My One and Only(70)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
WHEN I WOKE UP THE next morning, I was alone in bed, not even Coco for company. I could hear Nick’s voice down the hall, a feminine voice answering—Mrs. McCabe, I presumed. For a second, I just sat there, looking at Nick’s pillow, an unfamiliar sense of loss clanging around in my chest.
Time to get myself in gear. In a couple of hours, I’d be on my way home, back to work, back to my island. I checked my messages, zapped off a few texts, then padded into the loo to wash up and dress. I found Nick, freshly showered and shaved, sitting in the kitchen with Mrs. McCabe.
“Mornin’, hon,” he said with a little smile, and just like that, he let me know we were…well. We were okay, or as okay as the two of us got. He introduced me to Mrs. McCabe, an attractive woman with a blue tinge to her white hair.
“Ruth and I were just talking about baby names,” Nick said. “She and I both lean toward the Old Testament.”
“I’ve always loved Zophar,” I said. Comforter of Job, six letters. I did crossword puzzles, after all.
“Now, sweetie, you know my heart’s set on Jabal,” he said. Ah. The former altar boy struck back.
“We can always compromise. Esau,” I said, grinning. Jacob’s twin, son of Isaac and Rebecca.
“Or Nebuchadnezzar,” he returned.
“I do love that one,” I said, nodding thoughtfully.
“Well, now, you might want to think of how the other kids will, um, react,” Mrs. McCabe advised, frowning. “Nothing wrong with David or Jesse, don’tcha think? Harper, hon, have some coffee cake.”
We had a lovely breakfast, and then Deacon drove us into town. Lars the mechanic had no problem replacing the hose on the Mustang. Had the part in stock. Easy fix. It was rather disappointing.
“Sure hope you folks’ll make it back here someday,” Deacon said as I paid the bill (I insisted, and Nick let me).
“It’s a lovely town,” I said sincerely. “And you’ve been wonderful, Deacon.”
“Well, we enjoyed the company,” he said. “Any time you swing through North Dakota, you look us up, won’tcha?”
“We sure will,” Nick said, shaking his hand. “Thanks for the hospitality.”
“Take care, kids! Send us a Christmas card!” Deacon called.
And that was that. Goodbye, Harold, goodbye sweet, brief pretense that Nick and I were—or ever had been—happily married, goodbye whispered truths in the moonlight. Coco curled up on my lap—Nick insisted on driving, making numerous roadkill jokes, started the engine and we were off. According to Nick’s portable GPS system, the airport in Bismarck was two hours and forty-two minutes away.
“There’s one stop I want to make before I take you to the airport,” Nick said. “Do you mind?”
“No,” I said instantly. “Nope. That’s fine.”
Time, which had seemed so sluggish the past few days, suddenly sped up. Nick and I chatted carefully—nothing deeper than the weather forecast—and listened to NPR. As we neared the capital city, the trees and buildings grew denser, and Coco perked up as if realizing we were reaching a destination. Bismarck was a new city—well, compared with the East Coast, that is. The trees were turning here, and many of the houses were from the Arts and Craft period, or solid old Victorians. Lots of yards, lots of gardens. It was quite lovely…and quite flat. Shocking, really, how far you could see out here.
The Mustang’s top was down, and sky gleamed pure blue. I wore Nick’s Yankees hat, but the breeze managed to free some locks of hair anyway. I guessed it didn’t matter. We passed restaurants and shops, and the city turned into blocks. Finally, we came to a college— Whalen University. Nick slowed, then turned into the entrance. The manicured campus grounds sprawled in front of us, green and lush, dotted with shade trees and college students lounging on the grass. Nick knew where he was going; he turned right, then left and finally came up in front of a building. The Hettig Library & Media Center, the sign announced.
“Need something to read?” I asked.
He didn’t answer, just got out of the car. I followed, Coco trotting at my side, her pink patent leather leash catching the sunlight.
The library was made of brick and glass, very clean and open, with graceful lines and an arched glass roof. How nice it must be to study in there, I thought, the endless Midwestern sky above you as you pored over books or computer screens. There was a slate courtyard with a very modern-looking fountain, all angles and corners, the smooth fall of water splashing down in a wonderful rush of noise. At one end of the building, there was a four- or five-story tower that nicely echoed the more traditional, older architecture of the rest of the campus. I caught up to Nick, who was staring up at the tower, squinting in the sun.
“It’s yours, isn’t it?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said in that immediate way he had. He turned to face me. “I just wanted you to…” He paused. “To see something of mine.”
My heart swelled. I never had seen one of Nick’s buildings…not that I knew of, anyway. “Well, then. Show me around.”
For the next hour, we walked around the building, inside and out, and for the first time, I saw him in full architect mode, talking about light and angles, expansion and symmetry, commonality and conservation. His voice was New York fast, his lovely hands pointing and framing, and he smiled as he spoke, his eyes bright. When a librarian came over to kick Coco out, Nick introduced himself, pulling her name from his memory banks—apparently they’d met five years ago when the building was actually being constructed—and Coco was allowed to stay. Kids looked at him, recognizing that this was a guy who knew something; one even approached him and asked if he was the architect of the library, and the two of them talked for a few minutes about master’s programs. In the end, Nick gave him his business card and told him to drop him a line if he wanted a summer internship.