Page 28 of Jealous of the Clouds
“No. At least I don’t think so. Thank god we haven’t moved in together yet. He presses me to make that leap. A lot. But hecould show up at my door, even tonight.” I visualized cowering in my own home, listening as the sound of the intercom buzzer grew more and more insistent as Josh, below, got angrier and angrier. It wasn’t just a fear; it was a certainty that what I feared was exactly what would happen. “But I’m so suffocated at the moment. Nothing to do with you, Karl. If anything, you’ve helped open my eyes to the danger I’m in. I just need to move, to go, to think…” My nerves felt raw, exposed.
“I get it,” he said. The sympathy in his features was obvious. “Go. And please, if you need anything or I can help in any way, let me know. And—keep me posted on how you’re doing.” He eyed me, making sure I returned his gaze. “I care.”
“Okay,” was all I could come up with to say in response. I hurried out of the restaurant…
…and into the rain.
The sky had opened up while I was inside, reflecting my inner turmoil. No matter if I got drenched or froze to death, I’d walk and walk until maybe I found some resolution, some way out of this web in which I’d inadvertently entangled myself. Spider and fly comparisons came to my mind.
I started down Belmont toward the lake. As I walked, businesses vanished from either side, replaced by apartment and condo buildings. The warm yellow lights in their windows, especially against the cold, merciless rain, looked homey, inviting—words I wasn’t sure I’d ever know again. The foot traffic dwindled too as I moved east.
At last, I came to Belmont Harbor. The moored sailboats and motor boats rocked and rolled on the dark waves. Not a soul was around.
I turned and headed north, up the lakefront trail, passing where the old Belmont rocks once were, replaced now with sterile concrete. Despite the rain—I was already drenched, anyway—I sat on the top concrete tier at the north end.
The water before me looked in turmoil, the waves ocean-like, big, capped with white. In addition to the rain, the waves’ spray splashed my face.
This is what misery looks like.
This is what misery feels like.
Where do I go? What do I do now? Was I being ridiculous? Overreacting?I didn’t think so. I mean, how many of us contemplate whether to break up with someone based on suspicion of murder? There’s a Hallmark movie you don’t see.
The last thought, in spite of my mood and the rain, made me smile, if only for a moment.
I stood wearily, feeling a hundred years old. Across the dark water, pale light flashed. Thunder rumbled, a giant’s growl.
I knew where I needed to go.
It had been too long since I’d seen the woman with whom I’d once been best friends, the woman I regarded as a twin sister—separated from me at birth.
Camille D’Amico was a few miles north, in the same Rogers Park neighborhood I lived in. The advantage of looking her up at this perilous point in time was sound—I’d never mentioned her to Josh. And even though her apartment was but a few blocks from mine, he’d never think to look for me there.
Despite what some might call a sarcastic sense of humor and cynical world view, Camille was warm. Nurturing. In the absence of my own parents, she was the next best thing, although I wouldn’t tell her she was a mother figure to me. She was nine years older, so the mom thing was unlikely. She’d listen without judgment and, if needed, protect me with the fierceness of a mother lion.
Chapter 10
One of the chief benefits of Camille’s yellow brick courtyard building was that it was only a few steps away from the lakefront. It was old and decidedly Chicago in its architecture. Tonight, the courtyard looked barren, the grass flattened by the rain, any plantings hibernating until spring. I hurried to the front door and pressed D’AMICO 4C.
I remembered her intercom was broken, so I wasn’t surprised when the buzzer sounded and the front door clicked, signaling it was unlocked. I hurried in, grateful for the warmth, the welcoming yellow light.
I moved through the second door and out of the vestibule. The building, like so many others of its ilk, was a walk-up. I got a little breathless as I mounted the last flight of stairs, wondering what Camille would make of this drowned rat version of me and my appearance at this late hour after no contact for a couple of months.
Her locks being unlocked made me think of a shotgun being cocked. The dark wood door above me opened as I was on the second-to-the-last stair from the top.
There stood Camille, in a quilted bathrobe, salt and pepper mane in disarray. She peered at me through large round red frames, her brown eyes magnified by the lenses. In one hand, she held a half-drunk martini.
“Ted,” she purred. “After all this time.” She smiled. “Rumors of your death, I see, have been greatly exaggerated.”
Her words, ridiculous and taunting as they were, were a balm to my soul. I realized suddenly how I missed laughing and gossiping with this woman. “I’ve never been so happy to seeyou,” I almost cried out, grateful for the warmth she managed to load into a few simple words.
“Never? Come on.” She stood back, opening the door wider to admit me. “What about that time I picked you up off the sidewalk on Halsted at two a.m.? Or that other time when you called me to come get you from that depraved trick’s house out in Palatine? Or the time…”
“Oh shut up.” I entered the apartment and, as I passed her, I could smell tobacco, Santal 33 perfume, and vodka—scents that oddly made me feel safe and at home.
“Did you just go for a swim in the lake? Moonlight body-surfing?” She chuckled.
“Something like that.” I moved into her living room and stared out through the bank of windows facing the lake, a puddle forming around my feet. Darkness pressed in like something palpable and alive. I knew I’d see the white caps atop the black water if I moved closer to the glass.
