She didn’t seem like any other female friend, though. Standing there in front of him, her face was illuminated by the floodlights dotting the lawn. She looked like the Hanna he used to know, the one who dribbled on him in parks, and flirted with him at parties. She looked like his Hanna.
“Come here.” It was a demand, not a request. He didn’t wait for her answer. One step forward and he had his arms around her, breathing in the fragrance of her shampoo as he gathered her body against his.
Jesus, she was cold. Her skin felt like ice to the touch, and he was kicking himself for not doing this earlier. It wasn’t a sexual embrace at all. It was the gesture of one human to another, offering warmth and comfort.
That was his line, and he was sticking to it.
Hanna opened her mouth to say something, but her voice was drowned out by the noise of the first of the fireworks exploding overhead. Purples and greens cascaded through the air, drawing a collective gasp from the crowds.
She was holding herself awkwardly in his arms. Like she was afraid to move, or put her arms around him, and it made him hold her closer still. She felt like a wild animal, curious enough to allow itself to be picked up, but nervous once in his arms. He willed Hanna to let herself relax, let him warm her up, because right now she felt like a frozen icicle, all rigid and inflexible.
When the second firework exploded, Hanna lifted her head to watch, her features fixed in an expression of wonder. Maybe that was why he found her so much more fascinating to watch than the display of pyrotechnics overhead.
“Did you arrange these, as well?”
Hanna suppressed a smile. “When you mention kids and 9/11, it’s amazing how generous people can be.”
She caught his eye for a moment, and it was enough to make him twitch. As her body warmed up, his need to protect her was being replaced by something stronger and more primal. This was a dangerous line he was treading. He’d forgotten what it was like to be involved in a maelstrom of emotions, his heart beating faster and his blood racing. Was it preferable to the calm, reassuring certainty offered to him by Meredith?
He wasn’t sure.
“It’s amazing how generous you’ve been.” He cupped her cheek with his hand, causing a shock of surprise to flash across her face. “You’ve spent the last few months sorting this out, and I know you’ve given up so much of your free time, not to mention your vacation.”
She was so still in his arms, he thought she might be in shock. He wondered if she was afraid, like he was, of breaking down the walls they’d so carefully constructed. They’d both made separate deals with the devil, promising not to step over the invisible line if it allowed them to be in each other’s lives. They’d made the mistake once before of trying to be lovers, and look how that turned out.
“I like being able to help…” Her voice was just a murmur, her words trailing off when the next round of fireworks started up. This time she didn’t watch, just stared at him as her face reflected the colors of the explosions in the sky. She went from orange, to green, to red, and he licked his dry lips, trying to decide on his next move.
Letting go wasn’t an option he considered.
“Hanna,” he murmured, so quietly she couldn’t hear him. He wasn’t sure he wanted her to. He dropped his forehead to touch hers, her eyes widening when she saw the expression on his face. He thought of his wild animal analogy again. She was never going to be his, but it was enough to see her, watch her from afar, to ensure she was safe and happy.
Nineteen
February 9th 2010
Hanna wasn’t sure how she’d ended up sitting in the corner of a dingy bar, pouring the dregs out of a bottle of wine. Her wine glass was well used, marred by lipstick and finger marks, red droplets clinging to the rim. She nodded at the barman to order another, figuring she may as well end this day the way she had begun it.
In a complete state.
She hadn’t even realized the significance of the date until she was on the subway train, rocking on her tiptoes so her fingers could grasp the rail to prevent her flying into a fellow commuter. The man next to her was reading the New York Times, folding it up into quarters so he didn’t disturb anybody else, and it was then that her eyes had flicked over the numbers on the corner of the page.
It had been years since she’d last had a panic attack, but Hanna recognized the symptoms straight away. Her heart raced, her breath became harsh and she felt as if she was about to fall down and convulse on the dusty train floor. It seemed like the worst place in the world to have a seizure. It was all she could do to hang on to a thread of sanity before the train came to its next stop.
She didn’t bother to look to see where she was, just ran out through the sliding doors and up the platform, panicking again when her card didn’t open the barrier the first time. Her hands were shaking hard, the feeling of nausea bubbling away at the pit of her stomach, and she only cleared the exit by a couple of feet before she doubled over and pebbled the floor with the remnants of her breakfast.
The morning rush hour had carried on around her. People walking into the station entrance gave her a wide birth, assuming she was either inebriated from the night before, or was some sort of mad woman, muttering to herself as she leaned against the dirty brick wall of the subway station. She was a small inconvenience—probably forgotten by the time they’d stepped onto their train—a tiny speck in the myriad of eccentrics that populated the great city.
It was times like this that Hanna wished she was still in London. She would have called up Natalie, or Tom, or maybe caught a cab to Claire’s to throw herself into her arms. She would have been plied with sweet tea and hugs until she cried herself out and braced herself to face the day.
Instead, she was alienated in Manhattan, with a cell phone filled with numbers of work colleagues and acquaintances, but no friends that she could confide in, or ask for help. Nobody who would understand exactly why this day was so hard for her.
The time passed faster than she’d thought possible. Breakfast in a diner, and hours spent browsing in a book shop were followed by an early dinner in the corner of a dingy bar in Soho. How she’d ended up there, she wasn’t sure, but she felt more at home in this part of the island than anywhere else.
The last couple of hours had been spent drowning herself in a wine glass, and batting off advances of guys who thought she was easy game. Even in her inebriated state, the last thing she wanted to do was forget her mother with an easy lay.
And here she was, full circle, thinking about the last five years and how she’d royally fucked things up. She glanced at her watch, trying to work out—through the haze of alcohol—what the time would be in London. It was way too late to call up Claire or Ruby. They’d both be tucked up safe and warm in bed.
That left one other number. She dialed it before she’d even thought it through, like she’d left all common sense at the bottom of her empty wine bottle. It only rang twice before she was connected.