Wish Me Tomorrow

by Karen Rock

  “Wow, did it get hot,” she breathed beside him. A metallic rattle sounded as their feet pounded over a grille.

  “It’s definitely more humid.” He eyed the clouds, their underbellies more purple now than gray.

  They ran between people carrying umbrellas, dodging workers scurrying to their offices. Street vendors called to one another as they stashed their gear and stowed their products. Grateful riders flung open cab doors then slammed them shut, spared from the impending storm. Inevitability hung thick in the heavy air. Something flickered on the edge of his peripheral vision. Lightning?

  “Let’s push it.” His breath came harder now, the pain in his knee a steady burn.

  “You got it,” Christie huffed, her legs pumping faster.

  The dogs, excited by the storm and the faster run, were more unruly than ever. When Angel nearly yanked Christie off her feet, he held out a hand.

  “I’ll take her.”

  Christie shook her head, her small chin set. “Heel, Angel,” she commanded, her tone as ominous as the thunder rolling through the city. The German shepherd wheeled back and matched her gait to Christie’s.

  Street numbers flashed by, the growing numbers suggesting they were closing in on his building. They would make it. Then Christie called a warning over her shoulder just as he felt a drop of rain slide down his nose.

  They quickened their pace to a sprint, the turn to Broome Street in sight. Umbrellas snapped open around them, the sound as sharp as the lightning crackling overhead. Within seconds, rain fell, first in fat splatters, then finer, harder. The slick sidewalk grew treacherous and he automatically put a hand behind Christie’s elbow, close enough where he could help, far enough away that she wouldn’t know.

  Another moment and they’d be home. But it was a minute too late. By the time they’d reached his stairs, their clothes were dark and dripping. He swiped at his smeared vision.

  “Come inside,” he called as a clap of thunder sounded overhead. She looked up the street then back at him, her hair plastered to her skull. A bolt of lightning made her jump.

  “Hold the door!”

  And with a final boom that could only have been heaven-sent, he had exactly what he’d hoped for. Christie. All to himself.

  * * *

  “AH-CHOOO.” CHRISTIE PULLED another tissue from the box Eli had placed on the coffee table and rubbed her nose. What was it about rain that made her feel that a cold was coming on?

  “Soup’s almost done,” Eli called from the kitchen.

  “Great, though I don’t think I’ve ever eaten chicken noodle at ten in the morning.” It was sweet the way Eli had fussed since he’d pulled her close on that terrifying elevator ride, not seeming to mind or notice her clammy skin. If only she’d had room in her wrist pocket for her rabbit’s foot.

  “Did you dry your hair yet?”

  She rubbed at the strands with the towel again. “I’m trying. There’s a lot of it”

  Cabinets banged open and closed. “Where is the ladle?” she heard him mutter. Then louder, “Use Becca’s blow-dryer.”

  “I think I’ve borrowed enough of her things.” She looked down at the rolled-up sweatpants and the T-shirt that she’d pilfered from Becca’s closet. “Try the lazy Susan if you haven’t checked there.”

  “Got it, thanks. Mary’s been organizing everything lately, and I haven’t learned her system yet.” Something metallic-sounding crashed to the floor. “Lost the ladle.”

  Honestly. Men. Christie pushed off the plush blanket he’d wrapped around her and rose.

  “Uh-uh. Stay put, Christie.” Eli held out a hand. “I’ve got this. I’ll use one of the serving spoons.”

  “Avoid the one with the holes in it,” she called and bit back a smile.

  “Huh. Hadn’t thought of that.” Eli laughed.

  She burrowed into her fluffy covering. Yep. He had it under control. A part of her couldn’t deny how good it felt to be the one taken care of.

  “Ouch!” Eli’s exclamation made her wince and glance into the open cooking space. He shook his hand and glared at the steaming pot he’d dropped to the granite countertop.

  “Potholders are—”

  “On the hooks above the stove. I see them now. With all of this reordering, it’s hard to keep track.”

  “You’re sure you don’t want any—”

  “Nope.” With his hands encased in puffy red gloves, he poured thick, yellow soup into each bowl.

  She wiggled her foot free of Tommy’s oversized green claw slippers, a surprising fit, and admired her slightly smudged, but still glowing-red manicure. She was so not a waitress...a thought that made her smile. Luckily she’d gotten hold of Laura, who’d agreed to take care of Sweet Pea before heading to her office. She could linger as long as she wanted since she had the day off.

  “It’s hot.” Two bowls thunked on the glass coffee table, and Eli laid a cloth napkin across her lap.

  Unable to resist the chicken broth’s aroma, she leaned forward and inhaled deeply, feeling warmed to her toes without taking a sip. This was the life. Eli beside her with a shared meal and a comfortable silence between them.

  While she waited for the soup to cool, she gazed at the framed tractor photograph. He really was talented. His picture perfectly captured the beauty of everyday American life.

  “Tell me more about growing up in Kentucky.” She took a cautious sip of soup and sighed at the delicious flavor exploding on her tongue.

  His spoon clanked against the side of the bowl. When he turned toward her the cushion space between them sank, drawing them closer.

  “I told you about living with my grandmother, and that my parents work the fair circuit?”

  Christie nodded. “Where are they now?”

  Eli’s blue eyes clouded over. “My best guess is Kalamazoo. We haven’t spoken in a few years.”

  Her hand rose to her throat. “Oh.” More ghosts in Eli’s life, their presence felt but never seen. “So, how do you know they’re in Michigan?”

  He downed another spoonful. “Mom posts her schedule online so carnival fans can follow.”

  Soup sloshed from her spoon onto the table and their hands brushed as they each reached for a napkin. She dabbed up the spill then asked, “How long has this been going on?”

  “Since I moved to New York. They call every once in a while—when the kids were born, to wish me well on my wedding day, birthdays sometimes.” His spoon stabbed into his bowl again and fished out another bite of noodles.

  “And you never told them you had cancer,” she said, thinking out loud. Then she took another mouthful. Eli had practically shut out the whole world. Why, then, had he let her in? The kids were one thing...but their jogs, the intimate moments alone...this had to mean something. It did to her, as scared as she was to admit it.

  “No. They wouldn’t have come anyway unless they booked the state fair in Syracuse.” He polished off his meal and leaned back, arms crossed behind his head, an elbow resting lightly on her shoulder.

  “But how do you know? If they knew how sick you were—”

  “They would have pitched in to help, like Jacqueline?”

  She tried to keep the pity out of her eyes.

  “I couldn’t have any more people coming in and out of my children’s lives,” he continued in a low, even voice. “They’d done it enough to me as a kid.”

  Her heart ached for the boy who’d been abandoned by his parents. The wound of their leaving had never fully healed. Suddenly his initial unwillingness to include her made sense. He’d thought she’d walk away, too, raising his children’s hopes only to disappoint them. Amazing that he’d taken such a risk with her. She wanted to reassure him that she’d live up to his expectations, but her past rose up and mocked the words before she could say them.

/>   “That must have been rough for you.” When his arm stretched out behind her, she rested her head against it. It was as close to being in his arms as she dared, every atom in her body aware of the muscular form against her side.

  They turned their heads at the same moment and touched noses. His eyelashes brushed her brow when he blinked in surprise. She drew back and grabbed for another tissue, feeling a sneeze coming on. Perfect timing. For a moment she’d thought he’d been about to...

  “Bless you,” he said, his fingers brushing back the damp tendrils clinging to her forehead.

  The gentle pressure of his hand lingered against the side of her face, his fingers cupping her chin so tenderly that it made her heart ache. Why did he touch her like this when they were alone, with the soft, gray light streaming through the windows and the rain drumming a low beat? Everything felt intimate, close...possible. Her heart rolled itself up into a thumping ball and lodged in her throat. Would she ever learn to accept that friendship was all there’d be for her and Eli?

  She stacked their empty bowls and headed for the kitchen. Space. It would clear her head of impossible notions. But Eli followed, hot on her heels. He’d showered when they’d returned home and the clean smell of him made her nose twitch, her senses shift into overdrive.

  “Tell me more about your treatment. You said you had rehab for six months.” She turned on the water and ran her hands under the cold. Snap out of it. He’s just a friend.

  “Chemo and radiation for eight months, then surgery, recovery and rehab lasted another eight.” He grabbed a towel and dried the cutlery and bowls when she’d finished washing them, his hands brushing hers, it seemed, at every opportunity. Was he doing this on purpose? Could he be pursuing her?

  “And who took care of you? Jacqueline?”

  He snorted. “When she heard about my diagnosis, she left. Said she’d spent too many years caring for her mother’s ten kids and was done.”

  Christie wiped her hands dry on the towel Eli handed her, understanding Jacqueline’s harsh decisions a bit more now. “But Tommy and Becca. She’d cared for them.”

  Eli shrugged and got out a pitcher of tea. At her nod he grabbed a couple of glasses and poured. “She never wanted kids, either. She told me that before we got married but I thought I could change her mind. Believed that once she saw her own, it’d be different.”

  That sounded like something she would have thought. Her heart took a sweeping dive in her chest. Poor Eli. He’d endured more than his fair share of disappointments, yet he also owned up to his role in them.

  She took the drink he passed her and followed him back to the living room. When she tucked her heels beneath her, he gently tugged them loose and held them on his lap instead. The feel of his warm hands on her sensitive feet was overwhelming, but she was powerless to resist. Instead, she turned so that her back rested against the couch’s side. It gave her a better view of his rugged, handsome profile.

  “You weren’t wrong to hope for that.”

  He tapped his empty left ring finger. “I should have listened.”

  “If you had, you wouldn’t have Becca or Tommy.” She shifted her weight and his hands gripped her slipping feet.

  “Which is why I wouldn’t change a thing.”

  Here was the chance to ask the million-dollar question. She couldn’t pass it up. “Even her walking out?”

  “Especially that.” He leaned closer, their noses touching once more. “Because then I wouldn’t have met you.”

  Her lips parted in surprise. Her heart beat a rapid dance in her chest as she breathed in the moment and the man.

  Time felt suspended as she thought about crossing the friendship line. There was no denying her feelings for him. But did she dare risk the chance that he might get sick again? That she’d end up hurting him somehow? He’d barely survived Jacqueline. She cared too much for him now to put his heart in jeopardy again.

  “Eli, I don’t know.”

  He pulled back and her whole body seemed to protest. No! She wanted that moment back again, even if she knew she’d made the right choice. The right choice hurt.

  “I don’t want to rush you.” His deep voice rumbled through her, drawing her closer in spite of herself.

  She wanted to lean into his arms. His warmth.

  “You’re not.” She shook her head. Confused. “I’m just not sure. I don’t want to—”

  “It’s okay.” He nodded, his shoulders stiff. Tense. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Yet.

  Had she thought it or had he? The word hung between them, a scary, dark possibility she couldn’t face. She swallowed hard, scooting a little farther away from him before she gave in to this crazy swell of emotions.

  “Christie, wait.” His words made her realize she was still backing up, little by little.

  She forced herself to stop.

  “Mary is helping me... We’re having a party here in a few days. For my birthday.”

  She was already nodding, absurdly grateful he wasn’t shutting her out of his life because she hadn’t kissed him. She wanted...so much. His friendship had become important in such a short span of time.

  “I’m glad you’re having a party, Eli.” Her voice sounded funny in her ears, but then her heart still did little flips in her chest.

  “No matter what the future holds for us, Christie, I’d like you to be there.” He cleared his throat. “At the party.”

  “Okay.” She would call for the time later. She was already collecting her things before she made an idiot of herself and kissed him. Backing away again. “Um. Yes. Thank you. I’ll be there.”

  Of course she’d be there. Because even though she hadn’t kissed him today, she couldn’t imagine her world without him in it. And if he wanted more from her? She needed to get her head on straight and figure out what that meant for her future.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “HUSH, GRAN. PLEASE. You’re not an invited guest.” Christie hefted a birthday present in her arms—an Ansel Adams anthology of America’s national parks—and raised her hand to knock. She’d seen a book by the same photographer at Eli’s apartment, but not this one. Hopefully, he’d like it. She’d been thinking about him every moment since the day of the storm....

  “I am the party, so who needs an invitation?” huffed Gran. She held up a bottle of Jameson whiskey in one hand and tinfoil-wrapped Irish soda bread in the other. “Besides, it was a simple question. Is Eli your boyfriend?”

  Her knuckles paused on the black-varnished door without rapping. It wasn’t an easy question. He would be if she’d kissed him that day when they’d been so close. But she’d been scared and unsure. Now wanting more with him was a message her heart kept sending, a love song stuck on replay.

  “Please don’t embarrass me, Gran. We’re just friends.”

  Lines burst around her elder’s pursed lips. “Ach. As if I could embarrass anyone. I speak the truth, is all. Can we go inside now, instead of standing on the stoop like beggars?”

  Christie looked down at the Persian rug before Eli’s double doors and smiled. A far cry from her grandmother’s old immigrant neighborhood. Gran’s struggles in life had taught the woman to speak her mind. It wasn’t in Christie’s power to change that now.

  The door swung open a moment after she knocked, revealing a smiling Mary on the other side. She looked lovely in a rose-colored blouse and a black skirt, making Christie glad she’d worn Laura’s blue shift dress and open-toed heels. She tugged at the flared hemline, knowing its abbreviated length would drive her crazy all night. But that was what she got for ceding outfit control to her fashion-maven roommate.

  “Hello, Christie. And this must be Rosaline. Welcome.” Mary gestured into the lofty space and waited for them to cross the threshold. “May I take your things?”

 
“Only if you promise not to keep them for yourself,” said Gran with a wink, handing over her bottle and the soda bread. Christie winced but Mary only smiled.

  Mary lifted the package and sniffed, her eyes closing as she sighed. “Can’t make that vow with my husband around.” She pointed to her uniformed spouse, who must have stopped in for a quick visit. “He’s partial to Irish soda bread and this smells like a fine batch.” With that, she bustled into the kitchen.

  “Jaaaapers. Would you look at this,” Gran whispered, elbowing her as she craned her neck, taking in the expansive space. “You’ve caught yourself a fine feller.”

  “Gran!” she hissed then plastered on a smile as a beaming Eli came forward, his eyes never bluer against a crisp white dress shirt and an emerald tie, his black dress slacks accentuating his narrow hips and long legs.

  Just seeing him did funny things to Christie’s insides.

  “And what a looker,” added Gran, her eyes sparkling as she extended a hand.

  “You’re cutting a fine figure yourself, Mrs. Bates.” Eli raised her hand to his twitching lips. “May I return the compliment?”

  “How could you not?” Gran turned in a slow circle, her yellow chiffon pleats swirling above her knees.

  While they shared a laugh, Christie wriggled her toe in her narrow shoe, feeling oddly unsure of herself after the way she and Eli had last parted.

  His eyes brightened as they turned her way. “Hello, Christie.” His husky voice and direct look sent a shiver over her skin.

  “Happy birthday.” Why did she sound out of breath? Now she was the one making a spectacle of herself. “I brought you a present,” she added inanely then wished she could smack herself in the head with it, put herself out of this awkward misery. After all the time they’d spent together, why did she feel so unsure and shy? Then again, Eli’s piercing gaze and her gran’s raised eyebrows weren’t helping. Now, more than ever, she realized they might not be able to go back to being just friends.

  He held her hands and angled them out from her sides, eyeing her minidress. “It’s perfect,” he breathed then winked at her. “I mean, I’m sure the present is perfect. Thanks. May I get you anything to drink?”