I nod as I feel his lips rush over my cheek. Tomorrow. That's the day I'll tell him about Cleo.
Chapter 11
"It wasn't Maisy?" Zoe holds up the carafe of cream. "Do you want some of this in your coffee?"
I shake my head slightly, holding my hand over the rim of the paper cup. "I don't have cream in my coffee."
"Right." She dips her chin down as she rips open the corner of a small packet of sugar. "Vanessa takes cream."
It's an off-handed comment that isn't supposed to sting as much as it does. Zoe's life is a balancing act. When she's not taking care of Vane, she's either in class at law school or working her way through her internship at an office in mid-town. The fact that she wanted to pour cream into my coffee is a gesture that comes from a helpful place in her heart. She can't know that it only punctuates the fact that she and Vanessa are closer than the two of us will ever be.
"We can sit over there by the window." I gesture towards a small, empty table next to two wooden chairs.
She tips the cup in her hand in that direction. "That's perfect."
I walk silently through the crowded café towards the table hopeful that by the time we reach it, another New Yorker hasn't settled there to read the morning paper or work on their laptop.
I skim the room as I take a seat at the table, waiting for Zoe to lower herself onto the chair opposite me.
"Vanessa said it was her sister or something," she says loudly as she blows a puff of air over the cup. She holds tightly to the base when she snaps the plastic lid back on top. "Did you even know she had a sister?"
I'm tempted to push back with a question about whether Zoe knows if the girlfriend that Beck had before they married had a sibling. Until a few days ago I didn't even know that Dane had a brother. I wouldn't label myself as informed when it comes to the important people in his life or the lives of the people he once loved.
"They look a lot alike," I offer. "I can see how Vanessa mistook Cleo for Maisy."
"Is Maisy in a wheelchair too?" Her face twists into a grimace. "That sounded insensitive. I didn't mean it like that."
She didn't mean it in any way other than curiosity. I know that. "Maisy isn't in a wheelchair. Vanessa saw them both at the hospital at different times. Maisy was sitting in the cafeteria and then she saw Cleo a few weeks later in her wheelchair."
"What were they doing at the hospital?"
It's a question I have absolutely no answer for. I've been meaning to ask Dane about his mother's relationship with his ex-girlfriend and her family but if I'm being honest with myself, the answer isn't something I'm sure I want to hear.
I don't have an ex-boyfriend who keeps in touch with my parents. Most of the boys I dated when I lived in Connecticut didn't even want to hang around my mom and dad when we were immersed in a relationship. I can't imagine any of them purposefully making plans to spend time with them. It's an abstract concept to me, but apparently it's not to either Maisy or Cleo.
"I think Cleo was there because she had a baby."
"How does that work?" She leans her elbows on the edge of the table. "I didn't know that women in wheelchairs could have children."
I didn't know either but it wasn't a conscious thought I had when I first realized she was pregnant. I didn't question the mechanics of how it was possible. I just reveled in the joy that had radiated from Cleo that day I met her. It was only a week later, after I saw another pregnant woman dining on a patio at a restaurant that the question crossed my mind. I'd meant to ask Vanessa about it back then but it didn't hold even importance for me to remember it.
"I don't know the details of her condition." I want to convey the sensitivity I feel. "It's something I want to talk to Dane about."
"Do you think he'll be open to talking about her?"
I haven't confided in Zoe since I left her apartment the morning that I thought Maisy was carrying Dane's son. It's not because I don't trust her with the complicated details of Dane's past. I don't want to cloud our friendship with all of the uncertainty I'm feeling.
I asked Zoe to meet me for coffee this morning so I could feel normal again, or at the very least, as normal as my life can be right now. I want to hear about her son, her job and I'm even hoping that she'll have a story or two to tell me about the people who live in her building. No one can gossip about strangers the way Zoe can. It's an escape from reality that I desperately need at this moment.
"I think he will be," I finally answer after taking a long sip of my coffee. "He told me he wants to talk about her."
"Get all the answers you need now, Bridge." She licks a drop of cream from below her lip after taking a drink. "Don't get closer to him until you know everything you need to about his ex-girlfriend and her family."
I stare across the table at her, knowing that it's the voice of experience talking to me. Zoe may not have faced the exact same scenario as I am when she first met Beck, but I sense she made certain that every skeleton in his closest was cleared out before she gave her heart to him.
Chapter 12
"I've been meaning to ask you something." I swallow hard past the lump in my throat. "It's about the night of the fire."
He pulls in a sharp breath. "The fire in Queens?"
I nod. "How are the boys that were in the fire?"
His gaze travels past my face towards the open kitchen of the small bistro we're sitting in. "They're both still in serious condition. I've been back to visit them at the hospital a few times."
I'm not surprised by that. I could tell, when he confessed that he'd been at the fire, that he was shaken to his core by the injuries the boys had sustained. I'd stopped at the bodega near my apartment one day when I'd noticed the newspaper's headline about the two boys along with a picture of their smiling faces. They'd both suffered smoke inhalation and burns to their hands and torsos. Dane was credited for helping to save them. I wasn't surprised in the least that he didn't mention the fact that he had raced into the house, along with several other neighbors, to carry the boys to safety.
"I hope they pull through." There aren't words that can properly convey what I'm feeling. I may not know the two youngsters, but any compassionate person would want them to recover so they can live the lives they're meant to.
A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "They're fighters. They've got a lot of support around them. The prognosis looks good."
"I'm glad," I say looking around the bustling eatery. Dane had asked me to meet him here because he wanted to grab lunch before he came over to my place. He already had ordered for us both by the time I arrived and now as I sip the lemonade the waiter brought for me, I realize that I don't have the small card that has Cleo's hospital room number written on it. It's still tucked deep within the pocket of the jeans that I tossed onto a chair yesterday after Dane left.
"Are you looking for someone?" he asks casually. "You seem nervous, Bridget."
I am. I didn't come here to eat half of the club sandwich he ordered for us to share. My stomach is doing so many flip flops at this point that I doubt I'll even be able to finish my lemonade. I need to ask him why he was at the house he shared with Maisy the night of the fire. It shouldn't be this difficult to form the question, but for some reason I feel as though I'm on the edge of a cliff that I don't want to jump off of.