matching his stride.
“Do you think I’ll let go if you break into a run?” she asked after they’d maintained the fast walk for three minutes.
Jake stopped. “You know I can do this on my own.”
“You’ve made that very clear. I understand that you’re trying to get rid of me. Other than the arm massage, you’d like me to leave for parts unknown.”
“Exactly,” he said with a smile, only this smile wasn’t laced with humor. Bitterness might identify it, nonetheless, it was clear he wanted her gone.
“That’s it. You don’t want anyone around you. You want to wallow in sorrow and wonder why you? Why did this have to happen to you? You’re a surgeon. You fix people. So why take away the one thing that you can do?”
“Careful, Ms. Peterson. You’re skating on thin ice.”
The stare she gave Jake could melt steel. She held it for several moments, then dropped his arm and turned around before walking just as fast as he had back toward Central Park West.
It wasn’t Jake’s fault. He didn’t know about her—didn’t understand that she’d lost a child.
She reached the apartment in record time. Once in her room, she slammed the door shut and backed up against it. Seconds later, her legs gave out and she slid to the floor.
Lauren couldn’t cry. Her eyes were burning but she’d shed all the tears she had a year ago. Her body’s trembling was her only outward reaction. She didn’t know how long she sat there, her legs curled under her. When she got to her feet, they tingled with the pins-and-needles sensation from sitting in one position for too long.
Jake was wrong. No visible appendage had been taken from her. She’d given it. Free and clear. Without argument or resistance.
THE CITY WAS dark and mysterious outside those massive windows. Night had fallen, and Lauren was alone in the great room. She stared at the horizon in the distance.
Somewhere out there was both danger and adventure. Somewhere a Midwesterner got off a bus in Port Authority and marveled at the sheer number of people, like a human wave, moving through the cavernous building. Lauren had once been one of them.
Looking out the window that faced east, she thought how she loved this room, especially at this time of night. She might have to leave it soon. She and Jake had gotten too close to an argument. She shouldn’t feel as if she was forcing him to embrace life when he so clearly wanted to dive into oblivion and stay there. Didn’t he have that right?
They weren’t friends, but she felt concern for him and his future. It seemed strange for her to be so interested when they’d known each other only a short time. Yet in reality, she was a doctor and concern for her fellow man was part of her being. But Jake was more than her “fellow man.” She was falling for him.
“What are you doing?”
Lauren jumped. Jake came down the stairs, his left hand sliding along the banister for balance.
When he reached her, she forced a smile, remembering their earlier encounter in the park. He hadn’t appeared for dinner and Lauren had eaten a solitary meal that tasted like sawdust, alone. The food was fine. It was her thoughts that dulled the taste.
“I’m looking at the city.”
He glanced through the window and back at her as if there was nothing to see.
“You could smell the roses sometime,” she told him.
“We have no roses.”
Lauren cut her eyes at him and moved further back into the room. The view was the same, but she was a greater distance from Jake and determined to remain calm and in control of both her emotions and her tongue.
“You know what this room reminds me of?” she asked.
She couldn’t see Jake in the dark. He probably raised an eyebrow, but he said nothing. He often did that instead of speaking. She hadn’t been around him long enough to know if this action was related to his injury or if he’d always been like that. A third option was that he did it just to perplex her.
“A Hollywood set,” she said.
Jake made a sound that said he didn’t agree.
“I saw a movie once that had a room a lot like this one. A man sat at a piano and played a song, a love song as the screen faded to black.”
“I don’t watch love stories.”
His voice held its familiar gruffness, but Lauren had begun to ignore his tone.
“Do you play the piano?”
She was standing in front of it, a huge concert grand, the frame so shiny she could see her reflection in it on sunny days.
“Not anymore,” he said, his voice a low whisper.
“But you did before the accident?” She knew the answer to that question, but she wanted him to know that the mention of the accident was not something that needed to be hidden in a dark room.
“What about dancing?”
“Excuse me?”
“You can’t play, but can you dance?”
Again, he stood as if mute.
Lauren went to the CD collection he had and selected one of them. The music wasn’t a fast, up-tempo song, but something a little slower. As it began to play, it filled the room with sound. She felt as if it came from every corner of the room.
Going to him, she offered her hand.
“You want to dance?” he asked.
“I do. You have an invitation to a ball. That implies dancing.”
“I told you I wasn’t going to that ball.”
“Going or not going doesn’t mean you can’t dance.”
She took his arm and pulled him forward, placing his hand around her waist. Gently, she began to sway. Jake remained still for a couple of seconds before something appeared to give in him and he joined her. Occasionally she’d brush his right arm as they turned about in a small circle. After a few moments, Lauren forgot about his arm. The night and music carried her. She closed her eyes and let Jake guide her.
The music stopped. Lauren felt an abruptness. She’d overstepped her bounds. She knew it because she liked being this close to Jake. The strength of his left arm as he held her was comforting and safe. She wanted to stay there longer, but the music was no longer giving her a reason to hold on to him.
“You dance very well,” she said.
“So do you. I guess you’d like to go to that ball?”
Lauren stepped back. “I’m a companion, remember.
