On Second Thought(59)

So Daniel, Lizzie and I headed over to 4th Street. I glanced at him as we passed the house he used to live in with Calista, but he didn’t look at it. If Lizzie was aware that he used to live there—she would’ve been a little kid back when he was married—she didn’t say anything.

Funny, how simultaneously familiar and odd it felt to be back in my old building. The walnut railing felt as smooth and cool as ever, but I hadn’t set foot in here since December. As we reached the third floor, it smelled different—a hint of curry and cardamom, and just the smell of someone else’s house. I opened the door.

Home, yet not.

Different furniture, bright tapestry wall-hangings, a row of potted herbs on the kitchen windowsill. In place of my pink-and-green couch, there was a futon, and the TV sat on the floor amid a nest of wires and an Xbox. Still, the view across the street, through the branches of the locust tree, grabbed my heart and squeezed.

I missed it here.

“Okay,” I said, clearing my throat, “why don’t you change, Lizzie? The bathroom’s down the hall.”

*

An hour later, we had some great photos of the chameleonlike Lizzie, who’d opted for some very well-done Kabuki-style makeup; white skin, white lashes, black eye shadow and red, red lips. Daniel sighed wearily, muttered something about how she was playing with dolls not that long ago and stared out the window.

“Thank you so much for doing this,” she said when she was back in her street clothes. “Here’s your check. Totally worth it.”

Daniel reached over, ripped up the check and said, “I got this.”

“Really? Daniel! Just when I thought I hated you, I totally love you.” She punched him in the stomach. Fondly.

He rolled his eyes. “I’m putting you in a cab.”

“Mom thinks you’re coming for dinner.”

“I’m not. I’m taking her out.” He jerked his head at me.

“You are?” I asked.

“Yeah. You free?”

“That was beautiful, Daniel,” Lizzie said. “You’ve got game, big bro.”

“Shut up. Her husband just died.”

“Oh, my God! I’m so sorry!” Lizzie said, covering her mouth with her hand.

I shrugged, a little sad that the specter of my widowhood had been brought in. “Thanks.”

Daniel looked at me. “Can I buy you dinner? Since you put up with me and my sister all day long? If you don’t have plans, that is.”

I hesitated. It sounded a little...date-ish. Then again, it was just Daniel the Hot Firefighter, and I’d aged out of False Alarm status fifteen years ago. “That would be nice,” I said.

He smiled, and a lovely warmth filled my chest.

I wasn’t sure that was allowed for a grieving widow, but it sure felt good.

We put Lizzie and her suitcase in a cab, and I assured her I’d get her the photos as soon as possible. I waved as she drove off. “Great girl,” I said.

“Ah, she’s not horrible, anyway.”

“Didn’t you use the words perfect and angelic?”

He laughed. “Maybe. You think she can be a model?”

“I don’t know. I mean, in my opinion, sure. She has a lot of looks, understands angles, and she’s definitely beautiful.”

“She’s watched that dumb modeling show since the beginning of time.”

“I also watch that show. That’s quality television.”

He looked down at me and grinned. “Wanna go to Porto’s? I’m starving.”

The old hangout where Paige and I had spent so many evenings. “Sure.”

A soft spring night, walking through my old neighborhood with Daniel the Hot Firefighter, who was not just hot but insisted on carrying my stuff, really good Italian food ahead...it was a field trip from my life. I could feel the sadness waiting for me once I crossed the Harlem River and headed back to Cambry-on-Hudson, but for now...for now, I was okay.

Porto’s was exactly the same, thank God. It was still pretty early, before six, so we got a table. “Good to see you,” Al said, the eponymous owner. “You want wine?”

“Um...sure.”

“I’ll get the wine list.” He squeezed my shoulder—maybe someone had told him about Nathan—and walked away.

This would be my first alcohol since Nathan had died. Four weeks. Now that it was really, really proven that I wasn’t pregnant, I could have a glass of wine.

Strange, to miss something that never was. To miss even the remotest possibility that I was pregnant with my dead husband’s baby.

“So how you doing?” Daniel asked.

“Okay,” I said, snapping out of my fog. “I mean... I don’t really know. Today was a good day. Other days are...not good. How’s that for eloquent?”

He nodded, looking right at me. That was something that was uncommon lately; people couldn’t bear to look me in the eye.

Over the years when I’d run into Daniel, he’d be flirting, smiling, flexing and generally looking hot in a way that I appreciated but didn’t really feel. His green eyes slanted down a little, and he had a killer smile (and knew it). His hair was cut very short, almost a crew cut, possibly because of work. Like all the other man-children in Brooklyn, he didn’t shave daily. He was tall and had those ridiculously beautiful, strong arms; I’d once seen him flex his biceps for a False Alarm and actually tear his T-shirt. So yeah. I knew all that.