Текст книги "The Weight of Rain"

Автор книги: Mariah Dietz

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Текущая страница: 22 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

MY PHONE startles me awake. I reach for it, hoping it’s King even though it’s a ridiculous hour. I wanted to stay up to see how things went, but I fell asleep. I sleep soundly here from the thousands of steps and stairs I take each day, and the food that is packed with glutinous wonders that have ensured me peaceful dreams. I’ve been in Italy for two weeks. I’ve eaten at 13 Gobi—the restaurant King told me inspired him to cook—four times already. It truly is the best food I’ve ever tasted. I’ve also seen The Duomo twice, The Pitti Palace, and lost an entire Saturday in the Ufizzi Gallery where I met the statue of David in person.

The sight of Kash’s name across the screen confuses me, but I don’t hesitate in answering it.

“Lo?”

It’s 4:00 a.m. I know by how early it is and the hesitancy in his voice that something is wrong. So does my heart. It’s twisting along with my stomach.

“Lo, are you there?”

I shake my head and quietly respond. “What’s wrong?” I ask when Kash doesn’t immediately respond. I feel the tightness in each of my muscles as my mind races to prepare for what he’s going to say.

“King crashed. He crashed hard, Lo.” My breath is gone. I shouldn’t be able to cry, yet I am. “He’s in surgery.”

My head shakes again. Maybe it never stopped. “What happened? What are they saying?”

“Not a lot yet.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s in surgery, Lo. All we know is they have to reset his shoulder and elbow, and his hip was fucked up, and…” Kash takes a deep breath, and my tears stream faster.

The tiled floor is still eerily warm under my feet as I begin shoving things into my suitcase, balancing the phone between my shoulder and chin with nothing but stretched silence between us with occasional deep breaths and attempts to get our noses to stop running. I go into the bathroom and quickly shove everything in a plastic bag I paid for earlier today when I forgot my own grocery bag, and drop it into my suitcase as well.

“Tell him I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“He’s going to be pissed you’re leaving.”

“I don’t care. I can’t stay here.”

“I know.”

I slump to my bed. I don’t know what about Kash’s words hurts me so much. I think possibly it’s the pity, like he understands this from his own experience. Refusing to think of the similarities, I push myself forward and sit up straight.

“Trains and planes are all going to be off for the night. You should get some sleep. I’ll get you a flight out first thing in the morning.”

“You’re not—”

“I am. Get some rest. I’ll call you in a few hours with the details.” Kash hangs up.

A deep-seated pain is rising higher in my chest, magnifying every distinct reaction to this news. My heart is pounding as it races, my hands are shaking, my legs feel unsteady. I shove away from my bed with determination. There’s no chance in hell I’m going to be able to sleep at this point. Instead, I finish packing my last remaining items away, tugging a pair of jeans on, and tennis shoes without any socks because I can’t find any in the mess that is crammed into my bag. I’m lucky to find a bra and hook it into place and grab my jacket before shoving my portfolio into my bag. My messenger bag is filled last, my chargers, power converter, sketchpads, charcoals, and camera all jumbled together. I pocket my phone and head to the door, taking one last look at the hideous bedspread before making my way out into the warm evening in search of a cab.

By the time I’m loading the plane, I’ve only been in the airport for a couple of hours. Kash called an hour later, informing me he booked me on a seven o’clock flight. My feet feel gross from not having the soft barrier of socks, and I briefly wish I had dug for another shirt besides the one I slept in, because it’s several sizes too big.

Flying home is the longest fourteen hours of my life.

Ever.

I don’t bother to call Kash when I finally make my way through immigration. I take a cab to where I know they all are.

The elevator moves too slowly. I want to take the stairs so I don’t have to keep waiting for people to file off and on at each floor, but still having my bags, I don’t. I swallow my impatience with an angry huff and watch the numbers slowly climb.

The front desk only informed me of the floor, which has brought me to a long white hallway that makes me yearn for terracotta tiles. I reach for my phone and hit a few buttons to reach Kash and press it to my ear, trying to balance my bags and ignore how hot I feel.

“Did you land?”

“I’m here.”

“At the hospital?”

“On the right floor, I think.”

Kash emerges from farther down the hall, and I hang up, grabbing my things and pushing them in his direction. He moves toward me, wrapping his arms around me, knocking my bag from my shoulder.

“How is he?”

“He’s good. He’s a tough sonofabitch. They put pins in his shoulder, and they had to put in a chest tube because a rib punctured his lung, but he’s going to be just fine.”

I sigh as tears course over the well-made paths on my cheeks. “Can I see him?”

Kash nods, reaching for my two suitcases and leading me to a door marked as ICU that makes my skin prickle with a wave of fear.

“You can’t bring that in here,” a nurse says from a desk.

“Can we keep it somewhere? She just flew in.”

“You shouldn’t be in here if you just got off a plane,” she says disapprovingly.

“King would take the bubonic plague over missing her.”

The nurse’s blonde curls shake and her lips purse, but she stands from her desk and moves toward the end of the counter. “You can leave them there for a few minutes. You need to wash your hands very well before you touch anything. And if she’s going to be a guest, you need to fill out another form so I can get her a bracelet.” She looks to Kash with her eyebrows raised in a V as though she’s challenging him.

I hadn’t considered that I could be a risk to him, and it makes my hand pause on the handle of my bag as I lower it from my shoulder.

“I’ll do whatever you need, but I’m going to take her back first.”

Kash places a hand on my shoulder and gently coaxes me forward, and my fears of going dissolve.

The sight of King stops my breath. He has so many tubes, wires, and bandages wrapped around him that my mind instantly believes Kash lied to me about his positive prognosis.

“The drugs have him sleeping a lot, but he said he’s feeling okay.”

I look to Kash, my eyes wide with disbelief.

“Where is everyone?”

“They went to grab some food downstairs in the cafeteria.”

I nod and then move to the sink, washing my hands three times before I dry them with a scratchy paper towel. Then I move toward his bedside, pulling a chair from the corner so I can be as close to him as possible. Kash slips out the door, closing it behind him as a tear falls down my cheek. My fingers hover over his hand, looking for a safe place to make contact without pulling on anything, and eventually rest on his forearm.

Then I tell King about nearly every single second that has passed since I’ve been gone. He’s already heard most of my stories, but I repeat them again, sharing minute details about things he already knows about like the creaminess of gelato versus ice cream, and how prego means far more than just you’re welcome as the guidebooks had told me. I discuss the piece I’ve been tasked with restoring and how I was so nervous to begin, I had to paint a small replica before I could convince myself to actually make the minor additions to the original.

I’m not sure how much time has passed when Kash and Mercedes enter the room. She smiles at me, though her own cheeks are red from tears, and wraps her arms around me from the side so I don’t have to move away from King.

“It feels like you were already gone for eighty-five days.”

I nod, holding her with my free hand, and turn when she calls out King’s name.

His eyes blink heavily as they move around the room, confusion making them grow wide. “Shit,” he hisses. “What in the hell are you doing here?”

I stare at King for several moments, trying to read the scowl on his face.

“You had to have surgery.”

“You’re supposed to be in Florence.”

“I’m supposed to be here, you jackass.”

“You’re throwing away your future,” King barks.

My heart thunders in my chest, doubts filling me with concern. I have to remind myself a dozen times that he isn’t upset about me actually being here, but about potentially harming my position with the program before I can respond. “I don’t care about any of it right now.”

“You need to!”

“Stop being a jerk,” Mercedes orders. “You need to appreciate what you have and stop being so rude. I know you’ve been in a bad mood since she left, but you’re supposed to be happy now—she’s here!”

King and I both look to Mercedes, then to each other.

“I don’t want you to throw away your dreams for me,” he says.

“I’m not. This is more important. You are more important. If they can’t understand why I need to be here, then I don’t want to be in their program.”

King flips his hand over, revealing another IV port in the crease of his elbow. He reaches for my hand still sitting on the bed and holds it. His fingers that are normally so warm, even with the Oregon rain and constant cloud cover, are cool as they wrap around mine, but his eyes slowly warm with an understanding that makes tears once again return to my eyes.

KING IS released from the hospital four days later, a cast around his entire left arm and a slight limp from severely bruising his hipbone.

“When do you have to leave again?” King asks while I stand beside him, posed to help as he slides into his bed.

“I’m not.”

“You’re not what?”

“Leaving.”

“Like hell you aren’t!” King yells, sitting up.

He has been grumpy since he woke up in the hospital. Mercedes and Summer have both assured me this is tame compared to the past couple of weeks, which seems surprising and so unusual for King.

“I nearly didn’t leave.”

“What are you talking about?” he demands.

“I didn’t want to go. Yes, I thought this would be great, and I wanted so hard to prove to my family that I was good enough. But I didn’t want to go. I love art, but I’m never going to work in art restoration. I don’t want to work in art restoration. I want to paint and draw and create. I just got scared. I thought if I didn’t go, I’d resent you later—resent us.”

“What’s to say that won’t happen now?”

“Because the second my phone rang, I didn’t think once about art or Italy. All I could think about was how upset I was that I couldn’t be here with you. I will always have art, and I’ll keep working to be the artist I want to be, but I’m not going back.”

King relaxes against his pillows, watching me carefully with his brown eyes. “What if we both go?”

“What?”

“I’m going to be in a cast for eight weeks, which is going to make Italy a royal bitch, but if anything can heal me, the steaks at—”

My eyes narrow and he laughs, folding my hand within his. “I want to go with you, Lo. I want to be there and watch you succeed. After Italy, we can come back to Portland and figure out what’s next, but this is your time to shine.”

“That hardly seems fair.”

“I’m not kissing my dreams goodbye. I’m not sacrificing anything. This hardly seems fair to you. I’m not giving anything up and gaining so much.”

“What about doctor’s appointments?”

“What about them?”

“You’ll be in Italy,” I say, barely able to contain my patience with his aloofness.

“So, that’s a yes?”

“Is what a yes?”

“You want me to go with you?”

“Are you serious?”

“Weren’t you just inviting me?”

“I swear, if you weren’t casted and bandaged right now…” Shaking my head with annoyance, King laughs harder.

“Everything happens for a reason, Lo. I’m going to come to Italy. We can figure out all of the details, but I’m going with you this time.”

“You’re serious?”

“I love you, Lo. The last couple of weeks have been hell for me because all I can do is think about you. I am so sick and tired of missing you, and counting nine hours ahead to figure out what time it is where you are, and wondering what you’re doing. I can’t focus when you aren’t around. I don’t enjoy riding, or cooking, or even Kash because I am so preoccupied with thinking about you. It’s been like the first couple of weeks after I came home and found you, and I hate it.

“I’m going with you to Florence, and we will travel across Italy, seeing every cathedral, castle, and monument, sample tiramisu from every restaurant, and fill ourselves with wine and coffee, but most of all, we’ll be together, and that’s all I care about.”

“What about your obligations with Kash?”

“He’ll understand.”

I shake my head as a laugh bubbles up through my throat. “This is going to be like trying to escape the rain, isn’t it?”

King’s head shakes, his lips parted ever so slightly, causing my eyes to trace over them with the desire to both kiss and draw them. “The rain’s got nothing on me.”

“MAYBE WE should see if we can find an elevator.” She turns, scanning the large hall in hopes of finding a sign or line.

“I’ve got this, babe.” I place a hand on Lo’s shoulder, wishing it were bare so I could feel her skin. Her eyes turn to mine, wide with worry. Worry for me. I would likely find this concern annoying from anyone else, but not from Lo. It makes me feel loved and cared for on a level few understand. I know that I am always in her thoughts, not only because my face is what graces nearly every page of her sketch books—even here in Italy—but because of all the small things she does that mean more to me than I can ever put into words. It’s sending postcards to Mercedes twice a week. Collecting photographs for Summer each time we pass a small stand. Bringing me coffee while I’m still in the shower. Triple checking that I have my pillows set up before we go to sleep. Sending packages filled with fabrics and packaged treats to her friends. Remembering Kash’s birthday, even though we’re on the other side of the world. Every single day she shows me how much she loves me by working for her dreams, loving life, and trusting me to love her back just as deeply. And dear God, I do. Everything I see and do reminds me of her. I want to give her every flower I see in the shops we walk by. I want to cook her every meal that makes her moan with delight. I want to show her every beautiful secret and monument in the world to watch the way her eyes light up. And I would like to spend countless hours pleasing her because I can never get enough of the sounds she makes and the way she makes me feel.

She doesn’t argue, though I see the hesitancy in her eyes. Instead, she nods and moves in the direction of the spiral staircase that she stared at in silence for several minutes when we arrived.

I knew she would love the Vatican. There are few places more impressive than this small country. However, seeing her take in St. Peter’s Square made me wish I could take pictures like Summer. We had to wait for over an hour to get inside, but she never once complained. She was lost in a trance, one which makes me feel lost as I watch her.

We descend the stairs slowly, not because of the slight limp I’m still struggling with but the vast line in front of us.

The air is warm and humid as we make our way outside, and I appreciate the way her eyes travel over the square again, absorbing the scenery rather than searching for the right tour bus like everyone else around us is doing.

This summer has been nothing short of amazing. Watching Lo excel in her passions has given me a new appreciation for my own. I’m looking forward to getting home and starting physical therapy so that I can begin riding again, but like Lo, I’m not in any hurry. The weight of our love is greater than anything, and it will always be just as the rain: inescapable.

Read other works by Mariah Dietz

I have to say, I’m really glad I’m such a terrible procrastinator sometimes, because there are so many people to thank, and waiting this long has hopefully ensured I can remember everyone! If I don’t, I am truly sorry.

First off, I want to thank my amazing family! They deal with my moodiness when I can’t write, or am writing and can’t make things mesh, and my absences for while I’m either writing or lost in bookland. You guys are my foundation and my life, and I couldn’t ask for a better or more loving husband and boys. I love you too. Grandma Cyndi for being so excited and willing to read whatever I write! And my dad, you’ve been one of my biggest cheerleaders. Maybe I should have listened earlier when you said I should be a writer. I love you guys so much!

Lisa Greenwood, I don’t know how to put into words what you mean to me. I feel as though I’ve known you most of my life rather than a couple of years! Thank you for your endless support and encouragement, and for always being willing to kick me in my “loaf of bread.” Your cockney threats don’t scare me, still, but they greatly entertain me. I’m sorry for always babbling about books, and complaining to you on days my OCD gets out of control. I hope one day I can be as great of friend to you, as you are to me.

Sarah Pinkerton, I will always have you to thank you, because the day you told me my books left a larger impact on you than Twilight, I really believed I could do this. I love that you don’t care at all about what I write or choose to do, you accept me for me, and that’s all that has ever mattered.

Terri Peterson, I love my Terbear so stinkin’ much!!! Thank you for … how do I even explain what all there is to thank you for? Your heart is so big and beautiful. Thank you for investing endless hours into my crazy thoughts. You are just as deeply implanted under my skin, as my words are on yours.

Jenna Chianello, thank you for taking a chance on me and becoming one of my closest and dearest friends. And thank you Katie Ross, for introducing me to both Terri and Jenna, and so many others. But, I want to thank you even more for just being you, because when I see a message from you, my entire day brightens—you have that effect on people.

Lucy Mae Enderby, I missed you for this book, but seeing you becoming a mom has been far more rewarding than finishing another book. Give sweet Maddie a kiss for me!

Dawn Nicole Costiera, your helpful advice and support means so much to me! I can’t tell you how flattered and appreciative I truly am.

To my sweet and loving beta team that is much more than just a beta team, you’re my friends, and I love you guys so much! Katie Ross, Lisa Greenwood, Jenna Chianello, Becca DawnTerri Peterson, Katie Mazur, Jessica Frider, Samantha Lloyd, you guys are such an essential part of this process, and I hope you know how much I appreciate and love you all.

CM Foss, my first and only critique partner—did I mention you’re stuck with me?? THANK YOU!! Your humor and compassion have led me to never leaving you alone … ever. I am so anxious to see you in person this spring and give you one hell of a hug!!

The Bossy Babes—we changed our name from the Bosse Babes to the Bossy Babes, because we weren’t ready to lose the Bosse sisters, and I doubt we ever will—you ladies ROCK! Your love blows my mind daily. Sometimes several times a day.

Giovanna Bovenzi Crus, Shell Williams, January Apted—you guys are amazing. I still am shocked people read my books, the fact that you guys encourage people to read them after you all do, shocks the hell out of me. It’s very surreal, and it’s incredibly awesome. I cannot thank you enough for all of your time and support. I hope I get to meet you all one day to squeeze you!

Lisa with What Lies Within These Pages, Becca and Candy with Prisoners of Print, Bianca Smith with Biblio Belles Book Club, Stephanie Powell with Night and Day Book Blog, Roxie Madar with Schmexy Gil Book Blog, Lisa Marie with A Risque Affair Book Blog, Terri, Katie, and Jenna with The Review Loft, Becca Manuel with Becca the Bibliophile, Stephanie DeLamanter Phillips with Stephanie’s Book Reports, I know I am missing more, I know, and I am so sorry, because bloggers, I can’t thank you guys enough! Your love is what all writers dream of! You guys share your passion for reading with others, and I know how inundated you all are with requests, and the fact that you’ve all taken the time to read MY book is something I promise to never ever take for granted. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!

Murphy Rae for editing and answering countless questions! And Hang Le with By Hang Le, thank you so much for creating what very well might be my favorite cover thus far, and for always dealing with all of my indecisiveness with professionalism, and grace! I wish I could hug you!

Max Dobson with the Polished Pen, thank you for doing the fastest proofread ever, and for continuing to always be my mentor and teacher. You are the greatest.

Stacey and Emily and the gang with E.M. Tippetts Book Designs! You guys are miracle workers, and I swear, next time I will give you more time! I swear! Thank you for fitting me in and as always creating such a beautiful book!

And every single reader—thank you from the bottom of my heart. I appreciate each and every single one of you and welcome you to contact me with any questions or feedback!