients but when Harry made a call on his cellphone, Casey was ushered in a few moments later. The emergency ward was as full but within a short amount of time they had moved her to a private room.

  For the short while Casey was in the waiting room, she was on the same level playing field with everyone. In the room each person looked the same. No jewelry or clothing. Same robe. Now, in a sealed off room, she felt her situation had escalated.

  “What caused this?” Harry asked the doctor.

  “An infection, imbalance of minerals in the blood. We need to do some bloodwork and other tests before we know for sure.”

  “Ok,” Harry stammered, still taking it all in.

  “We’re trying to reach her oncologist but he’s out of town.” The doctor shook his head. “Holidays. Does she have family?”

  “Me,” Harry said. “And her father.”

  BY THE time Casey was wheeled back to the room, Harry had left. In his place, Foster barged in. The nurse bolted in after him. “Sorry. I know you don’t want visitors but-”

  “It’s okay. Hard to tell my father no.”

  Foster sat on the edge of her bed and the mattress moved. He got up quickly.

  “It’s ok, Dad.”

  “No, no.” He dragged a chair from the wall. “I’m like a beached whale.”

  He sat next to her, arms crossed over the top of his stomach. He looked around at the room, then back at her. “Hospitals aren’t my favorite place.”

  “I know.”

  “Ever since Mom died.”

  She nodded and looked away.

  “Don’t go thinking like that.” His voice was harsh, then he changed his tone. “It’s different for you.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “You’ve got to stay positive.”

  “Since when have you been so upbeat?” she said with a sarcastic edge.

  “It’s all a front for an unhappy man, Cass.”

  She was taken aback with his honesty.

  “I never got over your mom’s death, you know. I was more lost than you were.”

  “You blamed me.”

  He shook his head. “I blamed myself.” His head dropped and he let out a big sigh. “I should have taken better care of her. I should have kept stress from her life.”

  “By not having me.”

  “No. You’re the best thing that ever happened to us. I was a happy guy when she was alive, you know. I did a lot with you.”

  “That got overshadowed.”

  “My fault.”

  “You said she didn’t want children.”

  He nodded. “For the same reason you don’t. Her mother had died of cancer as well. She was scared.”

  “Grandma was in her 80s when she died.”

  “That was her stepmother. Her mom died when she was five. We decided never to tell you.” He looked down at his shoes, then back at her. “She wanted a child more than anything, but she was convinced she wouldn’t live long. When you turned five, then ten, and she was still alive, your mom wanted to have more kids.” He leaned closer to Casey. “She said she had made a mistake. I don’t want you making the same one.”

  Casey closed her eyes and took it all in. Foster watched her for a while, his little girl whose features had become the same as the woman he once so loved. “I see her in you, you know.”

  Casey’s eyes opened wide.

  “Your eyes, Cass. You have her sweet, warm eyes.” He took a strand of hair between his fingers and closed his eyes. “The soft hair. That color that is so uniquely you.”

  “I’ll lose my hair in chemo.”

  “You don’t need that.”

  “Well
something’s wrong.”

  “They’re just being careful.”

  “Mom, her sister, it’s in my blood.” She pressed her fingers against her eyebrows and hung her head. “I’m next.”

  Foster tapped her on the shoulder. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes exhausted.

  “Your mom never did.” He pointed over his shoulder toward the sky. “She never stopped wishing. Believing.”

  Foster got up and went to the head of the bed and bent down till his face was next to Casey’s. He slipped his fingers through hers and locked their hands as one. Then he lifted her hand till it covered the outline of the star on top of the Christmas tree. He squeezed her fingers and formed a fist around the star, then he slid his fingers from hers and gently pushed her closed hand against her lips. “Make a wish, Mom would say.” His voice was on the verge of breaking.

  A tear ran over Casey’s cheekbone and she swallowed hard. Images streamed through her mind - her mother, Harry, a child, her tombstone, her holding her child, her sick in a hospital bed. In her mind, she scattered them and retrieved one image only - her and Harry, holding the hands of two children. She opened her fingers toward Foster’s face and blew on her palm. “Make a wish,” she said.

  A slow smile formed and then he grinned ear to ear. Foster caught the imaginary star as he always had, pressed his fingers tight against his palm as he closed his eyes around the wish. In his mind, he visualized Casey, healthy and happy with Harry, and with children. Then he held his hand toward the tree and released the wish with his fingers.

  The 25th Day of Christmas

  LIGHTS SPARKLED as Casey was wheeled into her hospital room and she gasped. It looked just like the south edge of Madison Square Park in miniature. At the centre was a glittering Christmas tree.

  It was where her mom took her on Christmas Eve, to the city’s first community holiday tree, to think of those who didn’t have the fortune of yuletide celebrations. It was the one place she had never returned to and finally wanted to go with Harry. He gave her the strength to do everything - face her sorrows with her mother, face her fears with her dad, and now, when she had the greatest anxiety, she had pushed him away.