You Are Here

by S. M. Lumetta

  I reeled, unable to find words to hide behind. Shock, disbelief, and a solid wave of nausea flooded my body. He finally released me. As I collected myself, moisture pooled in the corners of my eyes, and that was truly frightening.

  “I, uh, I’ve been everywhere,” I answered as my mind raced to find a way to extricate myself from this uncomfortable, unbelievable situation. “I can’t even begin to tell you.”

  He actually laughed. “At least you’re alive! Jesus, the things I thought.” His face flashed solemn for a second before lighting up again. “I guess I should introduce my wife, Vivien! Can you believe someone agreed to marry me?”

  “No.” I laughed uncomfortably, pleased at the ruse, but irritated I was unable to control my response.

  She gave a quick nod and smiled genuinely, though she was definitely cautious. She didn’t quite trust me, and I approved—she shouldn’t.

  “I’ve actually heard quite a bit about you,” she said, offering her hand.

  I nodded, bowing slightly as her fingers closed firmly around my palm. “I’m sure some of it’s not true.”

  I forced a smirk and threw a glance at Nash, whose grin widened ear to ear.

  “So, what are you doing here? Do you live in Chicago?”

  Reading his all-too-earnest face, I could tell he was desperately searching for answers, any of which I couldn’t give him. The moment I’d heard his voice, an acute pain bubbled up in my chest, and it was approaching unbearable. I could face a firing squad without a change in heart rate, but this run-in was taking me apart.

  “Listen, Nash, I-I can’t really talk right now,” I stuttered, much to my increasing frustration. “I was supposed to meet a colleague and I’m a little late. I don’t want to be rude, but I’m sorry, I have to go.”

  His face fell, but he nodded. “Oh, yeah, of course. All good.” He landed a smack on my shoulder, nearly knocking me over.

  Same old Nash.

  “It was, uh, crazy running into you,” I admitted, hoping it sounded like a good thing and taking an initial step toward retreat.

  “Dinner!” His face was alight with all the excitement and promise of a seven-year-old at Christmas. “Vivi wanted to hit the Cheesecake Factory—”

  “You did, sugarbuns,” she corrected, amused. “I’ve sworn off cheesecake.”

  “Baby, your fine ass would be fine even if you ate an entire cheesecake in one sitting.”

  The man could still shift from gleeful kid to pimp in a millisecond.

  “Remember when we met, Viv? You were railing on the punching bag at that hotel gym and accidentally kicked me with a roundhouse to the face,” he said, recounting the incident to her as if it was a love letter.

  “I kicked you on purpose,” she teased, her expression giving away the truth.

  Turning to me, he continued. “Love at first ass kicking. And that ass is finer than ever.”

  He reached back, grabbed a handful of said fineness, and laughed at his own joke.

  Vivi fought a fond smile and rolled her eyes.

  She must do that a lot.

  At that moment, a young boy ran past Nash, tripped, and was about to do a face plant on the boardwalk when Nash caught him, setting him right. “Ya all right, kid?”

  The boy’s mother ran up after him, breathless with a baby strapped to her chest. She thanked him profusely, but Nash shrugged it off, smiling as if he’d done what anyone would do.

  Sensing my time eroding with each forceful heartbeat in my chest, I pushed toward making my exit.

  “I’m sorry, I just can’t,” I said, edging away backward down the boardwalk. “Take care of yourself, man. And, uh, congratulations!” I gestured to Vivi and turned, trying not to run away screaming.

  “Greyson!” he bellowed after me. My trained instincts must have developed amnesia, because my body stopped and turned of its own volition. “Cheesecake Factory. Seven o’clock. We are not taking ‘no’ for an answer.”

  With no real intention of actually showing up, I nodded and waved. Reversing quickly toward reprieve, my feet couldn’t carry me away fast enough. My throat constricted while my heart beat itself against the inside of my ribcage. A strange and deafening white noise filled my ears.

  I could not relax.

  At the north side of the pier, I was finally out of their visual range. My vision blurred, and my stomach twisted. I couldn’t go any farther in this state, so I stopped to grip the railing and vomited whatever the hell I’d eaten for breakfast into the lake. I lurched forward for a second round, my eyes watering heavily. Even after my body relaxed, I remained in the same bent position with my head resting on the rail. The cool metal against my skin was a relief as I watched the water erase my ills.

  My professional reflexes woke up—finally—when I sensed someone approaching from my left. I snapped upright immediately, noticing his leather loafers were worn without socks. My eyes locked on a pair of cufflinks with the insignia. And a huge diamond.

  Douchebag.

  “Like ’em?” His tone was mocking as he shook his wrist.

  “Gorgeous,” I said flatly, lifting my eyes slowly to his face.

  “Got ’em at a deep discount,” he said drily, waving a significantly thinner envelope than I was due.

  I shook my head slowly and deliberately in response. “You get what you pay for.”

  He laughed, stopped abruptly, and hissed, “You were late.”

  “I wasn’t late,” I said, biting off the end of each word unintentionally. “I was delayed.”

  I glanced at the envelope and back at him. I felt my eyes go dead as I bored the threat into him. A cleansing relief flooded me as the numb and nameless reappeared to take care of business. I could breathe again.

  When I didn’t blink, his resolve faltered. Watching Mr. Loafers evaluate the authenticity of danger pleased me.

  His Adam’s apple bobbed hard. Without a word, he reached into his jacket and pulled out the stack he’d skimmed from my envelope. Thrusting the lot of it into my hand, he hastily brushed past me. I started walking before I’d put the cash safely in the envelope.

  The chaos in the back of my mind buzzed. The surprise of Nash was almost too much. If I could get the hell out of Chicago, it would settle and disappear. Just like me.

  ~

  Sweat poured down my back. My hair was drenched and matted to my face. I couldn’t seem to regulate my breathing, my chest heaving as though I were on the brink of asphyxiation. Desperate, I ripped my shirt open to get the collar away from my neck, buttons clicking on the tiles as they fell to the sink and floor.

  More memories had shaken loose, thanks to the run-in this morning. One in particular was the party he and I threw at his house just before our senior year in high school. My brother was there and drank too much, collapsing while doing a keg stand. I had felt helpless when I found him on the ground, but Nash took charge and performed mouth-to-mouth. I had never felt more grateful to anyone in my life when I heard Drew burp, cough, and then barf. Nash was a veritable hero.

  “If you died, I would’ve fucking killed you,” I’d told Drew, nodding my thanks to Nash.

  He called us freaks but smiled the whole time, following up with, “Good thing I’m a freak, too.”

  Nash was an all-in kind of friend. If you were part of his inner circle, he would do anything for you, no-holds-barred.

  Still fighting for air, I had to consciously talk myself down for another ten minutes. Reactions to the memory wouldn’t go anywhere, though, and it kept me cycling through various stages of discomfort and cold sweats. I stared at the mirror in my hotel bathroom in abject horror because I knew exactly what was going to happen next.

  I was going to be at the goddamn Cheesecake Factory at seven o’clock tonight.

  Chapter Seven

  Lucie

  Clementine

  When I woke in the morning, I was foggy and disoriented. The meds left me feeling a little hungover. I rolled over, taking in the warmth of the light beaming th
rough the windows. The sun seemed to pick me up and cradle me. The day already felt less taxing.

  As I had nowhere to be, a bath sounded like heaven. The apartment was quiet and I hadn’t yet broken in my amazing, massive tub. Just the thought of it made me grin and I felt lighter.

  The iron claw tub was an incredible find at an estate sale Vivi had dragged me to somewhere in the Hudson Valley. When we saw the tub, I knew I had to have it. Until then, I had so few ideas as to how I would decorate my new place. This one piece, however, was perfect.

  “If I had to, I could live in that,” I’d told Vivi.

  Of course the rest of the day, Vivi had teased me incessantly, asking if I could live in this cabinet, on that sofa, or any other random piece I showed interest in.

  Minutes later, I set a glass of orange juice on the bath caddy that straddled the tub, ditched my sleep shirt, and stepped in. Lowering myself in slowly, I leaned back, my head on a rolled up towel. I closed my eyes and simply inhaled, soothed by the scent. A low moan of contentment bubbled from my chest, and I was more at ease than I felt I deserved.

  Without opening my eyes, I reached for my orange juice and felt for the glass with my soapy fingers. I took a long swig and set it back down. I swirled the juice around my tongue for a moment before swallowing. Just in time.

  I taste citrus. Citrus mixed with a different, subtler kind of sweet. His sweet. I open my eyes. He sits at the other end of the tub with a wicked smile, his bright blue eyes sparkling with mischief, and that worn leather cowboy hat on his head. Water laps at his chest, soaking the smattering of hair in the middle. He’s watching me watch him.

  “What was that?” I ask. My tongue delights again in the taste of his kiss hanging on my lips. He cocks a crooked grin and slides toward me through the sudsy water. I can’t stop my whimper of anticipation, thinking how fucking sexy this man is.

  “Clementine,” he says, before pressing his lips to mine. His tongue darts past my teeth, though I accept him willingly. I taste the fruit again, stronger. “They used to be my favorite … until you,” he drawls lazily, barely pulling back enough to speak.

  I splash him as I try to grab the hat and throw it on the floor, but he blocks my hand and holds the hat on. He arches an eyebrow and chuckles, his mouth taking a deeper kiss this time. I feel his arms snake around me, fingers slipping over my skin.

  I sink farther into the water, relieving my hardened nipples of the chill of the air. My legs coil around his waist, anchoring me to him as we both grapple for friction and hold. I moan loud, rocking against him, hard and ready for me. He growls and the sound dissolves into a hum as his lips suck and trail along any available skin he could reach.

  I lose myself in the sensation of his hands roaming my body, tickling my hips, my thighs with the tips of his beautiful fingers—the tease. His eyes are hooded as he watches me fixedly though he continues to entice.

  “I love the way you touch me,” I say.

  He grumbles and crushes me again with his kiss, my head spinning in sensual overstimulation. But his hold on me is firm as he positions himself. I am aching for him.

  I can’t restrain the volume of my plea as I beg, “Please.”

  My eyes flew open with a harsh gasp of breath. Panting, the heat drained from my face. Sweat beaded along my forehead as my temples pound. I gripped the sides of the tub and pulled myself vertical in anticipation of the weakness that always follows. But I couldn’t bring myself to care how much energy it took from me. I would have him in this tub. My tub.

  Holy hell, I need a time stamp on these things.

  ~

  After I got dressed and made breakfast—this gift seemed to make me extra hungry—I called Vivi. As relaxing as the bath had been before the vision, I was frustrated. These untethered teases made me antsy and impatient. This clairvoyance of mine taunted me with answers to questions I haven’t asked.

  Vivi groaned when she answered the phone. “Oh, thank God! I almost had to join Nash for brunch with quite possibly the most misogynistic ass hound this side of the Atlantic. Excellent trial attorney, but sweet baby Jesus, I might have had to puncture an eardrum with a toothpick.”

  “Well that’s a mouthful.”

  “Had to happen. What’s up, buttercup?”

  I took a deep breath. I felt so melodramatic to complain.

  “Uh-oh.” I heard her shift, maybe to a more comfortable sitting position. “Tell me.”

  “I had another,” I said. When she didn’t breathe a word, I wasn’t sure if she was on the edge of her seat or giving me space. “It was him.” I didn’t realize I’d sighed longingly until she snickered.

  “It staggers me that you are already so in love with someone you’ve never met. Think about that! I’m a psychologist! Mind equal-sign blown.”

  “Shouldn’t that mean that you should commit me for being over-involved in a fantasy? I mean, I have no proof he even exists.”

  Silence.

  “Vivi?”

  “I don’t like it when you sound smarter than me,” she snarked. “It’s embarrassing. They may come to take away my license and degrees.”

  A labored chuckle erupted. “I doubt it. I still don’t understand why you believe me.”

  She sighed, almost an apology. “You know I do and I don’t if I’m being honest. I believe you feel it and I’m rooting for you. I want them all to be true—obviously. It’s a gut feeling. Maybe similar to yours but not so pronounced.”

  I nodded before remembering we were on the phone. “Thank you.”

  “I’m serious, babe.”

  I heard a gulp and an “ahh” before she announced to me and everyone in her general vicinity, “I love Bloody Marys.”

  I snorted. “Noted.”

  “But seriously,” she continued, “I have always been a great judge of character. Ask Nash! I used to go to court with him on occasion for law school observation. I called bullshit on every guilty son of a bitch in the room. Even the ones who had everyone snowed.”

  I laughed. “I believe you. No need to take me to court.”

  “Nice. I see what you did there. So, back to this preview of Mr. Hotpants,” she said before slurping loudly at what I assumed was the end of her drink. “Or was it Mr. No Pants?”

  I hummed, remembering.

  “Ohh,” she moaned, “it was sexy, wasn’t it?”

  “It was amazing.” I blushed deeply despite being totally alone. “But I’m more aggravated by it than anything else.”

  “Why, darrrlin’?” she drawled. She must have had a few of those drinks.

  “These previews feel like sirens, crazy seductive and waiting to drown me.”

  “You’re a goddamn poet. Did you know?”

  She spoke with genuine admiration, but I scoffed anyway. “I’m serious. I want him now!”

  “Oh, tell me you heard yourself. You want him now? I bet you do.”

  “I hate you,” I said, trying to restrain my laughter. “I just want something to hold onto, Viv. A point of goddamn reference, or the ghost in my machine is going to break something up there.”

  She erupted in laughter. I wasn’t sure if it was my stupid brain joke or if she was seriously drunk.

  “Vivi.”

  She sucked in a post crack-up breath and sighed.

  “I wish there were an easy fix, babe, but that’s not how the mind works. Add in your ability and it’s anyone’s guess. Allow me to doctor you for one quick second,” she suggested with only a hint of question to her voice. “Get out of your head.”

  “What?” I couldn’t help the surprised bend to my tone, which rose an octave above normal.

  “Focus on someone else for a little while,” she said, sounding surprisingly sober. “Not that this would be fun, exactly, but Charlotte’s dad’s surgery is today.”

  “Yeah. She called yesterday. We were supposed to go to lunch.”

  “Okay, well maybe just being there for her will help take the focus away from your own crap. Not to compare, but
rather to be of service to someone else. It can be grounding.”

  I considered it, stretching my thoughts around it. She was right; I couldn’t stuff myself in a dark attic and expect to see the light outside. With little prompting, I agreed. I would be there for those who’d been there for me.

  Within a couple of hours, I was sitting in a dully colored lounge on the third floor of Lenox Hill Hospital in the middle of Manhattan and staring at the floor. I was sure the nausea-inducing print on the carpeting could induce seizures.

  Who decorates hospitals anyway, sociopaths?

  Charlotte and Drew had both been surprised to see me and graciously welcomed me. She introduced me to her mom, Sofia, who was Vivi’s aunt, and her dad’s older brother, Fred. After idle chitchat, we settled in to wait for the news. Charlotte curled up next to Drew in one of those awkward waiting room chairs. He had his arm wrapped around her protectively as he stroked her hair.

  I took up the seat directly across from her, desperately trying to stop the awkward fidgeting I’d taken to today. I occupied myself by memorizing all the aspects of the room until the rag mag on the table next to me snagged my eye. I scanned through it for a while, barely taking note of the outrageous headlines, but I couldn’t concentrate on it. Instead, I studied the people around me on the sly.

  After about an hour of strange quiet amid a few mumbled exchanges between family members, the doctor came in with news. A collective sigh blanketed the group when she declared the surgery a success and she expected a full recovery.

  Everyone seemed to hug someone and share relief among themselves, while I just stood there feeling extraneous. Charlotte ducked her head into the crook of Drew’s neck, and he tightened his embrace around her, rubbing her lower back. Unintentionally, I focused on them. I was a guilty voyeur trapped in their intimate moment. Between these two and all the affection I’d witnessed between Vivi and Nash, I waded in jealousy but swam in admiration. The almost tangible bond between them all astounded me, and I couldn’t help but long for my own connection.

  I just didn’t know how long and that was killing me.

  The doctor went on to explain that John would be in recovery for a good hour, but as soon as he was awake, the family could see him. Sofia hugged her and kissed both cheeks, clearly shocking the hell out of her. Charlotte quietly thanked her before she left.