Strangers: A Novel(91)
“Erik?” He’s running his hand lazily through my hair, and now he turns to look at me. Smiles. “Yes, my darling?”
“I think I just remembered something. Nothing specific, although it is in a way. A situation like this.”
His smile widens. “You don’t remember anything that is connected to me, but you do remember us having sex?” He laughs. “My God, I must be good.”
I give him a playful shove. “Not the sex, silly. This, here. Lying together with you, and—” I stop, and wonder whether I should say what’s on the tip of my tongue, whether it sounds stupid. I decide it doesn’t matter. “Stroking your heart.”
He moves away from me a little. Looks at me in disbelief, and I immediately regret not having held my tongue.
“Did I say something wrong?”
Erik shakes his head. “No, Jo. No, completely the opposite in fact. That’s what you always called it, it’s very typical of what you would say.… Do you really remember?”
Not really, no. It’s more like having déjà vu. But it’s the closest thing I’ve had to a memory in the days since I’ve known Erik.
“Yes, I think I do.”
42
I’m lying on my back, holding Joanna close to me. Her face is resting on my chest, her breathing is calm and even. I don’t want to risk moving, as she may have fallen asleep, and because I don’t want to ruin this indescribably wonderful moment. I feel as though, if I lie there quietly, I can hold on to the bliss that’s currently surging through my entire being.
I eye the whitewashed ceiling. The stucco rosette in its center and the matching molding make for a stylish contrast with the room’s modern furnishings. Past and present can be compatible, even if they’re so different that at first glance they seem irreconcilable.
Does that apply to people, to relationships, as well?
I find it hard to resist the urge to pull Joanna even closer to me. To feel even more of her naked skin against mine. But even that probably wouldn’t be close enough. Not now, now that she has chosen to stay with me despite the danger, now that suddenly at least a tiny flash of my Joanna has come back. And with it, the hope that everything between us might turn out to be all right again after all.
It’s crazy just how little you need to be happy, at least for a moment.
But then, all of a sudden, there’s something else. No more than a notion, but it still threatens to destroy this wonderful moment. I fight the impulse to let the notion turn into a more concrete thought, but I can’t stop it from happening.
What if this brief spark in Joanna’s memory wasn’t the starting point for her to regain all of her memories of me, but instead the last little twitch before the history we shared disappears once and for all into a black hole in her mind?
What if, say, in an hour’s time, she goes crazy again and plunges some sharp object into my heart, the very heart she was stroking just minutes ago?
No. Whatever happened to Joanna, it’s wearing off. She’s in great danger now, and that’s because of me. If she wasn’t with me, Gabor and his people wouldn’t be interested in her, she knows that. And despite that she’s passed up her one chance of leaving the country.
What more proof do I really need to be sure that my Joanna is on the way back to me?
The sex, just now … it was exciting, just as it always is with her, and yet very different. I felt like she was exploring me in a very inquisitive way, and yet at the same time she seemed to know exactly what I like. She’d let herself go the way you only can with someone you trust, but had still watched how I was reacting to her body and what she was doing.
I picture her beneath me again, eyes shut, her hips thrusting against me, her hands on my waist, directing me.
I can feel my body reacting to these images in my head; crazily enough I’d almost find it a little embarrassing if Joanna noticed. I don’t want her to think I’m insatiable; she hardly knows me, after all. Not yet. But hopefully that’s going to change again soon.
Joanna’s eyes are shut; she doesn’t react to the movement.
She really is sleeping again, despite all the hours we already spent asleep during the day. Or perhaps she’s just pretending because she wants to think in peace. To try to remember.
I set my eyes on the ceiling again, and suddenly I can’t help but think of Nadine. I don’t want to; it’s as though she’s pushing herself in between Joanna and me in this intimate moment.
It’s unfathomable to me, the fact that she’s dead. I’m still finding it hard to believe. It reminds me once again that this isn’t some Hollywood movie, but real life.
“Are you feeling as good as I am?” Joanna asks softly, and starts to stroke my chest again.
“Yes, I…” I start to say. “I’m really happy you remember me at least a tiny bit. And I’m really enjoying this moment.”
Our eyes meet. The love I feel for this woman is like a warm current flowing through my body. I can’t help but pull her closer. And closer. She’s on top of me now, her hair brushing over my face, her mouth so close to mine I only have to shift upward a little for our slightly parted lips to meet. When they do, it’s so tender, so soft, that it barely feels like we’re touching. I drink in her breath, move closer to her; we seem to melt into each other. My hands wander down her spine, grab hold of her buttocks, gently press her hips against my own. Joanna reacts, matching the thrust of my abdomen. The arousal I feel is nearly making me lose my mind. I start moving to a slow, steady rhythm, enter her almost instinctively, hold her as she arches her back, moaning. Then, there is only feeling and movement, losing ourselves in each other.