“How do you know about my mother?” She asked the question before she could bite it back. Behind her, she felt Nathan sink deeper into the tub. He doesn’t want to answer me.
“I did not know your mother, but I saw her on several occasions.”
“You…you…” Sara began to stutter. “You saw her?” She craned her neck to look back at Nathan.
He nodded.
“How? Why?” Sara was rocked by his words.
“I acted as guide for your father. He was pulled from his body suddenly and he, well, he refused to move forward. He insisted upon a guide back to you. I agreed to the assignment.”
“You agreed? He was pulled away? You were his guide?” The feeling of unreality was creeping back over her.
“Sara, stop.” Nathan held her tighter. “You’re doing it again. I can feel your fear. You’ve seen the dead all your life. This should come as no great surprise.”
“I know, yes, of course, I know, but you’re talking about my father, and my, my mother.” Sara ordered her heart to slow down. Nathan was right. Why should this frighten her? Because it’s damn scary stuff, that’s why. “Nathan, I’ve never wanted to see the dead, as you call them. I don’t like it. They frighten me.”
“I know.”
“Except for my father. I saw him, in the hospital, the mental hospital, when my mother had me committed, and again when I was in foster care. I saw him several times. You brought him to me? It was you who brought him to me?”
“Yes. The water’s growing cold, Sara. We should get out and dry off.”
“Nathan, wait.” Sara stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Why did you do this? Why did you agree to bring him to me? What kind of creature are you; that you have to power to do such a thing?”
Nathan rose from the tub, lifting her up with him. Sara knew her legs were trembling, but she couldn’t seem to stop them. Answer me, Nathan, answer me.
In silence, Nathan wrapped her in a large towel. He dried her body and began to work on her hair. At last, he tilted her head back, allowing her to look directly into his eyes. His were not kind, but they were guileless and she knew he would tell her the truth.
“I guided your father to you because I was asked to do so. I had been mired in self-pity for so long that I jumped at the opportunity. I guided your father for my own reasons, not for his. The time had come to rejoin either the dead or the living, and I didn’t care which. He was merely the excuse. Yes, I saw your mother. I witnessed her treatment of you. It was a relief to learn you would be fostered with another family.”
“So are you like…” Sara swallowed hard, “my guardian angel?”
“No.” Nathan shook his head. “A man might resemble an angel, but an angel cannot be mistaken for a man. Angels are terrifying to look upon, even for the dead. Sit down before you fall down.” He seated her on the side of the tub, wrapped a towel around his own waist and shook the water from his hair.
“Then what are you, Nathan?”
He stood up straight and blew out a long, slow breath. “I am the man who loves you more than death itself.”
Sara stared into Nathan’s eyes, knowing he waited for her response. “Our relationship is doomed, isn’t it?” She could hear Dalton’s voice. What, no HEA?
“I suspect it is.” That tell-tale muscle in his jaw twitched.
Clutching the towel, Sara stood up. “You don’t mince words, do you?”
Inclining his head, Nathan brushed his lips over hers. “I don’t have the luxury of mincing words, Sara.”
Say it, say it, Sara. Be honest. She threw herself into his arms, knocking him backward so that he banged against the cabinet. “I love you, Nathan de Manua.” Sudden tears filled her eyes. “I’ll love you until the day I die.”
***
“I’m sorry you can’t come with me on Friday.” Sara opened her mouth for a forkful of Beef Bourguignon, chewing with relish. “You are obviously a gourmand. This is delicious. How long has it been since you’ve actually cooked?”
Nathan looked up at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
“Wait, you’re right.” She smiled at him. “Stupid question. Don’t answer that.”
“I’m glad you like it. I spent a great deal of time in the kitchens in my youth.”
“Why? You must have had servants.”
“Yes.” Nathan smiled that wonderful smile of his. “And they protected me from my older brothers. It is very difficult to be the youngest of six children.”
“I can imagine.” The two ate in silence. Sara felt compelled to fill it. “Your mother had six surviving children, back in those days? That was very rare.”
“My mother was a rare woman.” Nathan caught her eyes for a moment.
Sara noticed that the lines around his mouth softened considerably at the mention of his mother, but he didn’t volunteer any additional information. He loved his mother very much. She reached for the bottle of wine and refilled their glasses. I’d like to question him about his family and the afterlife, but I’d probably have another damn panic attack. Stick to mundane subjects.
“What do you think of the wine?” Mundane enough? You sound like an idiot.
“It’s not as sweet as the wines I’m accustomed to. But then, after so long, any wine is welcome.” He took a sip. Setting his glass town, he reached for her free hand. “Sara, with everything that’s passed between us, there’s no need for such discomfort. You can say anything to me.”
“I know.” Sara set her fork down. “But I don’t want to. I think I’d rather pretend we’re normal, you know? That there’s not this great gulf between us, as in, I’m alive and you’re dead. I want to pretend we’re just like an ordinary couple.”
As she uttered those words, it hit her, the issue at the heart of the matter. She leaned forward like she’d been kicked in the gut, dropping her head into her hands, her still damp hair falling across her face.
Nathan reached over to tuck the wayward strands behind her ear. “What is it?
Sara blinked a few times, hoping Nathan wouldn’t notice her tears. As if. He notices everything. She lifted her head and deliberately met his eyes. “One morning, I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone. And you’ll never, ever…” Her voice broke. Sara swallowed and forced the words around the lump in her throat. “I’ll never see you again.”
Nathan’s fingers toyed with his wine glass; his foot just barely grazed hers. When he finally spoke, his voice was low. Sara strained to hear his words.
“I know how you feel. If I vanished right now, it would perhaps be a kindness, but I can’t leave and even if I could, I would not. I’m a selfish man.” He stroked her cheek, tracing the tracks of her tears. She could already see a touch of grief in the smile that played about his mouth. “Sara, wild horses couldn’t drag me away.”
“That’s a Neil Young song.” Sara gave a little sniff.
“I’ve heard the song on your radio,” Nathan said. “I think the words are appropriate under the circumstances. Come here, Sara.” He wrapped his fists in the lapels of her robe, pulling her out of her chair and onto his lap. She snuggled against his bare chest. “Tell me about Friday. What will you say to this publisher of yours?”
“Nice segue, ghost.”
She felt him shrug beneath her. “It’s better to speak of other things, cara mia.”
“Italian,” she murmured. “I like it.”
“I know you do.” She heard the tease in his voice. “Now tell me, what will you say to the big, important publisher?”
“I don’t know,” Sara said, her fingers playing with the dusting of hair that covered Nathan’s chest. “I may talk about you. You are the hero of my story, after all. You are my incorporeal lover.”
Nathan shook with laughter. “She won’t believe you.”
Sara smiled through her tears. “I don’t care what she believes. Reality is immaterial when it comes to romantic fiction.”
“But you want her to buy your stories, yes? You want to become a
published author?”
“Honestly?” Sara leaned back to look into Nathan’s face. “Things have changed over the past few days; I’ve changed over the past few days. It was very important to me, yes, before you, before you became… Well, it doesn’t seem so important right now.”
Nathan pulled her closer. “That would be a mistake, Sara, to give up on a dream, your dream.”
“That’s how this all began,” she said. “Do you remember? You came to me in a dream.”
Nathan laughed. “As I recall, I first appeared to you in the shower. You hurled several colorful curses at me and told me to get the hell out of your bathroom. Until that moment, I was unaware a woman could curse as well as a man.”
Sara couldn’t help it. She laughed right along with him. Yes, you did tell him to go fuck himself, didn’t you? She could feel her cheeks burning. “You deserved it, materializing in the shower like that.”
“But you’re right, you did dream of me that night. And then you woke up in the wee hours of the morning to record it, the dream. I watched while you worked on your computer. Sara, you have to meet with this publisher. Make your dreams a reality. Look what your passion has done for this annoying incorporeal ghost.”
His lips were warm, and he took hers with tenderness. Sara savored every single second of the kiss. She moaned in protest when he lifted his mouth from hers. Reaching her hands behind his head, she tried to tug him back down to her mouth.
Nathan chuckled. “Greedy, are you?”
“Very,” she said. “When it comes to you, ghost.”
Chapter Eight
Sara’s stomach churned. Meeting a New York publisher in person was a good way to catch a bad case of the jitters. She walked down the ramp leading to the Ferry Building, her purse over one shoulder and a new black leather tote over the other. The tote held three bound manuscripts, and the gift bag Dalton had selected.
Sara had stayed up until the wee hours, as Nathan called them, half-heartedly fending off his persistent advances in order to bake homemade cinnamon-almond granola. She gave some to Nathan; then sealed the rest of the still-warm mixture into a cellophane bag and tied it with a red ribbon. Like Dalton says, red is the color of love. She’d also purchased several vanilla-scented candles and a bottle of sweet gardenia almond oil. Hopefully she’ll know I’m serious. Either that or she’ll think my attempts to kiss up are pathetic.
I don’t even want to be here. I’d rather be home, with Nathan. I don’t know how much longer we have.
Can it, Sara. He told you to go. It’s only one evening away and he promised he’ll be there when you get back.
“I’m sorry, Miss, are you talking to me?”
“Oh.” Sara looked up to find one of the ferry attendants holding the metal gate open for her. She grinned, embarrassed. “No, sorry, just talking to myself.” As usual.
“Hey, no sweat.” The man laughed. “I do it all the time.”
“Thanks for getting the gate.”
He nodded in reply and headed back down the ramp. Sara checked the clock looming above the Ferry Building. She had forty minutes to kill. Setting her bags down on a bench, she sent Geri a quick text to let her know she’d arrived and would be waiting for them at the restaurant. Geri answered with a single letter, “K”, which made Sara smile once again. She wondered how the day with Leah Rosen was going, relieved all over again that she hadn’t had to do the schlepping.
Making her way through the Friday evening crowd, Sara cut across the walkway and ducked into the building. Maybe I should buy a French macaroon. Yum. Nathan might like one too.
She headed to the bakery counter and studied the pastries. She was surprised to find nothing appealed to her. Sara shifted her bags. They’d just get squished in my purse anyway.
She checked the time on her cell phone. Thirty minutes. Enough time for half a dozen oysters. Wow, where did that thought come from? I never eat raw oysters. Yeah, but I really want some. The oyster bar is right next to the restaurant. Helpless, her feet took her in that direction. Look, there’s one lonely seat at the bar, and it’s calling your name.
Sara asked the hostess if she could have the empty seat. The woman nodded and helped her hang her bags from hooks hidden below the counter.
“Cool.” Sara stretched her legs out in front of her, balancing her high heels on the narrow foot rest.
“Can I bring you something to drink?” It was the hostess.
Sara took a quick look around. Do I have time? Sure I do. She noticed that the couple next to her was drinking something bubbly and pink. She nodded at the pretty glasses. “What are they drinking?”
The hostess glanced at the couple. “Oh, it’s their anniversary. That’s a red Tattinger.”
So that’s what a sparkling red wine looks like, huh? “I’ll have a glass of that. Thanks.” Why not? Maybe I’ll have something to celebrate later tonight.
“What can I get you, Miss?” Two young men behind a short glass partition, worked fast, shucking fresh oysters right in front of her.
“Hmmm. I don’t have much experience with oysters.” Sara said, with a smile. “I only know I like them sweet and not too big. What do you recommend?”
“A novice, huh?” He grinned at her. “How about a combination of sweet and briny?”
“Sounds interesting.”
The hostess handed Sara a tall glass of the lovely rose-colored Tattinger. Sara took a sip. Damn, that’s tasty. No wonder Leah Rosen asked for a bottle. She turned her attention back to the young man. “I only want a half-dozen, so you pick.”
Without missing a beat, he began shucking her oysters. He arranged six on a platter filled with ice, stuck in a little bowl of mignonette sauce with a tiny spoon, a couple wedges of lemon, and walked around the counter, placing the platter in front of Sara with a flourish.
“These three are the Hog Island Sweets. They’re tender, sweet and they have a real fresh taste. These three,” he pointed to the round shells, “are the Kusshi. They’re deep water oysters, sweet with a briny finish. I think you’ll like both. They’ll mesh well with that Tattinger.”
“Thank you.” Sara tipped her glass to him.
“You’re welcome. Let me know if I can get you anything else.”
Sara started with the Sweets. She spooned some mignonette sauce over the oyster, made certain it wasn’t stuck to the shell with her little fork, and with a delicate slurp, sucked it into her mouth. One chew and down the hatch.
Oh, merciful heavens, I can’t believe what I’ve been missing all these years.
You don’t like raw oysters, so what’s the deal? She sipped her wine. I don’t know what the deal is, but they sure are yummy with this exceptional wine. A little sweet, a tiny bit of salt, and a little sour from the mignonette. Triple yum.
She tried the Kusshi. These tiny round oysters tasted so delightfully of the ocean that she had no choice but to close her eyes for a moment. The Kusshi reminded her of sex with Nathan. Bliss.
Sipping the remainder of her wine, Sara finished the oysters. She had to get going. As she waited for the hostess to bring her check, she watched the couple next to her share their platter of oysters, all different kinds. When they touched their glasses together, Sara pretended not to notice. The young couple sitting to her left ordered two glasses of Tattinger too.
Nathan would enjoy this scene. I’d love to share raw oysters and a bottle of wine with him. Afterwards we could walk along the water.
Yeah, well Nathan can never be part of this scene; he’s not going to walk along the waterfront holding your hand, so pay up and shut up.
The oysters suddenly turned to lead in the pit of her stomach. She looked around, uneasy, wondering if the problem was her worry about losing Nathan or her anxiety about meeting with the publisher.
Great, that’s what you get for celebrating anything.
After thanking the hostess and waving to the two men shucking oysters, Sara rose from her seat, removed her bags from the hook, and threaded her wa
y through the oyster bar. She didn’t have far to walk; she’d made reservations for dinner at the restaurant right across the hallway.
Five minutes to go. Sara squeezed past a long line of waiting customers trying to reach the hostess desk. She managed to catch the woman’s eye.
“Hello. I have a reservation for four at six-thirty.”
“Name?”
“It’s under Wise, Sara Wise.”
The hostess scrolled down her computer screen. “Yes, I see it.” She took a quick glance behind Sara. “Is the rest of your party here?”
Sara looked back at the line of customers as well. “No, sorry, they’re not here yet.”
“You can wait over there.” The woman motioned to a bank of occupied chairs. “Just let me know when they arrive.”
“Sure, thanks.” Sara stepped out of the line of people eager to get their names on the wait list for dinner. There wasn’t much room to maneuver. She managed a spot next to a large statue, but she had to twist sideways every time the door to the outside opened and closed. Sara pulled out her phone and sent Geri a text message.
At the restaurant.
It took Geri a few minutes to reply. Sara read the message and did a double take. Still shopping.
She texted back, It’s after six-thirty.
Geri’s next text said, I know.
Damn it. I knew something like this would happen. Sara sent another text message. When will you be here???
Don’t know. Soon.
Sara made her way back to the hostess. “Um, Miss, how long will you hold my reservation? The rest of my party’s been delayed.”
The woman tried hard not to roll her eyes. She just barely succeeded. After the huge fuss Sara had made about getting that golden six-thirty reservation slot, she wanted to roll her eyes right along with her. “I can keep the table open for another twenty minutes or so. Do you think your party will be here by then?”
“I hope so. Thanks.” Sara returned to her tiny space near the door.
An hour and fifteen minutes later, lighter by the sixty dollars she’d given the wait staff to hold the table, Sara was near tears. As she headed for the door, intending to catch a bus home, Geri materialized at her side.
Incorporeal Page 8
