by M. Mabie
I wish we could have parted more like friends, but it would have been too difficult. Right?
I still care about you, but that doesn’t change much. Then again, didn’t it change everything?
I hope we can keep in touch. I could use a laugh, even a weak one, every now and then.
Nora
From: Reagan Warren
Subject: re: Thank you (You’re welcome)
Date: August 21, 2009 18:42 CET
To: Reagan Warren
They can grow more fucking freesia.
I’m glad you called me that night, regardless of your reasons. I shouldn’t have left like I did. I was ruder than you were.
It was a long shot you coming to my sister’s wedding. I’m still not sure why I asked you, it was very out of the blue. Even I know that.
I still care about you too, but you’re right, I don’t think it changes much. At least it didn’t change the things we thought it would. Who would have thought you’d have lasted so long with one guy, and I’d have a threesome? That wasn’t a joke.
We tried like hell though. Didn’t we?
I think you’re where you need to be, Nora. You should enjoy your life. Be who you want. Have whatever you desire and go anywhere you feel on a whim.
You don’t need me for any of that.
If I’m being honest, I never gave the whole friends thing a fair shot. I only thought I knew what I wanted in those days.
Maybe I should have settled for friends.
Reagan.
From: Nora V. Koehl
Subject: Son of a bitch
Date: September 8, 2009 14:51 CET
To: Reagan Warren
I stubbed my fucking toe today and thought about you. Fuck, it hurt. Good thing I still have my ice packs.
Nora, the woman with no functioning big toes left
FROM: Reagan Warren
Subject: re:re:re: (No Subject)
Date: October 9, 2009 04:12 CET
To: Nora V. Koehl
They’re all weird. It was much more fun when it was just us on this damn hall. And there is a guy who insists on trying to sell me premium life insurance when I’m working out.
Enjoy your private wing. They’re letting anyone in the Lunar these days.
Reagan
FROM: Nora V. Koehl
Subject: Happy Halloween
Date: October 31, 2009 22:29 CET
To: Reagan Warren
Thanks for the wine. I got the case you sent yesterday. I hope you’re having a nice fall. I bet it’s beautiful in the city.
I tried to get everyone here to dress up, but they didn’t get it. So I’m basically some random girl dressed up like a cat for no good reason.
That’s all I have for meow.
(Did you see that? That’s what you call a joke.)
Nora
From: Reagan Warren
Subject: My sister
Date: January 10, 2010 21:03 CET
To: Nora V. Koehl
My sister is getting a divorce. Maybe you do know more about monogamy than I do.
I thought you’d like to know. She ran away to an island with Casey—the guy she met up with the night you met her.
She told my parents she’s in love with him and that she’s leaving the robot.
Just thought you’d find that interesting.
I hope you had a nice holiday.
Reagan
ON JANEL’S BIRTHDAY, I was particularly sad, so I text him.
ME: What were those appetizer things at that Italian place I liked so much? All I can remember is that I love them. Help?
REAGAN: Some kind of stuffed shells, I think. I’ll go back and see if I can remember.
The holidays came and went, and they paled in comparison to the ones I had with him the previous year.
Still, I couldn’t complain. The mansion was doing better than it ever had, we were booked nearly every week with some kind of event. From charity fundraisers to bridal showers to luncheons. We’d installed the new lift, and, thankfully, in the middle of a great ski season.
As busy as I was, I didn’t have time to socialize. Besides, I lived over an hour outside of Zurich. It wasn’t worth the drive in, and I’d had no desire to make new friends.
I was content with working, and every once in a while I’d get an email from him. He never mentioned if he was dating, we rarely corresponded like that.
It was too difficult.
Instead, I’d sent him jokes—for reference. He’d sent me business articles he thought were relevant, and links to sites on travel and the hospitality industry. It was enough that I started to feel human.
Whenever I had the impulse to call and talk to Janel, I’d usually message him or reply to one of his emails. Or, if I felt particularly emotional, I’d send one to the other account, which I still did quite a bit.
Reagan was a friend at a time when I really needed one, and when he couldn’t be there for me Jekyll and Hyde were.
It was early one morning when he called me, and his tone chilled me to my core, causing me to sit up straight in bed.
“He almost fucking killed her, Nora.” He didn’t make any sense and was difficult to understand. I didn’t know what he was talking about. “He almost killed my sister.”
His alarm caused my panic. Tangible. Frightening. Terror.
TWENTY-SIX
PAST
REAGAN—Saturday, June 5, 2010
I was hysterical. It was a panic attack like I’d never experienced.
I’d called her from the waiting room once, but she didn’t answer. So I walked out to the rental car in the emergency room parking lot—totally freaked-out—and called her again. I’d never been in that kind of situation before. I’d never seen anyone beaten. I’d never feared for the life of someone I loved.
The fact that it was my little sister had my stomach inside out. My mind was going in every direction, and I couldn’t calm down. Couldn’t breathe.
“Who did?” she said, concerned. “Where are you?” I heard water running over the phone. What was I thinking? It was so early for her. I probably woke her up.
I fucking hated time.
Fuck.
I was sweating, scorching hot and freezing cold. My heart escalated to an exhausting rate and I couldn’t fight the impulsive urge as the words crept up my throat.
“Ten. Nine. Eight,” I keened and tried to catch my breath. Leaned over the steering wheel, my body felt like it was locking up. Shutting down. I gasped for air, but no matter how much I got, it wasn’t enough to fill my stiff lungs.
Nora continued for me.
“Seven. Six. Five.” She sounded so calm, and I focused on her. I listened to her voice and tried to regain my composure. “Four. Three. Two. One. Zero. Just breathe,” she instructed. “In and out.”
I’d feel it ebb, then it would wash over me again.
He tried to fucking kill her.
She counted with me, over and over, until I felt the panic rescind to wherever it metastasized.
“Now explain what’s going on,” she inquired gently. I heard her typing.
“I’m in Seattle for my parent’s anniversary. I’m not sure what was going on. All I know is she went to their old house to get some papers signed, and now she’s in a fucking hospital bed.”
She’d looked so frail.
She’d looked dead.
“I’m going to kill him,” I said, knowing in that moment—if given the chance—I would. “He could have murdered her, Nora. He had a fucking gun. The police shot him.”
She gasped, but didn’t comment.
It kept replaying in my head. Her bloody, lifeless body at the bottom of the stairs. My little kid sister who wouldn’t hurt a fly.
“Is she going to be all right?”
“We don’t know anything right now. They’re running tests. Her head. Oh, God, she was bleeding a lot.” I wasn’t speaking very well; it was hard to get my words out through all of the chaos in my brain.
“Do you want me to come there?” she offered. “I can be on a plane to Seattle in a few hours. What can I do?”
I knew how busy she was, and I wasn’t even sure what I was walking back into through the doors of the hospital. Hell, I’d already been out there on the phone long enough.
“Listen, I still don’t know what’s going on. Don’t make any promises you can’t keep right now.” It was a terrible thing to say, but I said it. I was angry and pissed, and she was the only one available to take it out on.
I rubbed the bridge of my nose, knowing I should apologize.
Fuck, where did I start?
She beat me to it. “Reagan, I’m so sorry.” Who knows what she was sorry for? We were both to blame for so many things.
“I didn’t mean it, Nora. Well, I meant it, but I shouldn’t have said it.”
I heard her resigned breath on the line. “Call me or text when you know more.”
I said I would, but I wasn’t sure it was true. I was only stirring shit up. I wasn’t even sure why I’d called her anymore.
The next few days were long. I slept in the waiting room for two nights. None of us wanted to leave until we were sure the doctors were right, and she’d be fine. Things slowly got better, and her swelling went down, but nobody really knew for sure until she woke up.
I’d talked to my friend Paul, who worked for the Seattle Police Department, and he informed me they’d let Grant go.
I had to get out of there.
There was nothing I could do, and so I took a red eye home.
When I walked into my apartment, I immediately knew she was there. Nora had a way of filling a space. A presence. Or maybe every sense I had was trained to always look for her.
She was laying in my bed, and I was too tired to fight. I wanted sleep.
I took my clothes off and climbed in behind her.
“I thought you didn’t sleep in beds by yourself,” I mentioned, but I could feel myself already nodding off. My arms wrapped around her, and as if she were a security blanket, I started to relax. I knew the relief wouldn’t last long, but I was desperate for a little peace.
“It smelled like you,” she answered around a yawn. “I sweet-talked Dirk into letting me in, then I remembered I still had your key.”
I was glad she was there, regardless of what it meant for the morning. I understood what she’d said when Janel died. I did feel better just touching her, being with her.
Better and worse.
When I woke up, she was sucking me off. I was caught between the twilight of waking and the blistering heat of a desert sun. I didn’t protest; I let it be.
My hips rose as I looked down my body at her.
She moaned something that sounded like good morning, and I fell back onto the pillow. My hand tangled in her hair, and she blew my mind with her mouth and hands.
I didn’t warn her of my careening climax, there was no point. She knew what the signs were—the effect she had on me—and didn’t shy away when I came down her throat. When she finished, she got up and climbed into the shower.
I joined her and returned the oral favor before I took her from behind with her favorite shampoo still lathered in her hair. The same fucking bottle, that after a year and a half, I still had.
We knew how to do this, but would we ever be good at anything else? Could we have ever really been what the other truly needed? It was so fucking complicated.
It was much more complex than monogamous and polyamorous. It was distance. It was ensuring she had all that a life without me could give her. It was my pride. My ego. My vanity.
We were pretty complacent after we came, and we unabashedly watched each other as we washed ourselves again.
It hurt seeing her. Was any of this fucking agony even worth it?
“When was the last time you were with someone else?” I had to know, even if I didn’t want to answer the question myself. Even if it wasn’t my damn business. Was she living the lifestyle she’d always talked so highly about? Was she getting all of the things I wanted to give her but knew I never could?
“I haven’t been,” she answered before walking under the spray. I found that hard to believe. I hadn’t expected her to be getting around, but I certainly knew how much she enjoyed sex. How she loved it. How she loved watching it.
“Not at all?” I asked and almost laughed.
“Nope. Nothing. The last time I was with two people was you and Simone. Other than that. Just you, and that doesn’t happen very often.” She stepped out of the shower and pulled the largest towel from the rack and wrapped it around her arms. Then she continued, “I know you think this is all easy for me, and you pretend like I hated being in a one-on-one relationship with you, but that’s not what it was. You kept an open mind the whole time. I didn’t.”
I was about to learn my something new for the day.
“What do you mean? What was it then?”
She dried but didn’t meet my eyes. “It was a lot of things. It was you probably wanting to get married somewhere down the road and knowing I’d never be able to do it. And you deserve someone who believes in that, too. You deserve someone who has faith. I don’t have that in myself.”
She shrugged and continued, “Then it was the having you do things that I knew deep down you really didn’t want to do. I felt so guilty most of the time. I was ashamed of how jealous I was. I’m not a jealous person, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. I’m not made for that. I’m not cut out for committing my feelings to someone that way. It only ends up hurting everyone in the end.”
The way she was talking reminded me of how we used to be in the beginning when we were honest.
“When did we stop telling the truth?” I asked and took the towel she handed me. The moment held so much levity. There we were naked and clean, but still hiding behind excuses.
“When we fell in love,” she answered. “I guess when you have something worth lying for, you’ll lie to protect it. Even if it is just to yourself.”
What she said blew my mind.
I was still reeling as I pulled up my jeans. Since she hadn’t unpacked, she zipped up her suitcase when she was finished dressing.
I sat on the bed and put on my socks.
She thought about getting married? Or not, as it turned out?
She was jealous?
She thought I was doing things against my will?
Damn her for never telling me any of that. Damn her for coming here and reminding me when it was too late.
Then, she asked, “When was the last time you were with somebody?”
The fork in the road. I’d brought us there.
“Last Wednesday,” I answered. I wasn’t proud, but it was the truth. “It’s never like it is with you though.” I didn’t know whether she’d care or not, but I was curious as hell.
I remember one time hearing her say she got great pleasure knowing her lovers were happy with others. I wasn’t happy with others, but I was with them from time to time.
Would that give her great pleasure?
I heard the air shove from her lungs. I guessed it didn’t.
“Then why do you do it?” she spat.
No. She was angry, which sadly didn’t bother me. It felt like we were even.
You’re on a roll, Reggie. Why stop?
“Because sometimes I want to see if I’ll be able to forget you. See if I can fuck you out of my head. See if I can get some goddamned peace.”
“And?” she deadpanned, her foot tapping against the hardwood. Her knuckles white around the handle of her travel bag.
I looked up, but she was staring at the floor. She was already gone.
“It never works.”
She stomped to the door. I followed to watch her leave. It was good for me.
Her hand on the knob, she said, “Well, Reagan, I’ve never known you to give up that easily. I suppose you’ll have to try harder.”
Then, she left.
It was sick, the things we had in common
.
PRESENT
REAGAN—Sunday, September 19, 2010
I told her I’d given up. I had. Many times.
After what had happened with Ives. After every single other shitty time we screwed ourselves further into the mess. Every time I gave up.
It was so much easier to quit than win, especially when you have no chance in hell.
“I don’t want you to give up,” she said looking down at me between her long legs.
After I’d confessed probably my biggest offense I’d ever committed, I continued to kiss her, but it wasn’t as sexual anymore. I was kissing her skin because it was hers, it just happened to be the closest to my mouth.
Fundamentally, I knew it would always be her. I was confident about that.
If this was really it, and we were putting this affair to bed, I’d need to accept some gruesome truths.
I may eventually find another woman.
I may have sex with her.
I may even enjoy her company and then marry her.
Lost in my thoughts, I felt bad for the poor woman who lived in my future. She’d only get half a man. Nora was the only other human who made me whole.
Whole and happy. Whole and dead inside.
I was only ever one hundred percent when I was with her. Good or bad.
That night we’d ran the gamut. Dominant. Submissive. We made love. We fucked.
“You don’t get a choice in the matter. Neither do I,” I replied.
Then, she uttered words that said it all. The ones that shackled us. Ones we’d been both gently nursed and brutally beaten with, but—until then—she’d never just said them.
Her timing crushed me. Stupid time.
TWENTY-SEVEN
PAST
NORA—Monday, June 7, 2010
At the time, I’d considered going to a hotel instead of his condo but didn’t. I hadn’t known when Reagan would be home or if he’d want me there. Maybe it had been a mistake to go to him, but when he called, it wasn’t within my power to decide.
He needed me. I went.
The only two things I knew were: he’d be home, and I’d be there waiting. Although I’d wanted to go to Seattle, I wasn’t sure I could ever face his family. Not at a time like that.
