Page 52 of That Weekend in Paris
“I do miss her,” I say, biting my lower lip, still resting my cheek against his chest. “Sometimes I would give anything just to be able to pick up the phone and call her to hear her say, ‘Hey, sweetie, how are you?’ Until I lost her, I never understood how rare the kind of love she had for me is. And I didn’t have any brothers or sisters. It’s just a fact that once we lose our parents and grandparents, no one in our lives will ever love us like that again.”
Klein pushes me back a little, so he can look down at me. “You do deserve to be loved like that, Dillon. And the right husband would love you like that. It’s supposed to be unconditional. Isn’t that what marriage vows are supposed to be about?”
“Yeah,” I say, “they are supposed to be that. But mine didn’t end up being like that.”
“I don’t think that’s your fault,” he says softly.
“I wasn’t the perfect wife by any stretch, Klein. I’m not trying to say that I was.”
“I know,” he says. “I wish I’d had a chance to meet your mother.”
“I wish you had, too,” I say with a teary smile. “Oh my gosh. She would have been so in love with you.” I realize then exactly how much I’ve said and break off there.
“That could only be the highest compliment, given the woman you’ve described.”
I sit up, rub at a spot on his T-shirt. “Somehow, I managed to get pizza sauce on you.”
He smiles. “No biggie.”
I sit up, throw my legs over the side of the bed, my back to him now. “Thank you, Klein, for listening. I really didn’t mean to open all of that up, but I do appreciate your kindness.”
“You don’t need to thank me, Dillon. That’s what friends are for, a shoulder to lean on when you need it.”
I nod, still not facing him. Friends, that is what we are, and he truly is an amazing one. But I need to remember that this isn’t more than that, and that it’s not ever going to be more.
Klein
“The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page.”
?St. Augustine
WE BOTH FALL asleep on the bed watching a movie. I wake up sometime in the middle of the night to find Dillon curled up against me, and it takes a few moments for me to remember where I am and who it is I’m in bed with. I start to move but then decide against it, not wanting to wake her. She makes a small sound of protest and curls closer. I stare at the ceiling and count to thirty. I force myself to recite lyrics, anything to keep my mind from wandering to the obvious fact that there’s a beautiful woman wrapped around me, and I can’t do a thing about it.
I probably count a couple of thousand sheep by the time I actually fall asleep again. The next time I wake up, it’s morning, and the sunlight is streaming in through a crack in the curtains. I feel a jolt on the other side of the bed, turn my head to see Dillon looking at me with wide eyes. “I’m sorry. I meant to sleep on the couch,” she says.
“It’s not a problem,” I say. “We were both out like a light. That doesn’t say a lot for the movie, though.”
“No, it doesn’t,” she says. “Would you like some coffee if I order some?”
“I would love some.” I walk to the bathroom and close the door, turning on the shower and stepping under the cold spray. When I come back out, a silver tray sits on the corner of the bed. Dillon is sipping from a cup of coffee.
“Sorry, I couldn’t wait,” she says. “It smelled too good.”
“It does smell good.” I pour myself a cup and say, “What time was the rental car company dropping off the car?”
“Nine,” she says. “It should be out front waiting for us.”
“That gives us about forty-five minutes to get packed up and checked out.”
“I’m going to grab a quick shower,” Dillon says, and disappears into the bathroom with her coffee.
Once she’s no longer in the room, I drop down on to the bed, take another fortifying sip of coffee, and ask myself if the two of us spending more time together is really a good idea. My life is pretty much a mess. Dillon’s not even divorced yet. And I’m playing with fire. I do know that much. I think about waking up in the middle of the night and realizing she was in bed beside me, and one thing I know for sure is we can’t be sharing a bed. I don’t have that much faith in my willpower.
Would it be wiser to tell Dillon we should just get together for some writing sessions in Nashville? I am pretty sure that would be the smart thing to do. But it isn’t what Iwant todo.
~
A BELLMAN COLLECTS our luggage from the room, and we meet him at the entrance to the hotel. I’ve already checked out by calling the front desk and settling the bill. A young man greets us at the rental car, handing me the keys and wishing us a pleasant journey.
