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He shrugs indifferently. “Home.” He replies, “Where did you think?” He gives me a look. “Perhaps there’s something about being around you that exhausts me.” He adds wearily. “I’d ask you to come with me, but I wouldn’t want to scare you.”
“I’m not scared.” I reply. “You said you wouldn’t touch me unless I asked.”
“And you believe me?”
“Shouldn’t I?”
He shrugs again.
“Well then… since I’m sure I won’t ask, there’s no reason why I should keep you here when we can talk at… your apartment.” I smile at him.
Downstairs Steve is already waiting outside the front of the building. As soon as he sees us, he opens the door of a black SUV parked behind him on the sidewalk. I follow David inside, smiling in reply to Steve’s greeting. I notice that when his eyes fall on David, his expression turns to one of concern.
Once we’re inside the car, I turn to David, and notice that he’s sweating.
Why is he sweating? I can’t be having that much of an effect of him, can I?
“Are you all right?” I ask.
He turns to me, his eyes momentarily unfocused. “I’m fine.” He says tersely.
The drive to the apartment is short. As I climb out of the car. I falter for a second, assaulted by the memories and emotions rising in my chest as I take in the familiar building.
David walks ahead of me, then stops and turns around. “Are you coming?” he asks.
I nod and follow him. He doesn’t touch me, and I find myself missing the way his hand would linger at the small of my back when we walked together. It feels strange, being so close and yet so far.
The doorman beams at me, smiling as if I haven’t been gone for months. I smile back at him, trying to keep up with David, who, as usual, makes straight for the elevators.
“How does it feel to be back, Mrs. Preston?” David asks mockingly, as we start to ascend.
I shrug. “I’m not back.” I say.
He smiles without humor and turns away from me. I notice that he’s leaning on the metal railing and despite how
cool it is, he still has a sheen of sweat on his skin.
“David...” I say, concerned. “What’s wrong?”
He laughs bitterly. “Nothing.” He says sharply, dismissing my question, “Everything is just perfect.”
Upstairs, the familiar apartment is empty. I look around the familiar space, trying to keep my emotions in check. “Where’s Mrs. Daniels?’ I ask.
“It’s her day off.”
“Oh.” I watch as he drops unto a couch in the living room and closes his eyes.
“Would you like something to eat?” I ask.
He opens his eyes and gives me a measuring look. “You’re being such a dutiful little wife today, honey,” he says drily, “So concerned for my welfare.” He snorts. “How can I say no?”
I ignore his tone and go into the kitchen to find something for him to eat. Mrs. Daniels always has something in the fridge ready for the microwave. I find a dish wrapped in tinfoil with fish and some sort of sauce. Working fast, I warm it up and put it on a tray.
Back in the living room, David seems to have fallen asleep.
I set the tray on the dining table, keeping one eye on him. He’s breathing deeply, his chest rising and falling slowly. After I set the table, I go over to him. There’s still a layer of moisture on his face, which looks drawn and tired. He’s still wearing his tie and jacket, and for a second, I wonder if I should take them off him.
Of course I should, I decide, it’s ridiculous to feel so nervous around a sick person.
