Page 60 of Corkscrew You
“What now?” says Chiara, when we’re out on the street. “Shall I blag us into Bartons?”
“No, I need pizza,” says Jordan. “With extra cheese. And then alotof ice cream.”
The pizza parlour in Verity is … not great. But Jordan’s the one in emotional need tonight, and so that’s where we go.
I get home around ten-thirty, to an enthusiastic greeting from Dylan. Dogs are asleep on my bedroom floor and acknowledge me with a brief wagging of tails. The cats are on my bed and couldn’t give a fig whether I’m back or not. I brush my teeth and get into what passes for pajamas – a T-shirt even older than the ones I usually wear – and part the cats to either side so I can actually fit onto the bed.
Then I lie there, thinking about Nate. About how he must have felt finding out his dad was critically ill. How frustrating and scary it must be now to witness him refuse treatment.
At least with my dad, he was willing to do whatever it took to fight the cancer, and he kept it up, despite the horrendous toll on him physically and emotionally. Chemosucks. Dad admitted that sometimes he thought he’d be better off giving up. He might die quicker, but at least he’d feel like a whole person and not a retching, feeble, hairless shell of a man.
But he pushed through the chemo, and the cancer went into remission. It felt like sucha victory. I really thought – we all did – that he’d beaten it for good. Dad made you believe anything was possible if you put your mind to it. Though he was proved wrong, and cancer got him in the end, I still want to believe that.
How hard must it be for Nate to watch his father put his life at risk, even if the guy doesn’t think that’s what he’s doing…
My phone’s on the bedside table. I shouldn’t do this. It’s late, which isn’t professional.
Thing is, I couldpretendit’s a business text, by asking him how his meeting went with JP. Nate told me he was going to see him. Didn’t say why, but I assume JP requires a regular check-in.
It’s ten forty-five, and all I have is the flimsiest and most transparent reason for contacting Nate. He’ll see through it in an instant and, quite rightly, will ignore me until tomorrow morning. Or Monday, which would be the professional time to have this conversation.
Of course, I text him. What did you think?How did ur meeting go with JP?
I don’t expect a response. I jump out of my skin when the phone rings.
It can’t be Nate, surely? “Hi?”
“Hey.”
It’s Nate.
“I thought you’d ignore me,” I say. “Given this is a dumb time to text.”
“I’m lying on the bed staring at the ceiling,” he replies. “Dumb is the theme of the evening.”
My whole being suddenly craves to be there with him. I want to feel his skin against mine, and I want to comfort him with my touch and my kisses. The urge is so strong, for a moment, I can hardly breathe.
“Shit…” I hear him murmur. Maybe he’s telepathic?
“Are you OK?” I ask. “I’m worried about you.”
“Worried aboutme?” He sounds genuinely surprised.
“I found out about your dad.”
May as well come clean. You can waste a lot of energy keeping secrets.
“Did you,” he says, flatly. “May I ask how?”
“Chiara.”
After a beat, he says, “If she’d been around during World War II, it would have been over by Christmas.”
“Preach it,” I say, despite being one thousand percent white.
He’s silent again for a while. I’m happy to wait. I like listening to his breathing.
“Can I ask you a personal question?” he says.
