The Bookish Life of Nina Hill(63)

Tom was indeed gazing at her. He had been thinking her voice sounded like a bell, much lower than most women’s voices, imagining the sound waves of it bouncing off his skin, remembering how it had sounded saying his name, and suddenly all he wanted to do was go back to the apartment.

He blushed. “Did you ask me something?” He coughed. “I’m sorry, I lost track of what you were saying.”

Nina’s mouth twisted. “Wow, I guess it wasn’t really that interesting.”

He sputtered. “No, it was. It was about photography, and about your name . . . I got distracted by your voice . . .” He reached for her hand. “I’ll be honest, looking at you makes me lose my mind. Can we go back to your place?” He lowered his voice. “Please?”

Nina laughed at him and stood up. “Yes,” she said. “I think we’ve had quite enough of the great outdoors for one day.”

“How did your father die?” It was early evening now, and Tom was gazing up at the ceiling, Nina’s head on his shoulder. They hadn’t said very much for several hours, but now they were tired and ready to talk.

Nina shrugged against him, her hair tickling his neck. “Heart attack.”

“And you really never knew him, or knew anything about him?”

“No. It seems weird now, but at the time it was just the way it was.”

“So, you were kind of an orphan.”

“No, not really. My mom was away, working, but we heard from her a lot, and she came to visit. I had no dad, but I did have a nanny who was as good—if not better—than any biological mom might have been. I wasn’t raised in a box.”

“Really?”

“Actually,” said Nina, “that’s not true. I was lucky. I had a Carnation Condensed Milk carton for the first few years, then upgraded to a refrigerator box once I got too tall to stand up in the first one.”

“Those refrigerator boxes are sturdy.” Tom knew she was dodging the question, but he didn’t want to push her. “And it explains how you’re so comfortable in this single bed.” He’d found the lack of space challenging, but he’d worked around it.

Nina nodded, liking the way Tom was always ready to be silly. Silly is a highly underrated quality. “Mine was European, too, so it was reinforced for export.”

“Fancy.”

She shook her head. “It wasn’t fancy, but it was home, you know?” She paused. “Actually, I grew up here, right in the neighborhood. I’ve barely left the East side of LA my whole life.”

He laughed. “Maybe you’re the one who needs to be reinforced for export.”

Nina smiled. “Do you travel a lot?”

He shook his head. “No. I grew up in Pasadena, went to college there, then moved all of sixteen miles to Los Angeles. I drove across country with some friends after graduation, like everyone does. But then I got on a plane and came right back.”

“I never did that.”

“You still could.”

“No car. And I have a cat.” She laughed. “A jealous, ferocious cat. Plus, I don’t want to go anywhere.” She was starting to feel hungry and wondered idly if they should get up and get dinner. “What’s your dad like?”

Tom replied, “He’s pretty typical. Like I said, he’s quieter than my mom.”

“But what was he like, your dad? How was he when you were a kid?”

Tom frowned and thought about it. “He was a good dad, I think. I only had the one, right? So I can’t really compare him properly to anyone else’s. One time he saved my sister’s life.”

Nina raised her eyebrows. “Sucking out snake venom?”

He grinned. “No, Heimlich in a McDonald’s. The story is that she choked on a chicken nugget and when he gave her the Heimlich the piece of nugget hit my older brother in the eye so hard they had to take him to the emergency room. The crumb coating scratched his cornea. He had to wear an eye patch to school.”

“That’s a good story.”

He nodded. “Yes, and fairly typical. There was always a lot going on at our house. It was a happy childhood, for the most part. I saw my parents bicker a lot, but they always made up and never stopped loving each other, so, you know. It was . . . committed.”

“And your brother and sister?”

“They’re great. Richard got married, obviously, you were there.”

“That’s right,” said Nina.

“Hey,” said Tom, suddenly. “That means their anniversary will be ours, too!” There was a pause.

“Assuming we last long enough,” said Nina, lightly.

“Right,” said Tom. “You may get bored of me.”

Nina looked at the side of her own hand where it rested on his chest. She curled the fingers under. “Or you might get bored of me. I don’t do much.”

Tom looked fixedly at the ceiling, trying to backtrack. “Maybe we’ll have one glorious Sunday and then both be killed by a falling piano.”

“At the same time?”

“No, two separate pianos, separate places, total coincidence.”

Nina considered this, feeling the wave of anxiety that had threatened to crest slowly losing power. “I’ve always wanted to die that way. Or under a safe. One of those Acme safes from Road Runner.”