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“Sometimes grief demands so much that your sanity requires you escape it, even if only for a few hours. Believe me, I know.” His brow furrowed.
“You understand.” Relieved not to feel alone, she appreciated being seen. Platitudes of sympathy from friends and strangers helped, but he understood at a personal level what others couldn’t imagine.
Eager to shift the conversation, she repositioned her legs to be more comfortable. “Do you live alone in New York?”
“Yes, but after my hand heals and I can work again, I might move. I don’t know.” He darted a glance out the window. “In Ukraine, the medical team lived together like a family, and we processed the rough times together. New York’s lively, but I haven’t found a niche there. First, though, I need to get my head together.”
“I can relate.” While determined to avoid judgment, she couldn’t deny his erratic behavior unnerved her. To be fair, she’d avoided dealing with any of the Cedarcliff trauma herself. Denial’s sweet relief demanded nothing of her, so she mentally packed away the disturbing memories, boxed them to process later, and scheduled them for the calendar block labeled never. If her approach blew up at an inconvenient time, so be it. Rubbing Mark’s shoulder, she chose compassion over doubt and took a chance. “Stay with me for a couple of days.”
“That’s very kind, but I don’t want to trouble you. I’ll sleep downstairs.” He moved to stand, and the blanket dropped to the floor.
“Maybe I don’t want to be alone, either. Stay, and we’ll sort things out tomorrow.” She reached for his unscarred hand and stroked his fingers. Pinpointing her feelings proved impossible. The passion they shared tantalized her, but the backdrop of his distress made her pause. Her desire, loneliness, and curiosity tangled into a ball of confusing emotions she couldn’t unravel.
“Thanks, but no. You need sleep to heal, and I won’t risk hurting you if I suffer another night terror.” He grabbed his clothes from the floor and headed downstairs.
Stung, Tess crawled under the covers. Grief had squeezed her heart like a vise all year, and the sexual relief they’d shared comforted and healed her. However imperfect their respective states of mind, desire outweighed wariness, and she was too spent to discern whether getting involved was wise or foolish.
Exhausted but wired, she craved the release of oblivion and popped a double dose of oxycodone capsules. With luck, tomorrow she’d know what to do next, because right now, she had no clue.
After hours of rain, faint sunlight filtered through her bedroom’s curtains and roused Tess from her painkiller-laced sleep. Fragments of a conversation lodged in her ear, and she pieced together Mark was in the kitchen, speaking to a woman. Curious, she slipped out of her bed’s warm cocoon to investigate and lunged to pick up her crutches before skulking to the top of the second-floor landing.
Through the staircase spindles, she spotted Mark leaning against the fridge and holding his phone with an arm extended, taking a video call. The screen was too far away to see the caller. Pressing herself against the hallway corner out of sight, she strained to hear a few sentences.
“I trust you, so I don’t understand why you want me to be miserable. I feel like you’re punishing me when I haven’t done anything wrong.” Mark pushed a hand through his tousled hair.
“That’s because I don’t think you’re being honest with me, or yourself, about what’s going on. You haven’t convinced me you’ll change.”
Hearing the woman’s dropped r’s and long, drawn-out vowels, Tess pegged the caller as a native New Yorker. Did Mark have a girlfriend? Passion prevailed over reason last night, and she hadn’t even thought to ask if he was seeing someone. Jealous feelings arose, and she failed to banish them and erase her lingering doubts.
“But I’ve changed everything. I’ve quit my job, so I can’t be a workaholic anymore, and I’ll have more free time. I can’t give anything more.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and stretched his neck. “I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later, and I’ll be back in a couple of days so we can talk about this in person. Bye.”
Careful not to make a sound, she slinked back to the bathroom to process what she’d heard. Once there, she signaled she was awake by making more noise than necessary while washing her hands. Unable to resist their magnetic attraction, she admittedly let herself get swept away last night. Before Cedarcliff, Mark had a life in New York. Between their chemistry, his PTSD, and this suspicious phone call, she fought a wave of jealous nausea. Defenses firmly back in place, she resolved to maintain more distance and tightened her robe before heading downstairs.
In the dining room, Mark was reading The New York Times like nothing unusual had transpired a few hours earlier, let alone five minutes ago. His golden features projected a portrait of calm, and nothing seemed awry.
“I’m glad you got back to sleep. Would you like some coffee? I just brewed a pot.” He stood, pulled out a chair, and gestured for her to sit.
“Yes, please.” Tess shuffled to the table and eased herself into the chair. “How are you feeling this morning?”
Mark went to the kitchen and returned moments later with a steaming cup of coffee. “Better, thanks, but I’m embarrassed and sorry about disturbing you last night.”
“No one could blame you for needing recovery time, Mark. I can’t face thinking about Cedarcliff.” Aiming to connect through their shared experience, she heightened the empathy in her voice.
“You can’t avoid it forever.”
“Watch me.” In truth, sometimes bravado was the only thing keeping her afloat. A vision of Sergey crossed her mind, and she dismissed it. Eager for a change of scenery and fresh air, she devised a plan. “Fall sunshine in Seattle deserves celebration, and I need to get out of the house. I’m taking you to Ballard, our Scandinavian neighborhood. Game?” A quest for lye-soaked fish sounded like a death wish, not a delicacy, but keeping the mood light today seemed wise. To her relief, Mark rewarded the suggestion with a satisfied smile.
“Great, but you’re taking oxy, so you can’t drive. I’ve got a rental car, so I can drive us.”
“I’ll get dressed, and we’ll head out.” As she dressed, she figured a casual brunch would prove an enjoyable distraction from topics she wished to avoid, like Cedarcliff or PTSD.
Minutes later, Tess helped Mark navigate to the waterfront neighborhood northwest of Lake Union and suggested a small Scandinavian deli on bustling Market Street. They parked close to the Ballard Locks, where ships crossed from Seattle’s sprawling lakes into Puget Sound’s seawater. Seagulls squawked above them in the salty, brisk air, scavenging for food. The deli exuded minimalist Scandinavian design, as exhibited by the polished white counters and modern, angled chairs. Natural light beamed through the oversized windows.
A vast glass display offered a tidy assortment of unfamiliar but tasty-looking dishes. Tess peered at the options, unable to choose. “Hmm. I recognize the salmon, but I’m not sure about the rest.”
“Ja. Here we have the koldtbord, what you call smorgasbord, along with gravlax with dill.” Rubbing his hands, Mark surveyed the menu items offered. He shuffled to the second display case and pointed to entrées. “The white fish is boiled cod, served with roasted beets, and the round balls are kumla, potato dumplings. What would you like?”
“I’ll try anything except that.” Unable to identify the species, she pointed to an animal head on a plate surrounded by vegetables. While not a vegetarian, she couldn’t imagine eating the decapitated head of…well, anything.
