by Toby Neal
He needed to get Avital out of scrubbing mode. Make her eat something, then get her into bed for some rest. She must be exhausted. She’d left Nando for him to care for when she was on shift at the hospital, then nursed him every other minute until his death this morning.
Nando had slipped away quietly with no drama, while the two of them were talking about who was covering what, standing outside the bedroom door, whispering, their heads so close that the smell of Avital’s shampoo had made his nostrils flare.
When Dolf walked back in, his brother was gone.
That simply.
That completely.
Nando lay waxy and still as a sculpture in Madame Tussauds. Dolf hadn’t needed to check for a pulse. Avital had, anyway, touching his throat with a gloved hand and turning to Dolf with a set, pale face. “He’s gone.”
Dolf’s belly clenched on a wave of nausea at the memory.
He returned to the living room, where the gas fire was obscured by a mass of bundled white sheeting.
“Don’t touch the sheets with bare hands,” Avital said from behind him, making Dolf jump. “Here.” She handed him a pair of latex surgical gloves. “We think the virus can be contracted by touching contaminated materials. It’s only viable airborne for a short time after leaving the host’s body, but it seems able to live for days on surfaces.”
She spun and walked out with the lithe quickness that was so much more characteristic of her than the limp daze at Nando’s graveside. For a few minutes, she’d had to lean on Dolf, if reluctantly. In spite of everything, he treasured that moment.
Dolf gloved up and lit the gas fire he’d given them a few years ago for Christmas. He fed the sheets in carefully. The chimney vented most of the strange-smelling smoke, but some of it swirled back in despite Dolf’s efforts.
Avital reappeared with a bucket of sudsy water and began scrubbing the bricks around the fireplace. “The sheets touched this part.”
“Avi. Please. Stop. You need to eat something. Rest.” Dolf stripped off his gloves, tossed them in the fire, and set a hand on her black-clad shoulder. God, that dress was hideous. “Let me fix you something.”
“Whatever,” she said, still scrubbing.
He took that as permission and went back to the kitchen. Neighbors had been sending casseroles, as they were apt to do in this neighborhood. He cut two slabs of lasagna, set them on plates and microwaved them. He could almost hear Nando scolding that the noodles would get overcooked, but Dolf didn’t have time to use the oven.
Avital was just finishing, wiping the water up with a soaked bath towel when Dolf carried the plates into the room. “I should run these towels through the washer.”
“We can do that later.” Dolf made his tone hard and brisk. “Sit. Eat.” He put her plate on the coffee table with a knife and fork. “You’ll make yourself sick if you keep this up, and then what good will you be to your patients?”
She pulled off her gloves and sat, picked up her fork and took a bite.
That was the right note to strike when he wanted her to do something—she moved when people needed her.
Relieved, Dolf sat on his end of the couch and downed his portion, hardly tasting it.
He got up and fetched them each a glass of wine. Avital finished her portion and set down her fork, sipping the red wine. Dolf felt as triumphant about getting her to eat as when he’d shorted a deal for millions.
A little color had come back into Avital’s cheeks. “Lots of onion in that lasagna.”
“I noticed that too.”
“You know how Nando was about onions.”
Dolf wrinkled his nose. “I never understood it.”
“I didn’t either. It was pathological. God, the amount of onions we cooked in this house.” She turned to him, smiling, and then he watched the memory hit her: Nando was dead. Her luminous eyes dulled, the newly-gained color drained from her cheeks. She folded in on herself. “Oh, God, Dolf. Oh, this hurts so much.”
“Shhh. No. You need to rest. To be strong for those who still need you.” He’d found a chord she heard and he’d keep playing it. He scooted close and drew her rigid body into his arms. “It’s okay to eat. To live. Nando would understand. He loved you so much.”
She’d begun to weep, tears sliding down her cheeks in that silent way she had. He tucked her sleek red head beneath his chin and stroked her braid, petted her back.
The feel of her petite, curvy body in his arms was intoxicating. Her unique womanly smell with its top note of antiseptic was drugging to him.
He was the worst, coveting his beloved brother’s wife—and Nando hardly buried. Dolf hated himself.
He let go of Avital and tried to move away, but her small fingers curled into his shirt, holding him in place. “You should get to bed. You need rest if you’re going back to the hospital.”
“I should get a few hours. You’re right about that.” Avital dashed the tears off her cheeks, still keeping a grip on him with one hand. “It’s strange having you here. Your arms around me right now. If I close my eyes . . .” Dolf felt Avital relax, her shoulders dropping, the weight of her forehead against his chest increasing. “It’s almost like he’s still here. Like I can have him for just a little longer.” She looked up at Dolf, her long black lashes spiky with wet around those big brown eyes. She swallowed, her throat convulsing.
Dolf held his breath. Her words stabbed him, bringing pain and pleasure. Imagining her feeling about him the way she felt about Nando . . . loving him . . . it was his greatest dream and worst nightmare. Betrayal and fulfillment, one and the same.
“Could you stay with me tonight? Just one night. Just hold me and be with me. I don’t want to be alone,” Avital whispered.
Dolf went rigid. His mouth dried. His throat closed. Dear God. She didn’t know what she was asking. Her body pressed against his felt so right, which just proved how wrong he was.
Dolf warred within himself. The searing loss of his brother clouded not just his mind but his body, and his discipline crumbled under the weight of her on his lap.
Could he just hold her, let her pretend he was his brother, to comfort her?
She was asking the earth.
Avital looked away from him, staring at her hands, twisting them in the lap of that awful skirt. “Never mind. I’m so embarrassed. No one would understand how weird this is. I don’t even understand it.”
“I understand it.” Dolf’s throat unlocked enough for him to speak. “I understand, and I’ll do it. Nando told me to take care of you, and I will. Whatever you need that I can give is yours.”
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