Meet Me in Manhattan (True Vows) (25 page)

They reached the end of the street. A red light stopped them
from stepping off the curb, and she turned to him, her eyes
churning with emotions he couldn't read. "I don't know why
we're here, Ted," she said. Her voice was low but he could hear
her clearly despite the traffic noises, the clamor of voices around
them, the dull rumble of a plane arching into the sky above them.
"I don't know why, but there's a reason this is happening."

What's happening? he wondered. What does she think is
happening?

"I wasn't ready for you sixteen years ago," she said. "But ... I'm
here now."

When you're surfing and your board slides out from under
you, you plunge into the water. It bubbles and spirals around
your head, and your hair swirls into your eyes, and for a few seconds you aren't sure which way is up. And if you're unlucky, you
wind up with that mouth full of sand.

But other times, your hair is swept back and you look up and
the sky is right there, just inches of water above you, close enough
for you to reach through the surface and touch. And you shoot up
into the sunlight and take a deep, cleansing breath.

That was what he felt like-a surfer bursting into the air and
filling his lungs with the air they craved, the air that was the very essence of life.

I'm here now, Erika had said. She might not be here tomorrow,
or next week. She still had the power to destroy him if he opened
himself up too much. But for now ...

I'm here.

She was there. And so was he.

Erika was still mulling over her confession to Ted, and his to
her, as they entered Atomic Slims. She hadn't expected things to
get so honest so fast. She'd been planning to go on a date with
Sarah's friend Bill just minutes before she'd met up with Ted at
the White Horse Tavern. And Ted was in a relationship, for God's
sake. This evening was supposed to be about two old friends getting together, nothing more. Some good times, some reminiscences, some catching up. Period.

But then he'd hit her with his solemn words about her being
etched into his mind for sixteen years, and she'd hit him with her
words about how things happened for a reason and, whatever else
had transpired over those sixteen years, she was with him now.
With him. That sounded almost scary.

Yet she didn't feel scared. She'd conquered mountains, she'd
conquered oceans, and these days she was conquering the financial world. Surely she had the courage to be with Ted long enough
to find out what exactly was going on.

Atomic Slims was a postage stamp of a club, the dance floor a
tiny square crammed with people. Erika loved dancing in the center of a mob. She grabbed Ted's hand and dragged him out onto
the floor. As they began to move to the music, she found herself
remembering another dance floor sixteen years ago, when he'd
been in a tux and she'd been in a pastel gown that had supposedly
made her look slim and graceful, and they'd been dancing with other people. And she'd secretly wished she was dancing with him.

Now she didn't have to wish. There was no secret. They danced.
They touched. They laughed. Their gazes collided and they discovered they were both singing along to whatever song was playing. Exhausted after a few numbers, they fought their way to the
bar and Erika treated everyone within shouting distance to a
beer. She was a vice president of a major financial corporation,
and this time she'd remembered to bring her wallet. She could
splurge.

She was in a festive mood. She and Ted had given each other a
glimpse of their souls and they'd survived. More than survived;
they were exulting in the moment, the reality of their being
together for this one evening. She wanted to dance with him forever, but that was impossible. So she'd dance with him now, and
drink, and celebrate.

After she and Ted had quenched their thirst, they returned to
the minuscule dance floor and let the music wash over them. And
because she was so happy, so delighted to be with him, she
wrapped her arms around him in a spontaneous hug.

His arms closed around her, and he looked as ecstatic as she felt.

And she thought, I am with him. And that's exactly where I
want to be.

From: Ted Skala

To: Erika Fredell
Crazy night.

From: Erika Fredell

To: Ted Skala

Kind of an incredible night, actually. I'd like to see you again,
maybe under less crazy circumstances. I'm feeling pretty vulnerable
writing this, but I don't want to make the same mistake twice with
you.

From: Ted Skala

To: Erika Fredell

I've been thinking about last night and everything we talked
about ... Where from here, huh?

From: Erika Fredell

To: Ted Skala

I know. Where from here ...

Here is what I think. I think if we did nothing we'd regret it. But
to have no regrets, to go for it, you have to flip your life upside
down. Which is huge, I know.

I do think certain things in life are out of our control.

The notion that certain things in life were out of her control
scared the hell out of Erika. What she'd loved about riding was
the confidence that she could control a thousand-pound beast as
it stormed down a track and launched itself over a fence. What
she'd loved about sailing was that she could control a boat's
response to gale winds and tides. What she'd loved about skiing
was that, no matter how steep the slope or how icy the snow, she
could control her speed with a mere turn of her ankles, a bend of
her knees, a shift in her weight.

But she couldn't control her feelings for Ted. Not this time.

Why had she been able to control her feelings so much more
effectively when she'd been younger? She was an adult now. She
was experienced. She had a clear idea of the direction she wanted
her life to take. She knew what mattered to her.

Having a partner, a significant other, a man in her life hadn't
mattered ... until Ted invaded her life.

Where from here?

He had a girlfriend. Thinking about that caused a sour taste to
rise in Erika's mouth. She hated the possibility that she could be
a home-wrecker. Not that he was married. Not that Erika could
be named as a co-respondent in divorce proceedings. But she
prided herself on being ethical when it came to relationships. If a
guy was taken, she stayed away.

If Ted was taken, why had he gone dancing with her? Why had he
looked at her the way he had, all night long, and touched her, and
hugged her? Why had he told her she was etched into his mind?

Where from here? Nowhere, she thought grimly. Dancing half
the night away with him had been lovely, but she hadn't forgotten the words he'd spoken so many years ago. Those words were
etched just as deeply into her mind: I will never be with you again,
I could never be this hurt again.

So where from here?

Ted knew he should tell her he was single. But trust was so
damned hard.

He'd found an apartment in Hoboken and moved out of the
place in Brooklyn he'd been sharing with Marissa. He checked on
her a few times and she told him to bug off. He imagined she
would recover quickly enough from their breakup. Even when
they'd been together, when she'd been pushing for more of a
commitment from him, he'd never sensed that she was any more
in love with him than he was with her.

She'd wanted a baby and she'd been anxious about her age.
He'd been the boyfriend at hand. He'd liked her, obviously. You
didn't stay with a woman for three years if you didn't like her. But
he hadn't wanted to have a child with her. Maybe if he'd loved her
more, he would have been willing. But ...

He didn't do in love.

So she'd have to find another sperm donor, and he had no
doubt she would. She was beautiful, smart, all that.

His new apartment was no great shakes. It had what it needed
and not much more. Maybe if he were a vice president at a big
bank, he could afford an apartment in Manhattan. East River
Marketing was a great place to work, but Hoboken was more in
his price range. Just across the Hudson River from Manhattan,
the one-time scruffy blue-collar enclave was deep in the throes
of gentrification. Fortunately not completely gentrified, or Ted
might not have been able to afford Hoboken, either.

Although he worked in Manhattan, it had always seemed like a
magical place, just beyond his reach. Emerald City. El Dorado. He
was a New Jersey boy, the kid who pumped gas instead of going
to college. Manhattan was the sort of place where a princess like
Erika would live.

He tried to picture her apartment. She'd mentioned, somewhere along the line, that she lived in Gramercy Park. What little he
knew about the Gramercy Park area was that it was ritzy, full of
grand old buildings bordering an actual park that was so exclusive, only residents of the neighborhood were allowed to enter it.
The park was surrounded by a high wrought-iron fence, and residents got keys or pass cards or something. He imagined her living in one of those grand old buildings, in an apartment with
nine-foot ceilings, parquet floors, and a wood-burning fireplace.
One bedroom at least, maybe two, and a bathroom-or twowith marble counters and a claw-foot tub. He pictured ornate
chandeliers and decorative moldings and windowsills wide
enough to hold potted geraniums.

What did bank vice presidents earn? Enough to pay for such an
apartment, he assumed.

Could he go to her apartment and keep his defenses up? Could
he visit her there, make love to her there, spend the night with her
there, and leave the next morning with his heart intact? Could she
destroy him all over again if he let her?

God, yes.

If he let her.

That weekend, they went to Coney Island, Brooklyn's answer
to the honky-tonk boardwalks along the Jersey Shore. They
strolled along the boardwalk, inhaling the distinct blend of
scents: ocean, coconut-perfumed sunscreen, cotton candy, and
the hot grease of pizza and fried bread; and listening to a symphony of beach sounds: the wind, the surf pounding against the
sand, the electronic beeps and boings emerging from the arcades,
the shrieks of thousands upon thousands of people romping in
the ocean, shouting to one another across the beach, screaming
on the Ferris wheel, the roller coaster, and the Tilt-A-Whirl.

Summer had officially arrived, and Erika felt her skin soaking
in the sun's baking rays. Although her coloring was fair for a halfLatina woman-her father's Northern European genes seemed to
have trumped her mother's South American genes-Erika
tanned easily. By the end of the day, her bare arms and her legs
below the hems of her shorts were sure to be a rich tawny hue.

Next to her, Ted frequently paused to peek into a kiosk or an
arcade, clearly tempted to try his luck shooting an air rifle at a
moving target in one booth or to rack up points on one of the
elaborate pinball machines in another. But he never gave in to the
temptation. He shambled along, his hair glinting beneath the sun,
his hands in the pockets of his loose-fitting shorts.

Erika wished he would take her hand.

She wished she wasn't wishing for that. They were just friends,
after all-although she found it odd that he would choose to
spend a Saturday afternoon with her rather than his girlfriend.
She could tell by the pensive line of his mouth and the way he kept
gazing out toward the horizon that he had something on his mind.
So many years later, she was still able to read Ted. Today, she could
tell that he was not in the most carefree of moods, despite his having chosen to ride the subway to Coney Island with her.

He motioned with his chin toward a food stand. "You hungry?"

She shrugged. She could use some food, but not the oily, fatty,
sugary junk most of the vendors were offering. The stand he had
gestured toward sold Italian ices. Not oily or fatty. "Sure," she said.

She got a cup of lemon ice, and he bought himself a large,
doughy pretzel dotted with crystals of salt. They found an empty
bench facing the ocean and sat. Ted propped his feet on the railing bordering the boardwalk and stared out at the ocean.