“You have it.” Then she kissed me, her kiss soft and warm. It didn’t ask anything of me. Instead, it was a sign of love and affection. My mind said I should make love to her, but my body said sleep.
My body won out. Thirteen hours of work every day for the past six weeks was grueling and had sapped me of any extra energy. I needed to sleep.
“I’ll leave you to do whatever it is you artist-types do to wind down,” I said and yawned. “I have to go to sleep. Early morning again tomorrow.”
“I know,” she said and got up, waiting while I stood and took her in my arms. “I’m going to check my emails and tidy up in my studio. I won’t be too much longer.”
We parted at the door, Kate going to her studio and me to the bedroom. After brushing my teeth and stripping off my clothes, I crept into bed and slipped under the sheets. I would have liked to have Kate there with me so I could snuggle up against her as usual, but I understood how hard it was to come down after a day totally absorbed in her art.
It made me exceedingly satisfied to see her so busy with her paintings. I knew it was what she really enjoyed doing, and so I felt as if she was finally discovering what she really wanted.
To paint.
To be my wife.
I couldn’t be happier about both.
I turned over and reached out my hand to find cool bare sheets instead of the soft warm flesh of my beloved, but despite going to bed alone, I felt a contentment I had never felt before. I felt as if my life was finally coming together. I received a fellowship to specialize in pediatric neurosurgery back at NYU, under the guidance of Fred Parker who was one of the top specialists in the field in the Northeast. I was going to be married to Kate, a woman who embodied everything I ever wanted in a partner and lover. I closed my eyes and drifted off, the low sweet strains of Debussy in the background lulling me to sleep.
CHAPTER TWO
Kate
I left Drake and went to my studio to finish up what I was working on when he arrived home. I should have gone to bed with him, because he liked to snuggle before he fell asleep, but my mind was in a state of euphoria after the day spent painting. It was like a drug, that state I went into when completely absorbed in a work. Time seemed to stand still, and the world fell away. All that existed was the canvas, the brushes, the paints and the idea of what I wanted to accomplish.
Minutes turned to hours, and before I knew it, the day had gone.
When Drake arrived home, I was shocked to see that it was already nine at night. I’d skipped breakfast and shoved a turkey sandwich down my throat for lunch but had nothing else but coffee for the entire day. The painting was going very well. Better than I expected. It really looked like my father and I got a choky feeling in my throat when I looked at it from a distance.
The photograph I used had been taken before his stroke when he still looked like himself—stocky, vigorous, with eagle-sharp eyes and a beak of a nose. He would be fearsome to those who came before him in court. I always thought he was an old grouch. The “Drill Sergeant” as Heath and I called him when we were teens.
Now, I knew him better than ever, and it was because I saw him through Drake’s eyes. I saw him for the compassionate and thoughtful man who took Drake under his wing when Drake’s father died.
Drake helped me to see how lucky I was to have a father like him—a father who was present at family dinners on a regular basis, and involved in our daily lives. My father was always on top of things like homework and interests, school activities and friends.
Drake had missed out on a family like mine. Now, he wanted to be the kind of husband my father was to my mother when I was growing up. Eventually, he wanted to be the kind of father to our children that my father had been to me.
I still felt a thrill of excitement when I thought about marrying Drake. Even though we’d been living together for six months, I felt giddy when he came home after a long day at the hospital. He made my pulse race.
But at that moment, I couldn’t sleep. Instead, I puttered around my studio, screwing lids back on tubes of acrylic paint, washing brushes in the en-suite bathroom sink. Once satisfied, I went to the kitchen and rustled around in the cupboard in search of my decaf chai tea. I wanted to sit down before I went to bed and read over my emails, make sure I didn’t miss anything important from Elaine or my father.
After the kettle boiled, I took my steaming mug and went to my desk in Drake’s office and sat down, legs crossed, and checked my mail.
Most of it was spam, but there were a few of note. One from the registrar at Columbia with more information on important dates for returning graduate students. Another was from Elaine with an update on how my father was doing with his rehab.
One caught my eye and sent a shock through me.
It was from Dawn.
I chewed my bottom lip and hesitated before opening it. Did I want to read a letter from her at this time of night? If it upset me, I might not be able to fall asleep and it was already pretty late.
My finger hovered over the trackpad, and then I clicked on the email icon.
Her letter popped open and I read, holding my breath in hopes it wasn’t a lecture.
Hi, Kate…
Hope this finds you well. I hear from Dave Mills that you’re coming back in a few weeks and will be going to Columbia to work on your MA. I am so glad to hear that!