Page 76 of Nothing Less than Magic
“How about the sandwich shop you love on Market? The place with the homemade chips. Or if you’d rather, we could do pizza. Tony’s, your favorite. Whatever you want, Chels. This is a big day; a celebration is in order.”
“Pizza sounds good. What do you say we call ahead, so we don’t have to wait too long?” My body is constantly reminding me that it wasn’t just my head that was hurt in the accident. Most of the bruising on my legs, arms, and torso have either turned green or disappeared completely, but I’m still sore, as if it happened yesterday.
“You got it.” Austin jumps on his phone just as my favorite orderly, Clyde, arrives with the wheelchair.
“You’re leaving us, huh?” Clyde helps me get situated in the chair.
“I’m afraid so, Clyde.” We both laugh. “And guess what I’m having for lunch? Here’s a hint, pizza. Real pizza, not the kind on an English muffin with melted American cheese and soggy tomatoes.”
“I hear you, Ms. Knight. Be sure to have a slice for me. But I bet you’ll miss the Jell-O.” He winks, then wheels me down the long corridor, my exercise track for the last two weeks. I walked up and down that hallway more times than I can count, trying to regain my strength.
When we get to the large double glass doors, it’s sprinkling outside. Austin dashes off to bring the car, which he’s left in the visitor parking lot. Clyde and I make small talk until Austin pulls up in front of the doors in his BMW. I flash on Knox’s dinged-up pickup truck, and a touch of melancholy sets in.
Clyde wheels me to the passenger seat, and although I can do it myself, he helps me into the car. Soon, Austin is battling midday traffic in the city.
“The pizza is coming at two. Hopefully, when Ronnie stocked your fridge, she remembered a couple of bottles of wine.”
“You got one of those delivery companies?” I ask, surprised. Tony’s doesn’t deliver, and Austin doesn’t believe in paying for anything he can do himself. When we were married, it was a constant source of disagreement. We both work hard, and for me, the small expense is worth the convenience.
“Yep. No sense having you sit in the car any longer than necessary.” He puts his hand on my leg like it belongs there.
I quickly move it away.
“Sorry,” Austin says. “Did that hurt?”
“No. But I doubt Mary would approve.”
“Mary and I are no longer engaged, leaving me free to innocently touch my ex-wife, who also happens to be my best friend.”
Hmm, Ronnie certainly called that one.
“What happened with you and Mary?” I try to sound nonchalant, like it would be rude of me not to ask after he volunteered the information that they’d broken up.
“It’s a lot of things, too many to bore you with the details. But primarily it was you.” He slants me a sideways glance. “Almost losing you made me reevaluate what’s important. It made me reevaluate who I want to spend the rest of my life with.”
I feel the weight of those words. But before I can press him on them, we’re at my condo, and Austin is asking for the code to get into the underground parking structure. The password changes every month.
It’s one of the reasons we bought the apartment. I much preferred an older building, something from the 1920s with original hardwood floors and crown moldings. But those typically don’t come with parking. And this building came with two secure spots. A veritable gold mine in the city by the bay.
He slides into his old space and cuts the engine. “You ready to do this?”
At first, I’m not sure whatthisis. But when he comes around the car to get me, I realize he’s talking about resuming my old life, the time before the accident. He helps me out, then pops the trunk for my suitcase.
The other thing about this building is that it has an elevator. A few of them, actually. And in this moment, an elevator makes me even more happy than off-street parking.
I live on the sixth floor. It was the lowest floor we could get when condos in this building went on sale. The top floors with great city and bay views went first, of course. But because the bottom floors were the most affordable, there was a waiting list, leaving only condos on the middle floors. I let Austin convince me that six floors up wasn’t high enough to trigger my acrophobia. But it took me three months before I could open the drapes. I still can’t go out on the balcony, where I have a terrific view of the Bay Bridge.
Both Corrie and Ronnie have been here. I can tell because the house carries the faint smell of lemon polish and the organic cleanser Corrie uses to clean the floors. Ronnie has filled the house with all the flowers I received at the hospital and has left a stack of paperwork on the kitchen counter for me to sort through when I’m feeling up to it. For all intents and purposes, she’s been running the business since my accident and has been paying the bills and keeping the lights on.
I’d forgotten how beautiful the apartment is. Austin and I hired a decorator shortly after we closed escrow to rid the place of its soulless white walls and builder-grade fixtures. She came highly recommended from one of Austin’s coworkers and cost a pretty penny. But the end result is chic and luxurious, the kind of place where Uncle Sylvester would feel at home.
But seeing it today, the sleek white sofas, the abstract art, the miles of marble countertops, makes me wish I was at the cabin instead.
Austin flicks a switch, and the gas fireplace lights up. I used to think it was one of the best features of the apartment. But now, it just feels silly, like a pale imitation of the real thing. Something just for show.
He opens the fridge and peruses the shelves. “Ah-ha, Ronnie was thinking ahead.” He pulls out a chilled bottle of Lambrusco and places it on the center island. “Go get comfortable while we wait for the pizza, Chels. You want me to unpack for you?”
“No thanks. If you could just leave the suitcase in the bedroom, I’ll do it later.” I have nothing but time on my hands.
