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“I saw the comments, but that’s not what this is.”
“Oh,” Kelly says and pouts, but Trish doesn’t seem to accept it, judging by the way her gaze dances between us.
“I am here only to do my job. I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
Ella’s reaction is tense at first. I imagine she’s wondering now whether she’s been behaving or not. The slight flush on her beautiful cheeks gives it away. It takes her quite a few minutes to relax her shoulders and settle into the rhythm again as the women order cappuccinos and lattes. It doesn’t go unnoticed that they’re quick to turn down the mimosas the waiter offers.
Time ticks by even after the dishes are removed. I don’t care if we sit here until the restaurant closes, if that’s what Ella wants to do.
Kelly has a constant stream of things to talk about, and Trish chimes in, the two of them a perfect team of entertainment and ease. Ella joins in from time to time. Occasionally her fingers tap her throat and she quickly sips her ice water to squelch whatever pain has come. This may be the first time she’s spoken for so long and so loudly. She generally keeps her voice low with me, but it’s not at all here. She doesn’t say as much as her friends, but it still doesn’t seem like they’re overpowering her. It’s like the three of them are a unit. They know when to give and take.
I like that for her. I didn’t expect to feel so relieved when her friends turned out to be good people. There’s a sense of jealousy there too—that these women know Ella in a way I might never understand. They knew her before and she has yet to share that with me.
I’m watching Ella’s face so intently that I miss the change in the conversation.
“—like James used to do.”
Her gaze drops down to the tea bag that sits on the edge of a small porcelain saucer, the smile still in place on her face. “Mm-hmm,” she answers.
Trish is still speaking, but I lose the rest entirely. It doesn’t matter. Ella runs her fingers through the napkin in her lap and raises her head to continue with the conversation.
I abandon all thoughts of anything other than signs of distress, staying relaxed. I’m not going to give her friends any indication there’s a problem—especially if there isn’t one yet.
At first I think Ella’s lifting her hand to touch her throat again, my body tense and waiting still. But then her fingertips hover over her lips.
My reaction is instant. I take out my phone and study the screen. “I need to step outside for a moment.” I speak over Kelly, effectively halting the conversation, saying it with a smile, and Trish and Kelly both smile back. “Ella, would you come with me?” I don’t dare glance at the other women, although their objections come with a short gasp from one of the two of them. She nods gratefully, not speaking, and I pull out her chair for her to stand. In her silence, I promise the women, “I’ll bring her back in a few minutes.”
“You’d better,” scolds Trish. It’s not lost on me that the two don’t speak while we leave. Which is certainly an indication that they will the moment we’re off.
With a hand on Ella’s lower back, I escort her out of the restaurant. Silently we descend the stairs, although her pace is quicker than my own. She turns immediately to the right and heads through a small alley that lets out to a riverwalk. The river in autumn reflects the colors of the trees, and Ella walks without hesitation to the railing and leans against it.
I should take my hand off her back.
I don’t.
Ella lifts her head and peeks at me. “I’m not going to jump.”
I think she means it as a joke, but I answer the emotion in her eyes instead of the words. “You’re thinking about that? Is that where your head has gone?”
She shakes her head. “No. But I was worried yours might be there.”
I assure her, “It’s not. And you would fail miserably if you attempted to jump while I was here.”
She huffs a small laugh with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes as she gazes over the still waters.
“I just needed some fresh air.” She touches the front of her chest, and I know. I know that feeling. Someone says a name you’re not expecting and you have a small heart attack. Hurts like the muscle itself has been bruised. I know it so well.
I hate this moment. This grief that she’s coping with. But to deal with it in such a healthy way, I admire her. “I am proud of you,” I tell her and she peers up at me.
“I couldn’t even last a brunch, and you’re proud.”
