Love Beyond Words (City Lights, #1)(65)

“Hello, Natalie.”

“Hi. Is Julian there?”

“He is, but he has taken ill with the flu. He can’t speak to you right now.” Julian was watching him. He flashed a smile that didn’t translate over the phone line. “If he’s up to it, he’ll call you in the morning.”

“Wait, David. He’s sick? Is it very bad?”

“It’s the flu,” he said, barely keeping the irritation out of his voice. “The usual symptoms.”

“I’d like to speak to him.”

Julian struggled to sit up. “I can talk to her…”

David waved his hand as if to say, “It’s no trouble at all.” To Natalie he said, “I think it’s best that he rest. We’ll see how he’s doing tomorrow.”

Julian sank back into the pillows.

“Good night, Natalie. Thank you for calling. I’ll be sure to pass on your well-wishes.”

“Yes, tell him—”

David hung up. “We’ll try her again tomorrow.” He patted Julian’s hand and took the tray of crackers—uneaten—and the cup of ginger ale toward the kitchen.

“David,” Julian said, his voice was sleepy sounding and pathetically weak. “Could you bring me some water, please? I’m so thirsty.”

“Of course.”

“And David?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for being here.”

David met his eyes. “I will always be here for you, Julian. Always.”

In the kitchen he exulted. Would that this was his life permanently: complete mastery over that which he desired and complete dependence on him from same. Here was control. Here was total absence of panic and fear and helplessness. Natalie was locked out and Julian was at his mercy, unable to do anything but allow David to minister to him as he wished: to touch his skin, to change his clothes, to brush the hair from his eyes. It was a slice of perfection he wished he could stretch out indefinitely, but a few days would suffice for now. When Julian emerged on the other side of this illness, he’d take it easy, work slower—if at all—and, most importantly, he’d have a new appreciation for David who had cared for him when he needed him most.

David whistled as he poured Julian a tall glass of water. Three drops of ipecac diluted instantly and vanished. He carried it into the bedroom, and held Julian’s head as the poor man drank gratefully. And when Julian vomited again, heaving and coughing with an intensity that was almost frightening to behold, David knew Julian was grateful to him for holding the wastebasket.





Chapter Thirty


Natalie called Julian twice the following morning and both times had received no answer. She was dressed and ready for class, but instead of walking down to 19th Ave for the bus to the university, she called a cab. She asked the driver to wait out front as she dashed into a local market and emerged with a bouquet of sunflowers, some steaming chicken soup from the kettles, and some ginger ale. She found it romantic, in an odd way, to imagine sitting with him, reading to him from the book she’d grabbed off her shelf—the Collected Stories of Katherine Anne Porter—or snuggling with him to watch an old movie.

But a twinge of something ugly tingled along her nerves to think that David had been taking care of Julian and might still be there when she arrived, unannounced. If David was still there, she’d insist he leave no matter what he—or Julian—might have to say about it.

Angelo was on duty that day as the doorman; he tipped his hat to her with familiarity, and Hank the security guard ushered her to the elevator, as her arms were laden. At Julian’s door, she didn’t bother to knock but keyed in the security code he had given her several days ago. Until now, she’d never had cause to use it. Until now, she had never been so glad to have it.

She opened the door to find David pacing the living room, his hand clapped over his mouth in panic. His clothes were rumpled and looked slept-in and she knew he’d been here all night. The apartment stank of sour foulness. Natalie’s stomach twisted, not for the stench, but from fear.

“What is going on?”

David let out a little shriek and then practically sagged in relief. “It’s…he’s…”

“Where is he?” Natalie said, but she was already setting down her parcels on the coffee table and heading toward the bedroom.

“Oh my god, Julian…”

He lay horizontally across the middle of the bed, on his left side but awkwardly. His left arm was splayed out behind him, his face was blank, his blue eyes staring at nothing while his mouth worked, speaking unintelligible Spanish. His sides heaved rapidly with gasping breaths, his lips were cracked and his eyes sunken so that Natalie thought he couldn’t possibly be the same man she had seen two days ago. A ghastly half-smile stretched his lips at the sight of her.

“Oh, ahí estás. He traído… las flores, al igual…que usted pidió.”

Natalie rushed to him. “Julian…” His forehead was burning to the touch and dry as paper. Panic galloped through her, making her tremble. She rolled him over with effort so that he was on his back.

“Llegué tarde hoy… pero te prometo que… no volverá a suceder.”

David’s shadow filled the doorway. “What’s he saying? I only speak a little…I think he’s babbling…”