Only Uni (36 page)
The rest of the tackless strips came off smoothly. The carpet pad, however, had reached its last legs years ago. Exposed to the light, it fell apart in their hands, leaving pieces stuck under the staples. They picked at the crumbling bits, trapped by so many staples that Spenser wondered if the person who laid the carpet pad had been obsessive-compulsive.
Trish laughed at the staples. “Looks like whoever did this had fun.”
He grunted and yanked at another staple. His jaw ached from being clenched, and sweat trickled down his gritty face in sticky rivers. She didn’t look much better, but her staunch persistence forced him to keep up his pace. His fingers felt worn to the nub, and he’d never get the little foam crumbs out of his nails, blackened like he’d been digging coal.
He’d lost any desire to bring up anything personal.
They took a late lunch where they laughed and bantered together. He couldn’t ruin the atmosphere between them. He’d wait until after they were done.
They went back to work and pulled off the carpet pad and most of the staples by late afternoon. They were almost done when his pliers slipped, and he ended up pinching a chunk of his skin. With a strong grunt, he grabbed his hand and sat up on his heels.
She peered at his hand. “Did it break the skin?”
“No, doesn’t look like it.”
“We should bandage it. It’s all red.”
This time he didn’t refuse. They washed their hands and she took care of his injury. He watched her bent head, her serious face.
She was beautiful.
There was a brief silence. Here was his chance. “I wanted to get back at Kazuo.” Stupid! He couldn’t have put it a better way?
“What?”
He paused to relax his jaw. “Kazuo’s the reason my wife left me and Matthew.”
She turned so pale, he grabbed her in case she passed out. She shook his hand away. “You’ve known Kazuo from before?”
“We’re not exactly friends.”
He could almost see her brain wheels running, the pieces clicking into place. “That weird week you kept asking me out . . . that was right after Kazuo showed up at work that one time.”
Busted. “Yeah.” This wasn’t going well. Every deepening line between her brows and around her mouth made him feel smaller and smaller.
“You said you wanted to get back at him?”
He didn’t say anything.
“You mean you used me like a Kleenex? Is that what it was? This whole time? Even this?” She flung her hand out toward the living room as her voice rose in pitch.
“I stopped asking you out because I liked being around you and being your friend.” He grabbed her arms and held on even though she tensed under his fingers. “It’s not about Kazuo anymore.”
Her face had closed up. He’d never seen her so cold, without any kind of movement or emotion.
“I know what I did earlier was wrong, but God’s been working in me. That’s true even if you never believe me.”
She turned her head away from him and pulled out of his grip. “Leave.” She wasn’t being hysterical. He knew she would be later.
He exited the front door, heard it slam behind him, and got into his car. Now she’d probably avoid him like the plague.
Wait a minute.
No.
He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it sooner.
He fumbled with the handle and thrust the car door open. He raced up the cracked driveway, waded through the weeds, pounded on the closed front door.
She didn’t open it.
“Trish!”
“Go away.”
“I need to tell you something.”
“Then say it.”
“Let me in.”
“No way,
Jose
.”
“You don’t want the neighbors to hear this.”
He didn’t think the veiled threat would get through to her, but he started when she flung the door open. “Go — ”
He grabbed her by the shoulders and muscled his way in, kicking the door shut.
She yanked away from him. “This better be — ”
“You need to get tested.”
“What?”
“For HIV.”
She sucked in a sharp breath and stared at him, wide-eyed. Her body started to shake, but he didn’t dare touch her — she looked like she’d fly apart at any moment.
“I’m sorry. I know this is hard to hear. But . . .” He had to take a deep breath before he went on. “About a year after we separated, Linda found out she had HIV. Matthew and I were tested, but we were clean. Linda had already broken up with Kazuo by the time she found out, so it’s possible she didn’t get it from him, but if you slept with him, you need to be tested.”
Trish raised shaking hands to her mouth. Her eyes didn’t move away from him, and he could see every corner of her fear. “Trish, did you . . . did you ever have sex with him?”
Her denial erupted in a searing glare. “What kind of a question is that?” Meaning,
yes, of course I did.
“Did you ever have
unprotected
sex with him?”
She tried to swallow, couldn’t breathe for several long seconds.
“Yes. Twice.”
S
he had to ask him the question that could change the rest of her life.
Are you clean? When was the last time you were tested?
Kazuo had reassured her he was clean after the two times they’d had unprotected sex, but now, after hearing how he’d broken up Spenser’s marriage, and about Linda’s HIV, she wasn’t so sure.
She pulled her legs up and tried to curl her body into her car seat. Spenser had hurt himself in telling her. She’d been able to see it in his eyes, in his voice. Maybe he’d also been earnest when he said that he liked her company and that it wasn’t about Kazuo anymore. A part of her was intrigued, but she also didn’t want to be intrigued. He was fun to banter with, but trusting him?
She needed to drive to Kazuo’s place. No, she should take one of her cousins with her for protection. For support. For strength.
Because he’d just charm her again. He’d say whatever he wanted and she’d believe him. She still couldn’t quite trust herself, despite the way she’d been able to spurn him the last few times she’d seen him.
But no. No matter how she felt — or didn’t feel — about Spenser, she couldn’t bring in someone else to witness her talk with Kazuo. She couldn’t expose Spenser’s failed marriage to anyone, not even her cousins. She couldn’t even risk a hushed conversation that could be overheard. This was Spenser’s secret. She didn’t have the right to allow anyone else to know.
She had to do this alone.
But not alone. She hadn’t been following rule number three very closely — she kept forgetting to pray — but not now.
“God, if ever I needed you, it’s now.” She rested her head against the steering wheel. “I almost don’t want to know the answer. Please help me when I go to Kazuo’s apartment. Keep my head clear. Help me not be tempted. Zap me with something, Lord, because I’m going in.”
She missed the view from his loft apartment. As she waited for Kazuo to answer her knock, she stared up at the tall windows above the door, remembering the way the sunlight filtered into the room, warming the honey-colored walls. Remembering the days she could almost see San Francisco from the bay windows in his living room, when the smog had been blown away after a rain.
Strange, his apartment had seemed darker as their relationship started to sour. Or maybe she had looked out the windows less because he hadn’t wanted her to be anywhere but inside, with him, inspiring his paintings.
He opened the door a crack, then swung it wide open — as wide as his smile. “Trish.”
She entered cautiously, as if the room were booby-trapped with handcuffs or cages to trap her there so she could never leave. Then she noticed the show on the HDTV. “Is that one of those K-dramas?”
“Er . . . no.” Kazuo darted in front of her and turned it off. Then he faced her, opening his arms wide and his smile wider. “You’ve come back. Now I can finish my masterpiece, your painting.”
“You still haven’t finished it?” He’d been halfway done when they broke up months ago. “I thought you were going to show it at your uncle’s new art gallery in Japan. That opens in only a couple months.”
“I told you, you are my muse. I can’t finish it without you.” He tried to embrace her, but his hands felt slimier than a squid. Her gaze skewered him as she backed away.
Who cared about his art show? She was stalling. She needed to just confront him with what she really wanted to know. “I didn’t come about your painting. I need you to tell me the truth. Do you have HIV?”
Well, that cooled his ardor pretty quick. Kazuo became very still. “No.”
“When was the last time you were tested?”
He thought a moment. “Several years ago.”
“You told me you were clean.” She spat it at him through clenched teeth.
“What brought this up?”
“Spenser told me about Linda.”
His eyebrows rose, then fell. Then he had the audacity to smile, the scum. “That was years ago. She means nothing to me, babe. Just you.”
“I don’t care how you feel about her.”
“I know you don’t.” His voice had
patronizing
sprinkled all over it.
She shoved her fist in her back pocket so she wouldn’t take a swing at him. “I care about the fact she has HIV, not that she was one of your lovers.”
“Oh.” He reached for her, but she jerked away. “Don’t worry. About six months after we broke off, I found out. I had myself tested, I was clean. She got it from her boyfriend after me, whoever he was.”
The relief crashed on her like a tsunami wave. Trish dropped into a chair, her head in her hands. She forced air through her lungs. Clean. He might be clean. She might be clean. She still needed to be tested, but the threat no longer oppressed her like a guillotine blade hovering over her neck.
She sat there for so long, she didn’t notice his hand on her shoulder until her heart rate had settled down. She reached up to brush him off, and he grasped her hand instead.
But her body didn’t respond to him as it had before, and her mind seemed almost disconnected. It was as if her brain had been tucked away safe behind a glass wall, to be able to see the lines of dissipation around his eyes, to not be influenced by warm hands or warm smiles. That had to be from God, this strange place of safety. She pulled away from Kazuo without a single drop of regret.
She stood. “Good-bye, Kazuo.”
“I can’t finish my masterpiece without you.”
She walked to the door. “Use another painting for your uncle’s art gallery. You’ve got tons.”
“Ah, yes. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Her hand froze on the doorknob. “Tomorrow?”
“At the unveiling.”
“Unveiling?” Now she sounded like a parrot.
“Your grandmother said you’d be there.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“At your grandmother’s bank. She’s unveiling the painting she bought from me.”
Trish’s heart pounded as she read the name on her cell phone’s call waiting. She flipped it open. “Grandma?”
“Hello, dear.”
No rancor, no anger in her voice, not even the tang of vinegar. What alien had abducted her grandmother and replaced her with this calm, pleasant woman? “H-hi, Grandma.”
“Are you coming to the unveiling today at the bank?” Honey-sweet tones, as if she had talked to Trish yesterday rather than that last, rather short, highly upsetting phone call at work almost two weeks ago.
