Her rapid transformation sent up a million red flags of concern. He’d have more to address than her constant disappearances the next time he saw her.
“Okay.” He told her what she wanted to hear, but it pained him to agree. He wanted to see her. This was his Jude—all over the place, a crazy hat on, wrinkled skirt, and red snow boots—and he was holding himself in place so he didn’t grab her and take her inside to talk now. Instead, he watched her nod as she backed away again.
In return, she gave him a small, familiar smile, then blew him a kiss. “Soon,” she said. “I promise.”
While she walked away from him, he realized how much he had missed her, missed Jude. “Tuesday,” he yelled down the street. “Meet me here on Tuesday at noon.”
She waved, and even with the distance between them, he could see that life had returned to her eyes. She was vibrant. Kodachrome. She was that rainbow she’d spoken of the first time he’d met her, come to life. “I’ll be here,” she called back to him before rounding the corner.
He couldn’t stop his smile in return.
On Tuesday, Taylor left work early to get back to his apartment by noon. He didn’t want to be late. He didn’t want to keep her waiting, so he took a taxi. The cab pulled up out front and he saw Jude leaning against the wall looking from left to right for him. She didn’t notice him right in front of her until it was too late. He cupped her face and kissed her. When he leaned back to look her in the eyes, he said, “You use impossible a lot. Well, I find it impossible to resist your lips.” He kissed her again. “Let’s go upstairs.”
He grabbed her hand and started leading her against the breeze to the door, but her feet were planted and she didn’t budge. “No, Hazel.”
Turning back to her, he questioned, confused why they had stopped. “What? Why not? I thought we were going to talk?”
“We are, but somewhere else.”
“Why not my place?”
“If I step foot in that apartment, I don’t know if I’ll be able to leave.”
With a playful grin, he pulled her hat farther down her forehead, and said, “I don’t see the problem.”
Jude blushed, which was part of the problem. He did things to her… he made her want to do things she couldn’t want to do anymore. Mustn’t want anymore.
That was the natural pink he’d missed. Bending down, he kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll go wherever you want to go, Jude.”
She looked around and suggested, “What about the new gallery two blocks up?”
“Okay.”
They held hands as they walked, neither protesting. They had minutes left together and they didn’t want to waste one of them.
Taylor felt happy, happier than he had in weeks. Jude appeared happy to him as well. She was trying hard not to look at him, but he would catch her eyes on him every now and then, and he liked it. He didn’t know how today was going to go, but he was ready with an arsenal of reasons of why they were worth a real try.
When they entered the gallery, she took a pamphlet, folded it, and tucked it into her pocket. He followed her in and while she stood in front of the first installation, tilting her head all the way left, he watched her. Her long neck was beautifully curved, her hair falling unevenly to the side, her feet together, and hands behind her back. Standing upright, she turned over her shoulder, and asked, “What do you think?”
“Beautiful.”
She scrunched her nose and looked back at it. “Really? I think it’s gross.” When she stepped to the side, he could see the mass of green mold covering the compost contained in the acrylic box. “But you know the old saying, ‘Art is in the eye of the beholder.’”
He started laughing, sort of embarrassed she thought he’d said rotting food was beautiful, but he didn’t correct her. “I thought it was beauty? Beauty is in the eye of the beholder?”
Pondering that, she shrugged and smiled. “Well I have no idea then. But I still think it’s gross.”
He got up and they walked side by side to the next installation—a series of very tiny paintings, landscapes. They stood very close to the wall and took in each one, moving around each other to see the intricate detailing. She bumped him and he staggered a step over. Laughing, he returned and bumped her. Harder than he meant to. She ran right into a very serious-looking man who didn’t appreciate the distraction from the art. Jude brushed her hand down his arm, and said so sweetly, “I’m so sorry. I lost my footing.”
He snapped at her, “You should have that checked out.”
So Taylor stepped in, brought her into his side, and said, sternly, “She apologized. You should be grateful she bothered.”
He eyed Taylor and walked away.
New Yorkers. So jaded, Taylor thought. He kept his arm in place and said, “I don’t have much time. We should talk.”
Jude nodded, dreading the conversation she never wanted to have. As they walked silently through the gallery, holding hands, they looked everywhere but at each other. Finally they reached a terrace on the second floor, and even though it was cold outside, they chose to talk out there.
She spun around once with her arms in the air before leaning against the railing and pulling him to her by his coat. His expression was soft while his body was pressed hard against her. “Kiss me,” she said.
To Taylor, Jude was irresistible. So he kissed her. But the talk hung over their heads, casting shadows on them. When their lips parted, she kept her eyes closed and her lips ready, waiting for more from his.
“Where did you go?” he asked, wanting to kiss her more than he needed answers. But the questions still plagued him. “Why did you not return?”
“I did return. I’m here.”
“Now. You’re here, now.”
Leaning her cheek against his chest, she replied, “Yes, Hazel. I’m here now. Hold me.”
His arms wrapped around her and they swayed together, the sonata of the street below played their song. Minutes passed before he finally spoke. “Are you going to leave me again?”
“Not if I have a say,” she whispered, her arms tucked between them.
“Can I see you tonight?”
The heavy burden of her life weighed her down twenty-two hours a day. She didn’t want it to be a part of the two hours she lived for, the two hours she survived for, the two hours that kept her breathing. But he deserved more, even if it was more than she could give. “No.”
His arms tightened around her and he kissed her forehead. She had become a puzzle that refused to be solved, but remained the answer to the most important questions in life.
In his arms, she could hear him gulp, gulping down the protests that she herself felt confined by. There was no good answer she could give to ease him, so she closed her eyes and listened to his heartbeat instead.
Quietly, he asked, “You’re not going to give me anything, are you?”
She placed a kiss on his chest though he couldn’t feel it through the layers of fabric. “I’m giving you all I can. The rest, we’ll have to trust to the future.”
Taylor understood blind faith. He lived with it every day, just like he lived with Parkinson’s. When he felt the tendons begin to shake, he held her tighter to stop the onslaught. “Trust is like the wind, my sweet Jude. It slips away before you have a chance to catch it.”
She sighed. “I wish we had met in another time and another place. Life would be so much easier if I wasn’t broken.”
“Life is tragic,” he said, knowing this too well.
“Love is tragic,” she whispered, feeling lost to the life she lived.
“Love is devastating to one’s heart.”
She looked up at him, resting her chin on his chest. “You say that as if you’ve loved before.”
“I say it from feeling it.” With you. He backed away from her and took hold of the door. “My lunch is over.”