More Than Words(44)

“I want you,” Nina said. There was an urgency in her voice. She could hear it. A desperation.

“Nina?” he asked again, his voice unsure. She’d never touched herself in front of him.

“Please,” she said. “Touch me.”

He ran his fingers down her stomach and she felt her body respond, the sensation cutting her brain and her heart out of the loop, like she’d hoped it would.

She slid off her underwear, climbed on top of him, and enveloped him.

He thrust against her, moving faster and faster. “Like this?” he asked.

Nina tightened her legs and pulled herself closer.

“Yes,” she said, abandoning herself to him. This was nothing like the sex they’d had earlier. Nothing like anything they’d done before. The pressure built between her legs and she called out as she came. It wasn’t a sound she’d ever made in front of Tim. He shuddered inside her and bucked one last time.

They were both breathing hard.

Her mind had been wiped clean, her body exhausted. Now it was her turn to lay her head on the pillow. She pressed against Tim, skin to skin.

And finally, she could sleep.





43



When Nina woke up, Tim was gone from the bed. She found him, showered and dressed, in the kitchen.

“Coffee?” he asked as she walked into the room.

She finger-combed her hair into a messy ponytail. “Sure,” she said. “Thanks.”

She watched him pour her coffee.

“So last night,” he said as he handed her the cup. “What was that?”

“What was what?” she asked, taking a sip.

“We’ve never had sex twice in one night,” he said. “You’ve never . . .” His voice trailed off. He didn’t have the right words.

The morning after, Nina was slightly ashamed that she’d let him see that side of her. That she’d touched herself in front of him.

Tim sat down at the island on one of the bar stools. “Don’t get me wrong. It was great. But that’s not you, Nina,” he said. “That’s not us. It just . . . I couldn’t sleep after that.”

“I . . .” Nina wasn’t sure what to say next. That she almost never let herself lose control, even when she wanted to? That discovering that her parents weren’t the perfect people she’d thought they were was somehow freeing? Or was that a cop-out? Was that a way to abdicate responsibility for her own desires? “Tim,” she finally said, “I think this is me. Or at least part of me.”

He stared at her, weighing his words, not saying any of them.

She stared back at him in silence, then looked over on the counter at the paper Tim had been reading when she walked in. Her father’s face was looking up at her.

“What’s that?” Nina asked, changing the conversation completely.

“I walked into town early this morning and picked up the Times,” he said, letting her.

She looked at the picture differently now. Her father was a master manipulator. She’d known that, but what she hadn’t realized was that it wasn’t just the media and the public he manipulated, it was his friends, his family. It was her. Nina wondered what lies were going to be memorialized in this article and how angry they would make her feel. She picked up the paper.

But the anger she was expecting didn’t come. Instead, it was sorrow.

She read the obituary, saw the photo timeline of her father’s life; she was part of it, standing with her parents—one, the other, or both—throughout the years. At the end, it said: Los tortolitos will finally rest once again in each other’s arms. And then the anger hit, fast and hard.

“You know, it’s not true,” Nina said to Tim, who was sitting next to her, their shoulders inches apart. Her voice was colder than she meant it to be.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

She walked upstairs and brought him back the letter she’d found. “I only read the first page,” she told him. “Last night. Before I . . . before we . . .”

He took the pages from her hand, reading quickly. “Your father had an affair,” he said. “Holy shit. I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” Nina shook her head.

“He was such a . . .” Tim said. “I’d never have guessed he would even think about—”

“Do you know who it might have been?” Nina asked.

Tim shook his head. “Do you want me to ask my parents?”

“No,” Nina said. “Maybe I will, but . . . maybe they didn’t even know.”

“They must have.” Tim reached out and brushed Nina’s hair out of her face. “Your dad told my dad everything.”

Nina shrugged, anger morphing into she didn’t know what. Disappointment? Resignation? Distrust? “I don’t even know what to think about him anymore. You know, when I was younger he said that my aunt Daphne didn’t want to be a part of our world after my mom died, that she didn’t like us. What if that was a lie, too?”

Tim rubbed his eyes before looking back at Nina. “I can’t imagine he’d keep you from your family for no reason.”

Nina thought about that. “Maybe he had a reason,” she said. “Just not one I’d have agreed with.”