“Nina? Are we doing this camera collision again?” He sounded on the verge of annoyed, but Nina saw his expression soften when he looked at her. Brady cupped her head in his hands. “I’m so sorry. Here,” he gently held her wrists, “let me see the damage.”
If he could truly see the damage she felt, her body would be pumping fountains of blood. At least when he sees the tears in my eyes, he won’t know they were already there. Nina slowly lifted her head as he moved her own hands away from her face. She hated and welcomed that his touch moved through her like a warm current. It had been a long time since he had held her so gently.
She sniffled and hoped her nose wouldn’t be drippy as he brushed her bangs from her forehead, his fingertips whispers against her skin. Brady’s eyes swept over her face, and she recognized that look of tenderness she knew he was capable of.
The orchestra broke into a medley of rock and roll tunes that sent couples around them scurrying to the dance floor. Pinched in the middle of the movement, he maneuvered them away from the swinging bodies to a bench along the ballroom wall. “The good news is you’re not going to need to make an appointment with a plastic surgeon.” He waited a beat, and when Nina managed a smile of sorts, he smiled, too. “But,” he said, and softly feathered her bangs over her forehead, “you’re going to have a bruise the size of a tennis ball. I’d suggest not wearing your hair back for a while.” He looked around and waved one of the servers over.
A barely-out-of-his-teens waiter walked over, his black bow tie slightly askew, balancing a silver tray ravaged by the hungry. “May I help you?”
“Yes, please,” said Brady. “It seems my camera lens and her lovely forehead met one another on the dance floor, and it wasn’t a pretty sight. Would you bring us some ice before it swells into an egg?”
“Do you need a doctor? We have an emergency . . .” His concern was tinged with a smattering of polite eagerness.
Sensing his anticipation of a reprieve from strolling through the guests, Nina was tempted to say yes to avoid disappointing him. But even if she did need medical attention, she wasn’t going to subject herself to it here. The sooner she left, the better. “No doctor, but I appreciate your concern.” Nina lifted her head to speak to him and the throbbing slipped into her temples. “Ice will be fine,” she whispered.
The young man walked off, and Nina opened her purse in hopes of finding another tissue.
“Searching for one of these?” Brady handed her a handkerchief. “And don’t look so surprised that I have such an old-fashioned item. These belonged to my father.”
“I didn’t mean to look surprised,” Nina said defensively. “Just trying to keep my eyelashes from sticking together.” She didn’t, though, ever consider Brady a sentimentalist. Perhaps this was the new, improved version as designed by Janie. A woman who probably never had raccoon eyes. “I appreciate your help, but you don’t need to babysit me. I can wait for the ice man,” she said, swiping the handkerchief under her eyes as she spoke. “I’m sure you have other things to do.”
“Babysit you? Did you really just say that?” Brady shook his head. “I know I didn’t end our relationship with dignity. In fact, I should have apologized a long time ago for being so—”
“Arrogant?” Nina eyed him. Brady appeared as surprised to hear her comment as she was to say it. Maybe being honest resulted from a bashed head and not a broken heart.
He nodded. “I was going to say ‘pompous jerk,’ so you cut me some slack on that one.” He leaned against the wall, stared at the ceiling for a moment, then at the jitterbugging couples on the ballroom floor. “Sometimes, the grass is actually greener on the other side, but when you get there, you find out it’s artificial turf. And you’re wearing the wrong cleats.”
In one of the full-length gilded mirrors in the ladies’ room, Nina peered at the lump on her forehead. It looked like a messy papier-mâché relief of Rhode Island. Brady had barely finished comparing Janie to fake grass when the server walked over with a small zippered plastic bag of ice. When she stood to leave, Brady told her he was going to take more shots of The AIDS Memorial quilt on display, but he’d meet her at the same spot in a few minutes. He insisted on taking her home. “It’s a rule. When you hit someone in the head, you’re obligated to drive them home.” He had grinned, and Nina couldn’t help but do the same.
She emptied the ice in the sink and tossed the bag away. No point now in freezing her forehead and having the condensation trickle down her face. Her pale cheeks, bare eyes, and washed-out lips provided little evidence of the time she invested hours ago applying her makeup. She started to reapply her lipstick when her cell phone vibrated again in her purse. Talking to Brady earlier, she’d ignored the previous alerts. When she was ready to be found, like now, she’d let whoever might be looking for her know. Aretha had sent a text: “U OK? Where R U?????”
The multiple question marks loosely translated in Aretha-speak to, “I’ve been searching all over the place and can’t find you and my patience is shot.” Nina moved to the anteroom, found a bench to sit on, and started to return the message when the door slapped open and Aretha roared through.
“Finally!” Her friend’s victorious tone echoed her hand pump. “You should be a magician . . . you’ve got that disappearing act mast—whoa, what happened to you?” Aretha grimaced as she pointed at Nina’s forehead.
“Brady’s camera and I had a bit of a collision.” Nina touched the lump like it was a message written in Braille. Since it had stopped pulsating, it didn’t feel as sensitive. But when she peered in the mirror, it didn’t appear less angry.
“Was he trying to take a picture of you or something?” Aretha sat next to her, a shadow of suspicion on her face, and stared at Nina’s forehead.
“Well, that would have been one heck of a close-up.” Nina slipped her lipstick back into her clutch. “No,” she said and paused to check her teeth, “in the heat of humiliation I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going, and I walked right into his camera lens.” When the door swept open again, Nina asked Aretha if Elise had followed her.
“I doubt it,” she answered and waited until the young woman who entered walked past them. “I left your boss and her brother engaged in one of those ‘who said what to whom and when’ conversations. For what it’s worth, he sounded intensely apologetic.” She crossed her legs and bent over to adjust her sandals. “I know it’s not my fault, but I’m the one who dragged Elise over there . . .”
“You’re not the one who needs to apologize,” Nina said. “I know I didn’t flatter Elise when I talked about her. But did Greg have to humiliate me by being dishonest about himself? He knew Elise was already out of high school by the time I started. How was I supposed to make that connection?”
“Maybe I should back up before I say this,” Aretha cautioned, “but ‘didn’t flatter’? Really? Could that be a more textbook example of understatement? After Elise walked away, he told me about your conversation. How was he supposed to handle that? Would it have been less humiliating to be at the magazine talking about Greg to Elise, not knowing they were siblings? There was no way this was going to turn out well.”
“Everything always turns out well for Greg Hernandez. The man leads a charmed life,” said Nina, not even trying to mask the contempt in her voice. “And once again, I’m the one left to look like a fool.”
15
You’re letting Brady take you home?”
“Don’t make it sound like I’m riding with a serial killer,” Nina countered while letting Aretha gently powder her forehead. “Do you want to come with us?”
Her friend moved her head from side to side to examine the coverage. “No, he’s a serial dater. Isn’t a whop on the head enough?” Aretha snapped her powder compact closed. “And, no again. I’m staying. I saw this beautiful man who is in one of my design classes, and he’s not only dreamy, he’s single. We took a taxi here, I can take one home.”
“You’re sighing, and that’s a definite
warning sign. Don’t let your heart make promises your head can’t keep,” Nina warned as she and Aretha stood to leave the ladies’ room.
Aretha opened the door and let Nina exit. “Sweetie, coming from you, that’s a gem.”
Had Brady not been waiting outside, Nina might have responded. But there he stood, looking more appealing than she wanted him to.
“Oh, hello Brady,” said Aretha. She pointed at his camera. “Didn’t they ask you to check your weapon at the door?”
“Aretha . . . ,” he said and smiled, “you look stunning.” Brady glanced toward Nina, then reached out and clasped Aretha’s hand. “I’ve missed your wit. How are you?”
For a minute, Aretha’s expression reminded her of Manny’s slight head tilt when Nina used her nice voice to tell him how annoying he could be.
“I’m quite content, thank you. So, where’s . . . um,” Aretha paused, “Janie, yes, that’s it. Is she here with you?” She smiled like someone who’d just trumped in bridge.
Nina opened her clutch to avoid eye contact with either one of them. She felt a bit guilty for enjoying Aretha’s deliberate attempt to make Brady squirm. But, in typical Brady fashion, the master of finesse, he replied, “How kind of you to ask about her. She’s still in New York.” He looked at Nina. “At least the last time I spoke to her that’s where she was.”
Aretha replied, “I see,” in a way that suggested she didn’t at all. “So, I know you’re providing transportation for the wounded.” She nodded toward Nina. “Best of luck in the Big Apple.” When she hugged Nina, she whispered, “Remember, it’s just a ride home. And don’t forget to take Manny out when you get there.”
After Brady and Nina made their way around the dance floor to the front of the ballroom, he asked her to wait by the entrance while he had the valet bring his car.
“Can you hold on a few minutes? I wanted to bid on a quilt, and got distracted. I won’t be long.” The orchestra stopped as Nina opened the door to the ballroom and, of all people, Elise was on the stage announcing only five minutes remained for silent auction bidding. Nina watched as tables emptied, and people streamed into the quilt room, their voices swarming around them. She debated if she had the energy to swim along with the crowd, but remembering how perfect that quilt would be for Aretha, she decided to plunge forward.
“Nina, can I talk to you?” She felt the tap on her shoulder before she heard Greg’s voice. And as much as she wanted to, there was no way to avoid him. But she could evade him, even if he had already moved next to her. “Not now. I want to bid before the auction is over.”
He stepped in front of her. “Please, this won’t take long. I promise.”
Not only did Nina not stop herself from rolling her eyes, she hoped her exaggerated display clearly conveyed her exasperation. They stepped to the side, away from the entrance to the room.
“Are you okay?” He stared at the lump on her forehead.
“Fine. I’m fine.”
“Listen, I’m truly sorry—”
Nina held her hand up in front of his face. “Stop.” She gripped her clutch with both hands. “Don’t bother apologizing because, really, why should you now? You didn’t all those years ago when you humiliated me. Why do you think it would matter to me now? At least, I know to not expect anything different from you.”
Shoving his hands in his pockets, Greg stared at the floor. When he looked at Nina again, his face was taut. “I’m sure I deserve that. Tonight’s not the time, but I can explain—”
“There’s no explanation that can salvage the humiliation I felt all those years ago and what I felt tonight.” Her head throbbed, but so did the buried resentment inside of her. After so much time being held hostage in her heart, the words she wanted to say finally freed themselves. “You’re right. Tonight’s not the time. But there may never be another time for me to say I prayed that pain would bury itself in you like it did in me. After all, what would someone with money and popularity and success ever need to suffer through?” She noticed heads turning in their direction, and lowered her voice. “I used to feel guilty about that prayer, but after tonight, maybe not.”
Something shifted in Greg then, and Nina sensed she’d driven the stake into his heart just like she’d intended. She could see his pride turn to ashes just as surely as if she’d set the fire. A momentary recoil, and he said, in a voice so severe she almost didn’t recognize it as his, “You can stop praying now. Your wish has already been granted. And because of it, if not for God, I might not be here tonight to make you so miserable.” He checked his cell phone that had pinged several times while he spoke. “I hope your night is better.” He nodded and walked away.
His response was a hurricane force wind instead of the breeze she expected. And, had she not already been leaning against the wall, it might have brought her to the ground. Nina watched him, cell phone pressed to his ear, stride toward the stage as Elise announced that the auction had ended.
Brady waved at the valet when Nina met him again. “How did the bidding go?” His hand resting on her shoulder, he moved her toward the exit.
“Bidding?” The quilt. You left to bid on the quilt. “I don’t know . . . I . . . I missed it.”
Outside, the night air pushed against them like a damp sponge. Brady led her to a pearl white Mercedes so polished it could have been lifted from a velvet case. The valet opened the door, and Nina eased onto the soft leather seat and welcomed the cool air coming from the vents.
Brady adjusted his seat belt and, as the car pulled away from the hotel, he said, “So, what happened that you weren’t able to bid?”
Nina stared out the window, still sifting through her emotional conversation with Greg. “One of the volunteers stopped to talk to me, and I didn’t make it back,” she said. That was all he needed to know, and it was enough of the truth to not make her uncomfortable manufacturing a story. Besides, it was his stories she was most interested in hearing. “Tell me about New York. It has to be more exciting than discussing quilts.”
He turned down the volume on the Adele CD and drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel. “Maybe not more exciting.” Brady stopped at the red light and looked at Nina. “I’m not as certain about moving as I was when Elise asked me to go. Especially because of Daisy.”
Daisy? New York? This must be my night for sabotages. She knew she couldn’t let being stunned betray her or else Brady might stop talking. As she opened her purse to shut her cell phone off, she said, “Yes, of course,” as if she’d yawned the words out.
“When Janie first told me about Daisy, and everything going on with her family, it made sense that she’d want to live close. Then, Daisy started wavering about the decision. She didn’t know what to tell Elise she wanted to do about the New York job after all she’d done to get it for her. . . I turn up there, right?” Brady pointed to the street ahead.
Nina nodded and hoped her composure would last longer than the rest of the drive.
“Anyway, now Janie’s playing armchair therapist and big sister to Daisy, and she’s neglecting everything else she needs to do to prepare herself for this new position.”
“You mean neglecting you?”
Brady slowed the car as he turned into her driveway, then shifted into park. “Janie’s helped me realize something,” he said and looked at Nina.
She wanted to repeat her eye-roll performance, but his serious expression actually surprised her. Once again, she relied on her airy tone. “And what is that?”
“I know what it feels like to not be important in someone’s life anymore, especially when that person is someone you thought wouldn’t disappoint you.” He cleared his throat. “I wasn’t at all kind to you, Nina, and I hope you can forgive me for being such an idiot.”
So, this is betrayer and forgiveness night? Whatever hope she felt by his admission was reined in by suspicion. What was his agenda here? “Forgive, yes. Forget, I’m still working on.”
He leaned toward her, and Nina forced herself to i
gnore wanting to move closer and wait for him to kiss her. The space between them no longer felt like a force field, but a magnet. But she couldn’t allow herself to be pulled in. At least not tonight. Brady moved his finger slowly down Nina’s bare arm, from her shoulder to her wrist, then wrapped his hand around hers. “Maybe you won’t have to forget. Forget what it was like for us to be together, I mean.”
“I haven’t forgotten what that was like, Brady.” Nina slid her hand out from under his and opened the car door. “What I meant was I’m working on forgetting the damage you left behind. I’m not Plan B when you and Janie hit a speed bump on your way to wherever it is your relationship is going.”
“You don’t believe in second chances?”
Nina thought for a moment. “Brady, I don’t even believe in first chances. People shouldn’t take chances loving one another. Love should be intentional.”
16
Greg was grateful for the text message that provided a legitimate excuse for him to leave Nina’s presence. Her bitterness spewed from a wound that had festered so deep and for so long, that it had to be pierced to have any chance of healing. But her scathing attack and hearing that, for years, she wanted nothing more than for him to experience pain, horrified him. Would she be one of those people so full of hatred that, when it left, the shell she’d built to contain it would crack, and she’d find herself empty? Was this what happened to people who never knew or understood forgiveness? Who never asked, “Who were we to choose unforgiveness when God forgives us over and over and over?”
After Lily’s death, he struggled desperately, knowing what he needed to do, but not wanting to do it. He wanted to feel anger, to build a shrine to it, and know that it would be there every day. Like Lily used to be. The accident, which he mostly didn’t call it, as a man doesn’t drink by accident or drive by accident, robbed him of his wife. It wasn’t going to rob him of resentment and hate. Greg clothed himself in righteous indignation. But, with each passing day, the feelings weighed him down more and more until their weight almost broke him in two. Then he came across a quote from Corrie ten Boom, a Christian woman who’d been a prisoner in a Nazi concentration camp, “Forgiveness is to set a prisoner free, and to realize the prisoner was you.” And that’s when he had fallen on his knees and asked God to forgive his unforgiveness. Greg knew that only God working through him could make him strong enough to forgive the man who devastated his life.
Threads of Hope: Quilts of Love Series Page 8
