Halfway to You(60)

Street grit dug into my arms and calves. My hip ached immensely, but it was my right arm that screamed with acute pain. Dazed, I shifted off the pavement onto my back, right there in the middle of the sidewalk. I cradled my elbow and stared up at the blue sky, watching wispy smog-gray clouds float far beyond the organic fluttering of tree leaves and the harsh edges of apartment buildings. I noticed the butter yellow of a taxi in my periphery, and it finally clicked that the cab had hit me.

The driver was getting out, apologizing profusely in accented English. A woman walking nearby had a Motorola in her purse and called the police. A man in a janitor’s jumpsuit helped me sit up, asking if I was dizzy. Another passerby urged me to test the range of motion in my elbow.

Far more clear headed after the initial shock had worn off, I told the panicking driver to leave. Perhaps six people had gathered—all were against the idea of letting him go—but I didn’t want him to get fired for my mistake. It was my heels, I told the witnesses. I stepped off the curb early. I wasn’t paying attention. Mostly, I just wanted to get on with my day; I wanted to meet Todd at the hotel and go to dinner.

But one of the witnesses—a self-proclaimed journalist—recognized me as Ann Fawkes, and this started a strange sequence of me signing scraps of paper with my left hand for everyone in the general vicinity. The janitor was asking me very pointed questions about the character development in Chasing Shadows when the police arrived, and the cops seemed just as perplexed by the fanfare as I was. Soon, I was whisked away to the hospital, where I learned I had gotten off easy for this kind of accident: a bruised hip and a sprained elbow. I’d need to wear a sling and brace for the next few weeks.

By the time I was free to leave, it was past six. Impatience crawled like fire ants across my skin, making me squirm. I caught a cab (the irony not lost on me) directly to the restaurant. My limbs were heavy from the day’s events, but it was my heart that weighed the most. It was two hours past my agreed rendezvous time with Todd at the hotel, and either he thought I had stood him up or he was worried sick, both of which I hated to imagine.

I must’ve looked a wreck when I stepped through the door of the steak house. I still had pavement smears on my legs. My hair—loosed from its ponytail—was tangled, and my skirt was dirtied along the hem and bum. I wore an arm sling and was terribly wobbly from my too-high heels and tired ankles as I followed the hostess toward the back of the restaurant.

All the air in my lungs pushed out in a rush when I saw them—both of them—fidgeting at a small circular table. Keith spotted me first. Todd had his back to me, but when Keith rose out of his seat, Todd’s head swiveled. His hair was longer, shiny and unkempt as always; he looked weary from his flight, or worry, or both.

“Ann,” he said, standing. He drew me close, tucking me into the hollow of his collarbone, kissing my hair. “We were so worried.”

Keith pulled a chair out for me, and I sank into it with relief. I took a long drink from the untouched water glass in front of me, the ice stinging my teeth. “By the time I had a chance to call your office, it was after five,” I told Keith.

Todd scooted his chair close and lightly touched the brace on my arm. “What happened?”

I explained it quickly, downing half of someone’s wine in the process. The waitress delivered another glass and filled it from the open bottle on the table.

“That’s it, I’m getting a mobile phone,” Keith said.

“For the next time I’m hit by a car?”

Keith nodded.

Todd said, “At least you’re okay.”

“You look terrible, though,” Keith added.

Todd shot him a dark look, but I giggled and smoothed my hair. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

Todd leaned in and kissed my neck, squeezing my knee under the table. “For the record, I think you look great.”

Keith made a garbled sound of disgust. “I’m not used to you two being so . . .” He waggled his finger between us. “Together.” This was the first time the three of us had been in the same room since Todd and I had started long-distance dating.

“You were practically throwing me at Todd in Greece,” I countered.

“I didn’t consider the PDA.”

Todd smirked, then planted his arm on the back of my chair so his hand could gently cup the nape of my neck. There was a genuine crease in his eyes, his relief plain. Despite my aches and pains, desire surged through me like a spring river. I hadn’t seen Todd since the New Year.

Keith seemed to sense the palpable sexual tension. “Let’s talk about books!”

I rolled my eyes as Todd asked, “What about them?”

“Ann needs to write another one.”

“I thought you were working on something?” Todd asked me.

“It’s garbage,” I said. “Hot garbage. Banana peels, coffee grounds, old diapers.”

Keith waved his hand to clear my words from the air. “It can’t be that bad.”

“It’s bad.” I hoped Keith couldn’t hear my anxiety. “Besides, I’ve been preoccupied with my latest article for Condé Nast.”

“Your publisher—”

“I’m not under contract. As my agent, you—”

“Remember when we saw Keith’s butt in Greece?” Todd interjected.