A Breath After Drowning Read online

  “Okay, you can mock me now,” he said, wiping his mouth on a paper napkin.

  “Me? I never mock you.”

  “Ha. You mock me every day. As a matter of fact, I’d really miss it if you didn’t mock me.”

  “Okay. Give me a second.”

  He laughed. “You’ll think of something.”

  “Anyway.” She smiled happily. “Thanks for bringing me to my favorite place in the whole world and not insisting we go somewhere fancy.” She said the word fancy as if it had air quotes around it.

  “Fancy schmancy. Who needs fancy? Happy birthday, babe. How’s your pizza?”

  “I love this fucking pizza.”

  “It is the best pizza on the planet.” He gleefully sucked a string of mozzarella into his mouth and wiped the grease off his chin. They were huddled together in their favorite Back Bay dive. It was Tuesday night, and they practically had Duke’s all to themselves.

  “Anyway, guess what my 3 PM wore today?” She kept her voice low, even though no one else was sitting close enough to overhear their conversation. They’d snagged a secluded booth, their favorite spot, and always broke doctor–patient confidentiality sotto voce. Kate and James shared everything with each other, but never outside their private bubble. “She was dressed in the skimpiest outfit. Platform shoes, a miniskirt, and a vinyl jacket. In this weather. No coat, no boots, no gloves. And I had to ask—where’s the mother in all this? I’m surprised she didn’t get hypothermia.”

  “Meh. The parents are coping with their own bullshit.”

  “It breaks my heart all over the place. I should’ve gone to law school.”

  He looked her in the eye. “We both know why you got into this field, Kate.”

  “Yeah, and that’s another thing. I mentioned her again today. Savannah.”

  “So?”

  “Nikki’s very inquisitive. What if she starts to ask questions?”

  He shrugged. “Then you’ll deal with it.”

  Kate shook her head. “It was dumb of me. She’s finally beginning to trust me. I told her I’d always be honest with her. But I’m not sure I could handle it if she started asking questions about my sister.”

  “You’ll handle it just fine. Your training will kick in.”

  “Maybe. Anyway. She wanted to give me some things, and I had to remind her—no gifts.”

  “What kind of gifts?” he asked.

  “Some things she found at the beach. A skirt weight from the twenties. Ever heard of them?”

  “Skirt weights? No, but this is intriguing. Why did she give my girlfriend a skirt weight? Does she know something I don’t know?”

  “Ha. My boyfriend is hilarious. No, apparently flappers used to sew them into their skirts to keep the wind from blowing them up and revealing their legs.” She shook her head. “It’s so sad. Here’s this whip-smart, funny, brave, naïve teenager talking about the olden days, when the women were much more modest. She kept tugging on her miniskirt. It’s supposed to be empowering.” She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “That’s what peer pressure and a lack of parental control will do.”

  “I’m telling you. It breaks my heart.”

  He paused with the pizza poised an inch from his mouth and said, “You can’t get emotional about your clients, Kate. It doesn’t help them. Not one bit.”

  “But what if I fail them? What exactly does it prove, after all my years of training, if I can’t help them?”

  “Some of them you’ll fix. Some you won’t.” James shrugged. “Nobody ever promised you a rose garden.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “More snark on my birthday?”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Kate leaned back. “You never have a moment of self-doubt, do you?”

  “No, but isn’t that what you like about me? My blind self-confidence?”

  “Yeah, sort of,” she admitted with a laugh.

  “See?”

  “I’m just saying…”

  “Hey, guess what? I got you something.”

  “Sorry, but I can’t accept gifts from my patients,” she quipped.

  “Close your eyes.” He dropped his pizza and wiped his hands on a rumpled napkin and waited until she’d obeyed him. Then he took something out of his coat pocket. “Okay. Open.” He was holding a ring-sized jewelry box in his hand.

  “James, no.” She cringed. “Seriously?”

  “Relax. It’s not what you think.”

  She covered her face with embarrassment. Today was her thirty-second birthday, and she’d told him repeatedly— no parties, no people, no presents. Just you, me, and Duke’s bacon-and-cheese pizza.

  “Happy birthday,” he said, handing her the little box.

  It had a perfect weight to it. Her face softened with delight and dread as she opened it and gazed at the slender silver ring with the dazzling amethyst centerpiece. “Wow,” she whispered.

  “It’s just a ring,” James said. “Nothing special.”

  “It’s gorgeous.”

  “Matches your eyes.”

  “Ooh. Not exactly.”

  Kate’s eyes were lavender. She blushed easily. She was blushing now. She took the ring out of its velvet box and slipped it on her finger. “Oh, James. I don’t know what to say.”

  “It’s just a ring, for God’s sake,” he said tenderly. “Because I kept passing it in the jewelry store on my way to work, and it reminded me of you every damn day. Same color eyes. Although, yeah, now that you mention it, spoilsport, you’re right, it’s not the exact color, but close enough. Cut me some slack, slugger.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “Happy birthday.” He leaned in for a kiss.

  She kissed him gratefully, tenderly, and then paraded her hand. “So, how do you like my non-engagement ring?”

  “Yeah,” he said with a sarcastic smile. “Your I’m-not-ever-getting-married ring.”

  “My he’s-just-my-boyfriend ring.”

  “Christ. You’re such a commitment-phobe.”

  “You can thank my miserable childhood for that.”

  “Relax. It’s an ordinary gift-type ring. Okay? Because I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” She rarely wore rings or necklaces, a fact that she must’ve mentioned to him a thousand times before. Her sensitive skin couldn’t tolerate jewelry. Not even exquisite, expensive jewelry. But James, being a psychiatrist, had assumed it was the thought of marriage, rather than the ring itself, that was causing her to break out in hives. And this was probably a test, or else a “blind trial” if you will, to find out how long she could tolerate the ring before she took it off and put it away in its box. Or maybe he wasn’t so much testing her (that would be manipulative) as he was seeking answers. Kate didn’t want to get married, and yet she was crazy in love with the guy. Which brought her to the same sore spot in her brain, the gray area she was constantly prodding and poking. What the hell is wrong with you? Why not marry him? He’s fantastic. James is everything you ever wanted. What is your freaking problem? She figured they were headed in that direction, just waiting for her to make up her mind—put another way, she was waiting to fall in love with the idea of marriage. She’d already fallen in love with James.

  In truth, Kate had trust issues. She had abandonment issues. She and her sister, Savannah, had lost their mother early on, and their father had been emotionally remote. Dr. Bram Wolfe, an old-school family physician, possessed the uncanny ability to disappear on you, even when he was sitting right in front of you—emotionally, psychologically, mentally. His eyes would glaze over and his mouth would stitch shut, and he’d zoom a million miles away in seconds. He would stay gone for a very long time—detached, unreachable. It never ceased to amaze Kate, this remarkable disappearing act of his. She called him “the bullet train of fathers,” because he could take off like a shot.

  And the hits just kept on coming. Six years after her mother passed away, Kate’s little sister went missing. It ended badly, and her father vanis
hed for good after that, psychologically speaking. By the time she turned seventeen, Kate’s entire family had disappeared on her. Mother—dead. Sister—dead. Father—emotionally unavailable. This trifecta of traumas was at the root of all her deep-seated anxieties and self-doubts, as well as a source of her strength. It was the main reason she’d gone into psychiatry, as opposed to law or medicine.

  “Glad you like the ring,” James said with grave seriousness now.

  “I love it.”

  Ten minutes later, she was still wearing the ring. They paid the bill at the register and pushed the heavy front door open, laughing at the handwritten sign that said PUSH HARD. Kate made the same joke every time—“Harder, James, harder.” And he responded the same way every time—“I’m pushing, I’m pushing.”

  “God, we are so easily amused,” she sighed as they linked arms and tumbled out into the crisp cold night air. Winter in Boston. Dark streets and frosty breath. Soon it would be spring, but not soon enough. They walked the two and a half blocks to James’s silver Lexus and got in. She sat shivering inside the new-smelling interior and eyed him suspiciously.

  “What?” He activated the seat warmers and started the engine.

  “I love my ring. I love Duke’s pizza. And I love you.”

  “In that order?”

  “Ha. My boyfriend is…”

  “Hilarious, I know.” He reached for her hand, turned it over, and kissed the old scars on her wrist. Tenderly. Softly. “I love you, Kate. I’m glad you like the ring.”

  She could feel the weight of their three-year relationship and luxuriated in the warmth and familiarity of it as they headed towards Harvard Square.

  It began to snow, fat white flakes flurrying past their windshield. The sparkling city contained all the magic of a fairytale, and Kate decided to tuck her worries away. Nikki McCormack would be okay. She shouldn’t feel guilty about taking a vacation—her first in years. You’re entitled to a life.

  She glanced at the ring on her finger. Perhaps she should marry James. What was her problem? He was handsome and smart and one of the funniest people she’d ever known—he made her laugh from the gut, those genuine belly laughs— and she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. She just couldn’t bring herself to take the next step because… her sister, her mother. The lump of tragedies that sat like a disfiguring scar on her soul.

  The Lexus straddled the off-ramp lane, and they took the exit to Harvard Square, which was snowy and all lit up. They drove down Massachusetts Avenue, past the crowded university campus with its centuries-old dormitories, and headed toward Arlington, Cambridge’s drab sister city. Before reaching the town line, they took a left onto a quiet residential street—still Cambridge, which mattered to James, that ever-important zip code—and found a parking spot in their brand-new neighborhood.

  James propped their freshly minted parking permit on the dashboard, and they got out and inhaled the rejuvenating winter air. Kate’s worries receded. Soon they’d be rock-climbing in the Southwest, hiking through the red-clay canyons of Sedona, toasting spectacular sunsets, and tumbling into hotel beds.

  But tonight it was snowing, and they were in chilly, intellectual Cambridge, and the moon was just a smudge behind the clouds. Snowflakes dusted their eyelashes. James took her hand and they navigated the icy cobblestones together, half-strolling, half-stumbling past the subdivided Victorians and Gothics, where Harvard grads and post-docs studied in lonely obscurity. The streets were eerily silent except for the whisper of falling snow and the occasional whoosh of tires spinning through slush.

  At the end of the block, they turned the corner onto a centuries-old thoroughfare. Around each old-fashioned streetlamp was a halo of falling snow. Their renovated brick condominium was built in 1915, with granite steps and hovering gargoyles on the roof. Several months ago, they’d closed escrow on an incredible two-bedroom in this desirable location and had spent the past five or six weekends painting the walls designer shades of white and installing new light fixtures. A few days ago, they’d rearranged everything just the way they liked it, and now they were ready to enjoy the rest of their lives together. It was a bit overwhelming.

  The ring. The condo. The two-week vacation. Might as well be married.

  James opened the front door for her, and they stepped into the lobby, where the wood was dark-stained, the lights were elegantly dimmed, and the strange scent of cured animal skins and cracked leather pervaded the warm, stuffy air.

  “Is it my imagination,” James said, “or are we the only tenants in the building?”

  “I know, right?” she agreed. “Where is everybody?”

  “How come we never see anyone? Where’s the welcome party?”

  She glanced at the vaulted ceiling. “I guess we’ll meet them eventually.”

  “I guesssssss,” he hissed in her ear, before launching into The Addams Family theme song. He grabbed her around the middle, and she caught a whiff of something smoky and elusive about him. He was an athletic man in his mid-thirties, with thick dark hair and warm brown eyes. In the summer, his hair was more golden than brown. He was a typical American male—virile, passionately intense about sports and video games, sometimes loud and opinionated, sometimes vague and introspective, always respectful and well-mannered. When she was with him, she felt indestructible. She supposed it was dangerous to feel that way.

  She pressed the call button for the elevator. “Are you ready?” She showed him her ring. “Ready for couple-dom?”

  “Readier than you, apparently.” He crossed his heart like a Boy Scout. “I will never use first-person-singular again.”

  Kate laughed. Her phone rang, and she rummaged through her bag, but by the time she picked up, the caller had hung up. She checked the ID. Unavailable.

  “Hey,” he said with mock suspicion. “Was that your other boyfriend?”

  “Yeah, he’s so annoying.”

  “I’m jealous. I’m supposed to be the annoying one.”

  “You are. Hands down.”

  The elevator creaked to a shuddering halt. It was one of those old-fashioned brass cages you had to operate yourself, prying the stubborn hinged doors open. They stepped into the slightly swaying cage, closed the jittery doors and pushed the button for the eighth floor. As soon as it began to move, they kissed passionately, groping one another like horny teenagers.

  The elevator seemed to take forever to climb to the eighth floor. James grew gradually still as the brass cage swayed on its creaky cables—he had a deep-seated fear of elevators that wasn’t a secret to her. He’d gotten stuck between floors once as a child, while visiting his grandmother in New York City. He rang the bell and banged on the doors and hollered for help, while the elevator had slowly filled with smoke from a blown motor in the basement—long story, happy ending.

  Now his lips tasted cold and ozone-y from the newly fallen snow. Her ring didn’t itch. Miracle of miracles. They were on their way up to their very own condo, just a stone’s throw from Harvard Square. She was thirty-two years old. She was deeply in love. She wanted this moment to last forever.

  The elevator came to a halt, jerking on its rusty cables.

  James winced. “I’ll have to get used to that.”

  “Last stop, everybody out.”

  They pulled the heavy brass doors open.

  “Cheaper than a gym membership,” he quipped, flinging an arm around her.

  They headed down the stuffy corridor toward their unit, their boots leaving crumbs of slush on the mauve carpet. Discreet indirect lighting hid the flaws in the elegant plaster ceiling. They stopped in front of their varnished door with its scratched brass nameplate that said 8D.

  “Home at last,” Kate sighed.

  The landline began to ring inside their condo as James fumbled with his keys.

  “Okay,” she said. “Tell me again why we gave your mother our number?”

  “Meh. Let the machine pick up.” James found it much easier to ignore his rich, leisured mom than
Kate did. Vanessa Hill was like fingernails on a blackboard—grating. She often called to boast about the Boston charities she was involved with and all the non-profits she was on the board of, but she rarely asked James about his life, which bothered Kate more than it bothered him. He shrugged it off with the kind of resignation he reserved for airports and insurance forms.

  He unlocked the door and they tumbled inside, a curl of light sweeping across the hardwood floor. It was dark except for a blue haze coming from the city lights below. James groped at the wall and found the switch, and the place lit up.

  The phone stopped ringing.

  “Ah,” she breathed.

  “Nice,” he agreed.

  They waited for the inevitable voicemail message, but Vanessa must’ve hung up. It wasn’t like her to be so non-verbose.

  They peeled off layers of outerwear—unzipping, untying, unbuttoning.

  “Yeesh,” James complained. “It’s like an oven in here.”

  Despite the stuffiness, Kate was in love with the condo. It was the first place she’d ever owned, and she felt so lucky to have it. The living room was a grand open space with a marble fireplace and an arched doorway leading into an airy dining room. She adored the master bedroom with its muted color scheme and cozy touches. The kitchen and bathroom were lovely in their period simplicity, especially the deep claw-footed tub, where she planned on soaking for hours after a long day at the hospital. The huge kitchen windows were perfect for an herb garden.

  “I’m sweating like a pig.” James took off his coat and gloves and scarf and dropped everything on the sofa.

  “Pigs don’t sweat.”

  “Seriously. Am I the only one who’s melting around here?” He struggled with his pullover, peeling it off with a crackle of static, and then eyed the culprit—a hissing radiator in the corner of the living room. He strode over and wrestled with the stuck knob.