The Words We Whisper by Mary Ellen Taylor

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

NICOLAS

Richmond, Virginia

Sunday, June 6, 3:30 p.m.

Nicolas drove around the city, trying to calm the restlessness seeing Zara had stirred up. Finally, when he felt settled, he drove to his hotel and parked in the lot. He didn’t get out right away but listened to a ZZ Top song and out of his pocket fished the crumpled paper that detailed Catherine’s bucket list. As he traced her handwriting with his finger, he remembered she had written the list shortly after the doctors had suspended chemo in May 2019, but she had not given it to him until July, a few days before she’d died.

Two years ago, he could have smelled her perfumed scent on the ivory paper, and if he’d closed his eyes, he could have pictured her sitting right next to him.

“Why’re you looking so serious?” she would tease.

“You know me. I worry about all the details.”

“It’s all going to work out.” She traced his jawline with her finger. “Don’t worry.”

But now when he studied the list and raised it to his nose, he did not see Catherine or hear her. All the images he now recalled were not from memory but from pictures. She was drifting away. He had lost her once to cancer, and now time was stealing her memory.

He had meticulously worked his way through her list in the requested order. It had cost him a damn fortune in flights, and some trips had required days of travel time. She had sent him on crazy, too-damn-expensive excursions that he would never in his life have attempted if she had not asked.

He traced Zara’s name, wondering when Catherine had added this last tidbit. “Why did she save you for last?”

He had asked Zara out for dinner, but she had refused him, so technically he had accomplished his task. Though technicalities were good enough for a court of law, they would not have flown with Catherine. Asking was not the same as doing, and the last box to check would not happen until he and Zara broke bread in some fashion. He dropped his head against the headrest. “Shit, Catherine. I need to move on, but I’m stuck.”

His phone rang. “Dad.”

“Where are you?” The old man’s voice grew gruff when he was worried.

“I’m in Richmond.”

“What are you doing there, son?”

“Catching up with a friend.”

“You have a job interview here in three days. You haven’t forgotten, have you?”

The interview was with his father’s law partner, who ran the firm’s day-to-day operations now. The plan had been for Nicolas to take over the firm, but when Catherine had died, Nicolas had quit his job, cashed out his investments, and started traveling. His old man had not said much initially, but when he’d come home for that first Christmas, both his parents had suggested he settle. With only one item completed on the list, he could not stop. So they had given him a pass for another year. Now the gloves were off, and both his folks were pressing him toward a normal existence.

Only he was not sure what normal was or if he cared about practicing law. But out of respect for his father, he had agreed. “I’ll be there.”

“Your mother had your suit cleaned. And my barber said he’d see you at a moment’s notice.”

He stabbed his fingers through his long hair. His parents loved him, and they wanted their boy back. They wanted their normal again.

“Thanks, Dad. I’ll be there.”

“When will you be home?”

“It’ll be a couple of days.”

“That’s cutting it close.”

“It’s only a two-hour drive.”

Silence echoed over the line. “Catherine wouldn’t want you drifting like this.”

But she had wanted him to wander. That was the purpose of the list. “I’m getting the last of it out of my system. Don’t worry, Dad. I’m not the crazed man I was two years ago.”

“Call me if you need anything.”

“I will.”

“I love you, son.”

“I love you, too, Dad.” He ended the call, entered the hotel, and rode the elevator to the ninth floor. Walking to the picture window, he looked out toward the still waters of the James River. A kayaker slowly passed, and as much as he wished he were on that river now, he could not outrun his life anymore.

He looked at Zara’s name on the list. Images of her sweat-stained shirt clinging to her breasts and the wild curls framing her face made him hard. His attraction surprised him because he had never thought of her this way.

He had weathered the loss of his wife, endured the worst of that horrific storm, and in some way, shape, or form had survived. And without the fear of crushing pain, there was now room for desire. He just hadn’t expected to feel it when Zara had bent over to pick up a random piece of junk in the garage.

“Shit, you’re going to hell, Nicolas. Catherine didn’t send you here to screw Zara. She sent you here to say thank you.”

He carefully folded the paper up and tucked it in his pocket. He was having tea with Zara and her grandmother tomorrow. That technically was breaking bread. But it was not a legit dinner.

Besides, they were dining with Nonna. Which really wasn’t bad at all. He liked the old woman. She was nobody’s fool, and like him, she understood the kind of loss that changed your life forever.

Nicolas braced for the sadness, expecting a right hook, but this time it did not sucker punch him.

As he turned from the window, he started whistling. And for the first time he was looking forward to tomorrow.