Le Remède Page 16

  I help him stand.

  “I think perhaps you had one too many.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  He looks at me with such gratitude.

  If he only knew the truth.

  Chapter 28

  Andie

  I tap twice on the apartment door with my boot and I hear joy in Mack’s footsteps. She opens the door and beams with a face-splitting smile. Her good mood only serves to highlight my deepening despair and my renewed regret over the way I snapped at her when she tried to warn me about Vincent. But I dig deep, really deep, and smile back. She grabs the wine and pulls the paper bag down to check out the label. “Nice! You did good.”

  “So, what are we celebrating?”

  “Come in first. Sit. Take off your coat and scarf and I’ll pour the wine.”

  I grab the scarf protectively. “I’m still cold, but I’ll take some wine.”

  She disappears into the kitchen. I hear her rummaging through the junk drawer and then the pop of the cork. When she returns, she’s holding the wine bottle in one hand and two wineglasses in the other.

  With dramatic flair, she places the glasses on the coffee table and acting as sommelier, pours a taste in my glass. I play along, careful to hold the glass by its stem, swirl around the garnet-colored liquid, sniff, sip and nod in approval. She pours more into my glass, then hers and we clink in a toast.

  “To us! To New York! To rich celebrities!”

  Hand planted on my hip, I cock my head. “Okay, Mack. Spill. What is it?”

  She’s practically vibrating with excitement.

  “You remember that celebrity sale I told you about that I had to sign an airtight nondisclosure agreement? Such bullshit. Anyway, I sold it! On Central Park West. Nine million big ones! Commission? Drumroll, please. Two hundred and seventy thousand dollars!” She rubs her thumb and fingers together. “We’re banking now!” She’s doing her happy dance, her arms in the air, wine spilling onto the floor and I’m doing my best to match her enthusiasm.

  She plops down next to me on the sofa and reaches out for a hug.

  My curiosity is piqued and for a nanosecond I forget about my shipwrecked life and I pull back in anticipation. “Who is it?”

  “Nondisclosure is still binding. I don’t want to screw anything up. Once we’ve gone to closing and I’ve got that check in my hot little hands, I’ll fill you in. Let’s just say the apartment is gorgeous. He’s gorgeous!”

  “Will he be at closing?”

  “He has to be—unless he gives power of attorney to his lawyer.” She frowns.

  “Maybe I can hover outside the office to catch a glimpse after closing?”

  “Just act cas!”

  She pauses dramatically, flips her newly highlighted hair back and takes a deep breath. “But here’s the really good news,” she says.

  “That wasn’t it?”

  “I don’t want you to worry about paying me—”

  I’m already shaking my head. “No, Mack. Absolutely not. I’m going to repay every penny.”

  “And what if I refuse to take it?”

  Exasperated, I click my tongue and shake my head again. “Mack, I’m so happy for you. This is freakin’ awesome. But don’t be stupid. You might not get another sale for a while and you would need that money.”

  “Two hundred and seventy thousand? I don’t think so. We agreed when we moved here that we were in this together. I won’t even miss your payback. And this way you can start with a clean slate. No debt.”

  “Seriously, I can’t…”

  “It’s an offer you can’t refuse,” she says, “and I won’t let you. Consider it done.” She nods her head, sits back and takes another sip.

  We’ve always been like sisters, but if I actually had a sister, I’m not sure she would be so generous. Or forgiving.

  “Here,” she guides the wineglass in my hand to my mouth. “Don’t worry. Be happy. Drink up.”

  I’ve missed this—Mack and me, hanging out, talking. She even has me laughing at her adventures with Chester, her hipster lover, and his ironic lack of hip. Turns out, she loves everything about him. His neck tattoo, his bushy beard, his handlebar moustache—and the way he loves her back. Go figure. I’ve been so lost in whatever the hell this thing has been with Vincent that I let it eclipse the one constant in my life—Mackenna Leslie Cantrell.

  She pours me another glass of wine. I start to feel like maybe I’m reclaiming myself. I’m feeling better, so I help myself to another glass. I don’t know what kind of hold Vincent has had over me, but it’s good I’ve cut the cord, culled this uncertainty from my life. When I pour yet another glass, emptying the bottle, she stops and looks at me.

  “Andie, hon, um, don’t you have work tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, so?” My inebriated challenge comes out sounding more confrontational than intended.

  She stuffs the cork back in the second bottle. “I’m cutting you off. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

  I start to protest, but no sooner has she corked the bottle than a wave of nausea hits me and I run to the bathroom. Mack follows me and holds my hair back. I swat her hands away.

  “Wait, you’re going to get wine puke all over my Kate Spade scarf!”

  She grabs it and pulls, exposing my neck before I can stop her.

  I rip toilet paper off the roll and wipe my mouth and fall back against the wall, desperate to rearrange my hair and hide the hideous bite mark on my neck.

  “Mack, I can explain. I wanted to tell you, but—”

  “Tell me what? That you can’t hold your liquor?” I expect shock, disgust on her face, but she’s laughing. “That’s not news to me.”

  My hand automatically goes to my neck. Nothing. I jump up and look in the mirror. A blurry image of my reddened face, my smeared mascara and the line of spittle running down my chin, stares back at me, but my neck—it’s smooth, completely healed.

  Not even a scratch.

  Chapter 29

  Vincent

  As soon as I’m certain Jeff can stand on his own and find his way home, I catch up with Nicholas and we walk together. He acknowledges my presence with a stiff nod, stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks down as if studying the cracks in the sidewalk.

  It’s a blustery night. Random papers swirl on the sidewalk like tiny tornadoes. True tornadoes represent nature at her most destructive. I can’t help but wonder if we, the Kindred, are simply destructive forces of nature that somehow fit into the grand scheme of things. Or are we spawn of the devil? God’s revenge for the world’s sins? Frankie’s words, “Repent, serpent!” echo.

  Did some higher being deem that I, that Nicholas, that all the other Kindred, should be doomed to an endless string of tortured days and sleepless nights, forced to take what we need from helpless humans who happen to cross our paths? Fated to live out the centuries alone? Why must it be so? My sins as a human were minor. I was a good son, a good brother, a loving husband and father. And, from what he’s told me, Nicholas was a good man too.

  It’s strange to think that the one who destroyed everything of meaning in my life was once human herself. She was someone’s daughter, someone’s wife, someone’s mother. They had surely meant something to her. It wasn’t her choice to be what she had become any more than it was mine. A wave of empathy washes over me. But she spoke of her family only once, a recitation of names and dates, devoid of emotion. Only her vengeance remained.

  I do believe it would have been easier if I had chosen the path she did, the darker path—to never feel the weight of guilt, only waves of immense pleasure. No looking back. It makes no sense to me why any of us was singled out for such eternal punishment, but there is no one to turn to for answers.

  We reach our building and the ride in the elevator is silent. As we step off, Nicholas turns to me. “I need some time to think—alone.”

  “Of course.”

  He retreats to his apartment without so much as a bonne nuit and, before the elevator doors close
behind me, the slamming of his apartment door shakes the hallway.

  He will be okay. Against all evidence to the contrary, I must believe that.

  As soon as I cross the threshold of my apartment, I call Andie. It goes to voice mail. Again. She can ignore my calls for only so long. Our intimacy forever sealed our fate. By now, she must be in a state of sickening, relentless craving for—me.

  I stand in front of Danielle’s portrait and look into her eyes. She was my lover, my wife, the mother of my child. If I stare at her face long enough, her image sways, a mirage. Once, I found myself reaching out to her. I felt the softness of her breasts pressed against my chest, her soft curls against my chin, as I leaned over to gently plant a kiss on her silken neck, the salty taste of her skin. My delusion that she was within reach and the feeling that I had once again lost her, haunted me for weeks.

  “Forgive me, Danielle,” I say, as if she can hear me, as if I could have saved her, as if it will change anything. I can never undo what was done to her, or what I’ve done to Andie, but I can do my best to ensure that Andie’s future will not be as bleak as mine.

  I call Andie again.

  Chapter 30

  Andie

  My thoughts are popping like a string of Black Cat firecrackers when I finally climb into bed far too late. No matter how hard I try, I can’t wrap my head around it—that he fucking bit me until I was bleeding—a lot—and how the bite marks went from hideous to healed in a matter of hours.

  I feel…I feel…I don’t even know what I feel, but I don’t want to feel it anymore. I stand up and dig in my purse for the pills Peter gave me. Peter Piper picked a peck of pills; if Peter Piper picked a peck of pills… I pop one in my mouth and swallow.

  It sticks in my throat and I panic as the bitter taste blooms, run into the living room, pull the cork from the wine bottle and take a swig. And another. And another. My head is swimming, my thoughts pulling me under for the third time, when I finally fall into bed.

  I wake up to Mack flicking the lights off and on.

  “Wake up, Andie! It’s seven o’clock.”

  I open one eye and look at her fuzzy outline before reaching for my glasses.

  “At night?”

  “Seriously?”

  I sit up. My head is pounding. I don’t even remember crawling into bed a second time.

  “Shit, Andie. The cork was out of the bottle. Did you get back up and drink more? What’s going on with you?”

  “Nothing,” I mumble as I struggle to sit up, while fending off a new wave of nausea. “I’m good.”

  She folds her arms against her chest and takes a shaky breath. “You’re scaring me.”

  I’m scaring myself. “I’m fine. Really.” That’s a lie and we both know it. Look what I’m doing, dousing my distress with Cabernet and Xanax.

  Mack leaves and comes back with a glass of water and aspirin. As the neurons slowly being firing, the first transmission contains thoughts of Vincent. The feelings Vincent has stirred in me have all the pain and loss of my past reforming with stinging clarity. I want to reach in and excise that part of my brain that craves his company. I’m not crazy; he’s making me crazy.

  “Well, whenever you’re ready to talk…” She hesitates and turns to leave, but stops mid-pivot when I blurt out, “Vincent and I broke up.”

  She comes back and sits on the bed, wrapping her arms around me.

  Without warning, I break into convulsive sobs.

  “Andie, hon, I’m so sorry,” Mack says, as she hugs me tightly.

  “No, I’m sorry. You were so right. I shouldn’t have trusted him.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  I shake my head in between sobs. She hands me a box of tissues that seems to appear out of thin air. She isn’t going to gloat and say, “I told you so.” Just one of the many reasons why I love her.

  “Oh, hon, you know I’m here whenever you’re ready to talk about it. Why don’t you stay home today and binge on Netflix? Take a mental health day.”

  “Believe me, I just want to curl up into the fetal position under the covers and sleep all day, but I just got this job; I can’t blow it.”

  My phone rings and I look at the screen. “I have to take this.”

  Mack squints at me.

  “It’s okay; it’s Peter.” I pull a tissue from the box, blow my nose, and take a couple of shaky breaths before answering.

  Peter tells me he’ll be late. He has a doctor’s appointment.

  “So much for bingeing on Netflix,” I say, as I toss the phone back on the bed. “Peter’s going to be late. I’ve got to go in.”

  “Well, shit. How about I make you some tea with fresh ginger and honey while you take a long, hot shower. Sound good?”

  I nod like a two-year old whose mommy just kissed her boo-boo to make it all better. Mack jumps up and heads to the kitchen. When she’s out of sight, I check my phone log. Another half dozen calls from Vincent, but no messages. Still, it’s as if I can hear his voice whispering in my ear, proclaiming his love…I feel sick. I might be coming down with something. It’s not just the break-up. Or the wine and Xanax. I don’t feel right.

  It hits me like a gut punch and I barely make it to the toilet. I’m going to die, right here with my head hanging onto the toilet seat. Mack comes running. She stops in the doorway.

  “Andie, you can’t go in. You’re really sick. I’ll order some anti-nausea stuff from the pharmacy. They deliver.” She pauses, takes a step toward me and says breathlessly,

  “Could you be pregnant?”

  I stop to consider the possibility and count backwards before I shake my head. “Nope.”

  She helps me up off the floor and to the sofa and brings me my tea. The first sip soothes me to my toes and I take a deep cleansing breath. “I’m actually feeling better. I think it was just left over from last night’s overindulgence. You were right to cut me off. It could have been so much worse.”

  “Well, just listen to your body. If you’re still throwing up, they’re not going to want you to stay.”

  She wants me to listen to my body. I’m trying, but it’s screaming at me in a language I don’t understand.

  Chapter 31

  Vincent

  The sun hovers just above the Hudson, accenting pomegranate skies, when my cell phone rings. I drop my treasured copy of Heart of Darkness on the sofa, without bothering to mark my place, and grab the phone, hoping once again—but it’s Nicholas.

  He says he’ll meet me at the shop, though he’s in no mood to create the Valentine’s Day window display; the one day a year devoted to love is in two weeks. Love-struck, hopeful lovers; husbands wanting to keep the romance alive or seeking forgiveness for some perceived wrong will pour into our shop, in search of the perfect, bright bouquet—the universal symbol of love.

  It’s the second busiest day of the year, after Mother’s Day, and it is nearly impossible to anticipate just how busy it will be, how much to order. But staying busy is the best thing for both of us right now.

  Before I leave for work, I call Andie. I open my mouth to leave a message, but I hang up and text her instead. My frustration is building, morphing into panic for her well-being as I grip the phone tighter. The sound of cracking plastic and glass in my hand breaks my focus. The cuts from my shattered phone bleed, and I watch dispassionately as they quickly heal.

  On my way to the shop, I stop to purchase another phone, hoping I haven’t missed the call I’m impatient for. Only a handful of people are in the store. A young man approaches, all smiles. “How can I help you today?”

  His name tag says “Satchel.”

  “I need a new phone, Satchel.”

  I display the destroyed phone in my hand.

  “Yeah, I’d say that one is toast.”

  He doesn’t comment on the bloodstains.

  “You want an iPhone or a droid?”

  “I would like—"

  We’re interrupted by an older man, whom I had noticed staring at m
e.

  “Vincent?” he says, disbelief in his voice.

  I turn to face him.

  “It’s not possible,” he says, “but—you look exactly, I mean exactly like a young man who used to own a coffee shop on Staten Island. Danielle’s Patisserie.”

  “I’m sorry. Do we know each other?” Saul—I remember him now. He was a regular. He’s old now, his face weathered and wrinkled.

  He shakes his head. “But that was thirty-five years ago.”

  I smile. “That was my father. My name is Vincent as well.”

  He smiles back, shakes my hand and pats me on the arm. “Such a pleasure to meet you. I didn’t know he had children. How is your father?”

  “He passed.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Vincent,” he says. “He was a good man.” He waits to let the compliment register, before saying, “I hear an accent like your father’s; you must have spent some time in France?”

  “Yes, I attended school in Paris before moving back here.”

  “Imagine running into you like this. What are the odds? Well, it’s really good to see you.” He steps back, looks at me again, and shakes his head. “The resemblance is uncanny.”

  It doesn’t happen often—this recognition. The first time, maybe fifty years ago, I panicked. But, now the explanation of my father—soon it will be my grandfather—is well practiced and always satisfies. It occurs to me that in the blink of an eye, Andie will be this man’s age. And, without the cure, I would stay the same. Always and forever, the same.

  The young salesman has been patiently waiting. “So, iPhone or Droid?”

  “iPhone, please.”

  “You got it.”

  Once my new phone is set up, I thank Satchel and turn it on.

  Vincent we need to talk.

  Those few words mean so much. Words swollen with hope, with expectation. But none of that can be realized unless I collude with Gus and reveal my truth to Andie. I must accept that now. Le remède is my only chance to enter a new realm, create a life with her.

  And Gus is the one with the keys to the kingdom.