On Second Thought(122)

Yes. That was his smell. That was Nathan’s smell. And oh, God, I missed it.

“Honey?” I whispered. Not that I expected an answer. The tingle was still rolling over me.

I love you, I thought with all my heart.

Then it—he—faded away, and it was just me and the katydids again. I closed my eyes, inhaled again, but now there was just the smell of vanilla.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice squeaking a little.

Madeleine had said that he visited her. Maybe he did. If Nathan was as wonderful as I thought he was, then yeah, he’d visit everyone.

I hoped he visited Brooke. And Atticus and Miles. And God, I hoped he visited his parents.

Be happy, Nathan. Don’t worry about me too much. I’m fine.

*

The afternoon of the Re-Enter Center’s art show, I was at the studio just after a shoot, and my phone buzzed with a text.

Hey, Kate. Just wanted to say I hope I see you tonight. I’m almost done with the swing for your in-laws and I should have it in time for the party, no problem. We’ve known each other for a long time. Let’s not be dicks about sleeping together, okay?

Daniel

the hot firefighter

I laughed. Kind of loved that he signed his name that way. I wrote back:

Okay, hot firefighter. See you later. And thank you for not being a dick.

I went home to get ready. Ainsley was coming, too, which was really nice. Paige would be there, too, but the thought didn’t bother me.

I took a shower with my special lemon soap, which smelled extra nice today. Felt a little...happy. Maybe it was the notion that I’d felt Nathan’s presence the other night. Maybe I’d just turned a corner. I had loved Nathan, but I didn’t have years of memories together, which was both crushing and...well...easier.

And knowing that Daniel wasn’t sulking in a corner made me feel better, too.

I looked into Nathan’s closet. Maybe this weekend, I’d start cleaning things out. Before I could turn maudlin, I shut the door and lay down on the bed and surprised myself by falling asleep.

*

A few hours later, Ainsley and I walked into the Center. Greta came over, hugged me, shook hands with Ainsley, who was unabashedly looking for teardrop ex-cons, then led us through the crowd to the photography exhibit.

Pierre was there. “Ah, Kate, my love, my love! So good to see you! This one is mine, just sayin’. In case you like it best.”

“Pierre, shoo,” Greta said with a laugh.

“I would’ve guessed this was yours, though,” I added. It was a picture of a naked woman.

“Ten bucks if you pick it as the winner,” he said, then melted back into the crowd.

“So just mark down your top three,” Greta said, “and we’ll announce it, and then the auction will start, okay? I better go press some flesh. Take your time. Just not too much time.” She flashed a smile and went back to schmoozing.

Ainsley and I walked slowly down the line, and I told her what I was looking for. There were the usual marks of the amateur—poor composition, negative space used the wrong way, not enough color saturation, bad lighting.

But what I loved was the subject material. All of the fifteen or so pictures were taken outside, even Pierre’s naked woman. All of them showed heart, whether it was the picture of the homeless man and his dog, or the little kid drinking from a water fountain. These men had suffered while in prison, as many of them richly deserved. Hopefully, they’d learned some things, too. The value of freedom, the beauty of an ordinary day.

“This is the winner,” I told Ainsley, stopping at the second-to-last photo. It was of a little girl with big brown eyes, laughing as a pigeon fluttered up toward her. “See how much life and movement there is? The bird’s wings, the girl’s braids flying up, her hands, the way he caught her in midjump.”

“It makes me happy to look at it,” Ainsley said.

“Exactly. A lot of emotion here.”

“You’re so cool, Kate. You should start teaching here again.”

“I think I will,” I said. Even if it was a bit of a haul, it was worth it. I marked down my choices for first, second and third (Pierre’s) and sealed the envelope.

“Making a celebrity appearance?” came a voice. Paige.

“Hello,” I said. As always, she looked fantastic.

She scrunched up her face in an approximation of a smile. “So nice of you to grace us with your presence.”

“You’re welcome. You remember my sister, of course.”

Paige didn’t spare her a glance. “I met someone,” she said. “It’s pretty serious. I’d love for you to meet him.”

No How have you been, no I’m sorry I’ve been such a bitch. I glanced at my sister, who just rolled her eyes. “Yeah...no. We’re not friends anymore, Paige.”

She exhaled in disbelief. “Why? Because I’m finally happy? You only liked me when I was a loser?”

“What about when I was happy?” I asked. “I seem to remember you telling me to f*ck off when I got engaged. I seem to remember that you didn’t email or call me even once after my husband died. Now I’m supposed to throw confetti because you finally found someone to put up with you? No, thanks.”

Her mouth hung open.

“Hear, hear,” said my sister. “For the record, I always thought you were a bitch, too.”