by May, Lana N.
“A Cabernet Sauvignon. It’s our flagship product. It’s been showered with awards and recently received a score of ninety-two points from Falstaff.”
“Falstaff?” Thomas asked.
“Yes, it’s an Austrian magazine about wines, restaurants, gourmet cooking, and so forth,” Sepp explained succinctly. “I believe I have an issue upstairs I can show you later.”
The three went through the rest of the cellar rooms as the owner explained the intricacies of proper storage, wine varieties, sales, and the history of the winery. Johanna was fascinated, and Thomas was just as interested in it as she was. He was happy that Johanna was so enthusiastic about being there and was able to speak with Sepp about the flavor and maturity of assorted varietals.
“You know what, let’s just get ourselves a taste of something right now,” the winemaker proposed, and led the way to a room back up on the ground floor. “This room is new. We built it last year.”
Johanna and Thomas admired the large dark-brown wooden table with barstools around it in the middle of the tasting room. One wall of the room was made from empty wine bottles, which provided a charming focal point.
“Please take a seat. I’ll bring you both a taste right away,” Sepp said, and disappeared through the door.
“This is the most awesome surprise!”
“I’m so happy that you like it. But wait until we get to the finale.”
“You mean there’s more?”
“Yes. We wanted to have lunch, right?”
“Right. Where are we going?”
“We’re staying here. We’re going to have a romantic, candlelit lunch.”
“Candlelit lunch? That sounds amazing.”
Sepp came back again and put glasses of white wine and red wine in front of them. Maria brought some glasses of water and a basket filled with fresh bread.
“I baked them myself,” she said as she pointed at the loaves of crispy white bread and dark walnut bread.
Thomas and Johanna each grabbed a piece. The white bread, baked to a crispy light brown on the outside, crackled when you bit into it; inside, it was fluffy and moist. It was the type of bread that people would stand in line for, the type that made aficionados rub their hands together in anticipation. People would wait a long time to get a hold of one of these rare specimens, which went so well with marinated olives, feta cheese, oregano, and thyme. It was reminiscent of Italy, somewhere in Tuscany perhaps, a small town where the smell of cypress tress hung in the air and acres of wheat fields spread out like carpets of gold.
“Very tasty,” Thomas said as he reached for a loaf of walnut bread.
“After the wine tasting, we’ll have the regional specialty for lunch. See you later,” Maria said as she walked out of the room.
They did see Maria for a moment again later, but she never got to serve them that lunch. Johanna had to go to the bathroom, and as she walked down the old cellar stairs, she stumbled. She tried to grab onto something that would curb her fall, but there was nothing; she tumbled down the stairs with a loud crash and a scream.
“Johanna,” Thomas called out worriedly, leaping out of his seat, then racing toward the stairs. “Are you hurt?” he asked as he examined a gash on her chin.
Johanna seemed dazed as Thomas picked her up.
“It would probably be best to take her to the hospital and let them examine her there,” Sepp suggested when he saw how out of it Johanna was.
Thomas agreed. “Yes, we’re going.”
“Should I call an ambulance?”
“No, I don’t want to go to the hospital,” Johanna croaked out, but suddenly, a hellish pain came over her, and she groaned in anguish. “Or maybe we should,” she said meekly as Thomas carried her outside.
He put her gently into the backseat. “No, I’ll drive. It’ll be all right.”
Sepp nodded.
Maria was in shock as she stepped out of the house. “What happened?” she cried as Katharina ran out behind her.
When the little girl saw Johanna’s gash, she began to cry. Maria had to comfort Katharina.
“Johanna fell. They’re going to the hospital,” said Sepp. “Do you know where you need to go?”
Thomas shook his head.
“Well, the closest hospital is about five miles from here. I’ll give you the address, and you can put it in your navigation system. You have one?”
“Yes, I have one.” Thomas typed in the address.
“Well, I pray it’s nothing serious,” Maria said as she folded her hands reverently while Katharina cried into her mother’s apron. Thomas started the car and raced out of the driveway.
“Are you okay back there?” he asked, and looked into the rearview mirror.
“Yes, but please, don’t drive so fast,” Johanna moaned. Now that the shock was wearing off, a stabbing pain shot up and down her right leg. She could feel the pain but couldn’t locate it exactly; it just hurt everywhere.
“Sorry, I’ll slow down. We’re almost there,” Thomas said, trying to remain calm as he let up on the gas.
The emergency room was full, but not as full as Vienna’s general hospital, where injured people flooded in every second, along with hypochondriacs. It was best to avoid busy city ERs altogether if at all possible, since the waiting time could be forever; plus, the attending clerical and medical staff were almost always overworked and stressed out. You were lucky if your injuries weren’t too bad or, even better, if you were just a hypochondriac. Then, you could take a good book or magazine with you, and maybe some popcorn and a soda, which made the waiting room seem like a sort of a movie theater. It’d be smart to bring more snacks for later, since you’d probably be waiting such a long time, especially if you weren’t too seriously injured. When someone came in on a stretcher, covered in blood, the chances were very good that they were going to take your place in line.
Thomas carried Johanna into the waiting room of the ER and placed her on a chair.
“Wait here, I’ll get us signed in,” he said, and took her insurance card out of her purse. After a few minutes, he came back with some water and her registration papers.
“Are you thirsty?”
Johanna shook her head, then leaned on Thomas’s shoulder.
Forty-five minutes passed before they were called in.
“We’re up. Come on, Johanna,” he said as he helped her up.
A nurse brought a wheelchair as a precaution.
“That’s going to be much more comfortable,” the lady in the white-and-blue uniform said as she helped Johanna.
“Mmm, aha, well . . .” the doctor said as he examined Johanna’s leg. “Unfortunately, it seems to be broken.”
She froze.
“We’ll need to do an X-ray and an MRI,” Dr. Mick said, and typed something into the computer. “Then we’ll talk more in a few minutes.”
Meanwhile, Thomas waited outside; he paced up and down the hall, sick with worry. The walls in the waiting area were a cheerful yellow, probably designed to convey a feeling of happiness or hope. Or some nonsense like that, thought Thomas, looking in the direction of the door through which Johanna had vanished.
“I had a feeling that it was the ankle,” said the doctor as he examined the X-ray of her left leg. “You’ve fractured your ankle pretty elegantly.”
“What does that mean?” asked Johanna. She was exhausted as well as slightly annoyed.
“It means you’re lucky. We don’t have to operate, but you have to wear a cast and take it easy for a while,” he said solemnly as he typed something into his computer again. He really seemed to enjoy typing.
“Take it easy? I can’t do that.” She looked at him helplessly.
“There’s no other solution. Yup, yup, that’s the only thing that’ll help.”
Johanna cried.
“Don’t cry!” Tho
mas said in an effort to calm her down when they returned to her apartment. “Look, it isn’t all that bad! You don’t need an operation, you have a cast, but you don’t have to wear it forever. You heard what the doctor said; when they take the cast off, you’ll just do a little physical therapy, and then you’ll be as good as new.”
He brought her some herbal tea. Johanna lay on her couch in her living room as day turned into night. From noon on, the whole day had been a damn disaster.
How idiotic to let myself fall, she thought.
“But you know what that means,” she sobbed. “Now I can’t go to New York. We had so many things planned. You already booked the helicopter trip, we wanted to see some Broadway shows, try out some great restaurants, see the Statue of Liberty and—”
Thomas interrupted her; he was just as disappointed as Johanna—perhaps even more so—but he tried to be strong for her and not let it show. “Johanna, unfortunately, we can’t change the situation.”
She hated her cast and how sensible Thomas was being about the whole thing.
“And today is our last day together! And look what happened.” Johanna made a vulgar gesture toward her broken leg.
Thomas took her in his arms.
“Oh, I wish I hadn’t tried to go to the bathroom there,” she whined before she fell asleep in Thomas’s arms.
The pain relievers seemed to be working. They not only alleviated her pain but had a sedative effect, too; within minutes, they catapulted Johanna into dreamland.
Thomas gently laid her head on a soft pillow. Then he brought a blanket from the bedroom and tucked her in. He stroked her hair and kissed her on the forehead, then went into the kitchen and called Martin.
“Well, she’s asleep now, but she’s pretty shattered, mentally and physically.”
“I can understand that . . . Can Linda and I come over?”
“Not right now, but tomorrow should work. I have to fly out tomorrow morning, and I can’t push it back,” said Thomas with a loud sigh.
“Don’t worry, Thomas; Linda and I will look after Johanna.”
“Yeah, I know, but this just ruined all our plans . . . She was supposed to come to visit in three weeks,” said Thomas dejectedly. Now that Johanna was asleep, he could share his own disappointment with Martin.
“Yes, that’s such a shame.”
“Mmm . . . And I feel so terrible that I have to leave tomorrow.”
“Thomas, Johanna understands. You’re both going to be fine.”
“I know we will, but it will be a challenge.”
“Call if you need anything, okay?”
“Yes, I will, Martin. Thank you.”
Thomas sat back down on the couch and watched Johanna sleep. If we hadn’t gone to the winery, none of this would have happened, he thought, even though he knew it didn’t help to play the blame game. Things happened the way they happened; he had to accept it and move on. But the whole thing hit him really hard. Johanna looked so wiped out, so helpless and exhausted. He didn’t want to leave tomorrow; he wanted to be there for her. But he had no other choice. He hoped to return to Vienna as soon as possible.
The next day came quickly—too quickly—plus, Thomas had to leave early to pick up his luggage from his apartment and change into some fresh clothes. He’d barely slept the whole night; instead, he had leaned over Johanna and held her hand.
“I don’t want you to go,” she begged.
“I know. I don’t want to go, either.”
“Stay, then.”
“Please, don’t look at me that way. It hurts enough as it is.”
“But I’m so sad . . .” Johanna cried again, even though she knew that she had to control herself. She couldn’t allow herself to act like a spoiled child; she wasn’t eight years old. She also knew that this was anything but easy for Thomas, and that it made him feel even worse when she cried.
“I’m sorry, but I have to go now, Johanna.”
“I know!” Johanna forced a half smile, even though her heart was breaking.
“Martin’s coming by today to check on you,” he said. “He also suggested that he and Linda sleep here. It’s your decision, but it would make me feel much better to know you’re not alone,” he said.
He grabbed his car keys, then hugged Johanna tightly and gave her a long, meaningful kiss. It was serious and intimate, a kind of a confirmation that they belonged together. They both felt it; it was a wistful, hopeless, and, at the same time, hopeful farewell kiss that promised a reunion, which would be all the richer because of their respect and love for each other. The kiss seemed to have no beginning and no end. It was eternally unforgettable for both of them.
Then Thomas had to go; it broke his heart to leave Johanna behind.
52
Love exists independently of time and space. It’s simply there, connecting two people over a great distance. Love is palpable and ubiquitous, and not so easy to brush off, especially once Cupid’s arrow hits its mark. Love clings to a person; even when love expires, its memories remain and reverberate for all eternity.
A few days had passed since Thomas’s sad return to New York. He and Johanna talked or e-mailed daily. They remained committed to the plan of pretending they were spending the better part of their days together.
New York, 9:00 a.m.: Dear Johanna,
I have already told you that I loved how you looked when you wore that short silk nightshirt this morning, your messy, tousled hair going in all directions, you yawning and sighing softly, slipping into the bathroom quiet as a mouse, so as not to wake me up—but I was already awake. I observed you with fascination, your smile as you scratched your backside, stretching, then inhaling and exhaling deeply. I narrowed my eyes as I watched you strip off your shirt in front of the bathroom door, and I got a glimpse of your charming back. I wanted to wait until you came out of the bathroom, but that would have been almost impossible, as if the most delicious ice cream in the world stood melting in the blazing sun and I’d have to wait an eternity before the ice cream gods allowed me to taste it. So I snuck into the shower next to you. You were surprised and delighted at the same time. I love starting our mornings like this.
Kisses,
Thomas
Vienna, 3:30 p.m.: My beloved Peeping Tom, help me out here. What did we do when we were taking a shower?
New York, 9:45 a.m.: We drank coffee together. What else?
Johanna would be out of commission for a while, which really bothered her because being at home was quickly becoming unbearably boring. Looking back, she couldn’t believe she’d spent so many years of her life as a near shut-in. When she wasn’t cursing her cast or leafing through a magazine, she was staring at the second hand on the wall clock, fixated on the idea that she would banish any and all clocks from her home as soon as she could get up from her armchair. The dark-blue clock with the white dots had become a vile object of her hatred. She’d have to ask her brother to dismantle the clock, to tear off its hands or simply remove the batteries.
Martin and Linda visited every day. Johanna didn’t want them to sleep over, though, because she didn’t want to infringe on their privacy—and she didn’t want her privacy to be infringed upon, either. Though she so appreciated Linda, she could be a bit overprotective. All agreed that Martin and Linda could go shopping for her and clean her apartment as needed.
Paolo took over the role of private chef and entertainer. He took care of Johanna with homemade, reasonably healthy dishes and a dose of companionship.
Every day, Johanna found herself better able to deal with her situation and decided to commit herself to getting something positive from it.
“After this, I’ll be so rested, I’ll be able to rip up entire trees with my bare hands,” she assured Paolo and, for a moment, her statement freaked him out.
53
Vienna, 8:24 a.m.: Good morning, Thomas!
Otherwise, I can only say that I love you and miss you so much.
Kisses, your poor little crippled girl,
Johanna
New York, 5:44 a.m.: Good morning to you, too, although it’s already almost noon where you are. Yes, the snoring is a problem. Was I really that loud? Could you really hear me from so far away?
I mean, I just sleep on the other side of the bed. It’s still far away, though.
Kisses,
Thomas
PS: You snore sometimes, too, but I think it’s sweet. Do you think you would ever be able to find my snoring endearing? I would be forever in your debt if you could somehow transcend this aversion to my somewhat irritating sleep habits.
Vienna, 11:44 a.m.: Because I’m on special leave from work, I can write you back immediately and keep you from your much less important work. I’m quite pleased that I now have the time to distract you nonstop and wanted to mention it to you to ensure that you’re absolutely cognizant of this fact.
I don’t snore; otherwise, I would have noticed it. Right?
New York, 7:00 a.m.: No, you definitely snore.
New York, 7:03 a.m.: PS: Don’t worry. In the meantime, I’ve hired someone to cover all my work duties, just so that I can answer your countless e-mails.
PPS: I definitely don’t want to miss any of your multitudinous messages!
Thomas stepped into the elevator to his office and watched the sunrise through the glass walls, which revealed streaks on the glass and a few grease marks, probably from somebody’s hands. On his desk were photos of Clarissa. Why are these on my damn desk? he asked himself. He looked at them briefly, then threw them in the trash.
