No One Knows Us Here(67)

Leo was pounding on the door. “Time to go,” he said.



The appointment was downstairs, in the basement of the hotel. He left me in the hands of four Frenchwomen in white outfits, like nurse uniforms. They led me to a windowless room and undressed me like I was a child and submerged me in a warm bath. The bath made me drowsy again. My mind wandered off, and my body stayed there, in the basement of this French hotel, while the women attended to me. Scrubbed me and washed me. Took me out, dried me off, waxed me. Sat me in a chair and combed out my hair. Took out scissors and snipped, snipped, snipped.

They picked at my skin and then made me lie with cold compresses on my face. The cold compresses came off, and one of them held a mirror to my face. “Very bad,” one of the women said. “Very bad.”

I knew my skin was bad. If I spoke French, I would tell them it was an allergic reaction. I was allergic to their country. “Je suis malade,” I said, and they nodded. They knew that.

After consulting each other in rapid French, they settled on a plan for my broken-out face. They applied creams and lotions. Dabbed on something with what looked like a long-handled paintbrush. Patted my skin with a foam pad. They stepped back, satisfied with their work.

They twirled my seat around and showed me myself in the mirror. They had cut five inches from my hair and hidden my red rash under layers and layers of makeup, so when I emerged I looked better—even beautiful, maybe—but less like myself than ever.





CHAPTER 21


We walked down cobblestone streets. My legs felt unsteady after spending so many days in bed. “You look good,” Leo said to me, propping me up by the arm. “I’m glad you’re better now.”

I wondered what he had been doing all this time, but I didn’t ask him.

We arrived at the restaurant, a quintessentially French place on a steep hill, with tables outside, tilting. It was too cold to sit outside, but we sat outside anyway. The streets were empty. All the other restaurants were shuttered, closed for the season. I sat on an uncomfortable wooden bistro chair and pulled my cashmere trench around me. Leo gestured for the waiter and ordered us wine.

He told me he would bring me here in the summertime. I tried to picture it then. Throngs of tourists walking on the promenade below our hotel balcony. Spending days lying topless on sun-bleached rocks, nights sitting outside in cafés. Summer seemed so far away from this moment.



Back in my room, we stood on the balcony and looked out at the sea. The moon was out, reflecting on the water. We could hear two young men below, arguing about something.

The wind rippled my dress, a halter sundress unsuited to the season. I should have left my coat on. Leo came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me. “I’m glad you’re feeling better now.”

I didn’t feel better, though. Not really.

“I love you so much.” He kissed my neck and I closed my eyes. I tried to relax into him but only managed to stand stick straight in his arms, gazing out at the water. He whirled me around and gripped my arms.

I knew what he wanted, but I didn’t say it back. I didn’t, not every time. It was too much. Usually I could distract him. Kiss him. Go down on him. I tried that now, reaching for his belt buckle. I wasn’t feeling up to it; it was the last thing I wanted to do. The second-to-last thing.

This time it didn’t work. He grabbed my face. “Say you love me, too.”

I focused on the space in between his eyebrows. This gave me a very sincere look of concentration. Complete focus. “I feel the same way,” I said.

“Say it.”

I had to say it. “I . . . love . . . you.” My voice might have been a little robotic. He didn’t notice. He led me back into the room, leaving the doors to the balcony open, letting in the moonlight.

He unzipped his hoodie and tossed it to the floor in a dramatic fashion that, in normal circumstances, would have made me laugh.

“I’m still not feeling one hundred percent—”

“You’re doing so much better.” He pulled me to him and kissed me. After we broke apart, he said, “So much better.”

I gave into it, letting him kiss me again. We stumbled around and crashed onto the bed. He liked it like this. Theatrical, action-packed lovemaking, like we were characters in a movie.

He fell asleep naked in my bed, leaving me only a small triangle of space. I curled up and tried to sleep, but I couldn’t seem to drift off.

I must have finally fallen asleep because when I opened my eyes, it was morning, with sunlight streaming in through the open windows. Leo was gone. I stretched my arms and legs out to fill the entire bed. For the first time since we’d arrived in France, I felt good. I was alone. Maybe he’d disappeared on some adventure and I would have the day to myself. Now that I was feeling better, I could go out, explore the town. I smiled as I imagined this, me traipsing over the cobblestones carrying a wicker basket filled with baguettes and carrots with their tops still on.

“Looks like you’re on the mend,” Leo said from across the room, startling me. He walked toward me, dripping wet, a very small towel wrapped around his waist.

“I didn’t hear the shower running,” I said, making very little effort to keep the disappointment out of my voice.

“I was in the bath. Are you almost ready?”

“Ready for what?”