10

Janine

“Mom!”

I rush into my mother’s hospital room and to her bedside, my heart drumming against my chest like a ticking time bomb.

She turns her head towards me, smiling that smile I know so well and just like that, I feel the bomb diffuse.

I throw my arms around her. “Mom!”

“Janine,” she says my name, her hand on my hair. “I thought you were on your honeymoon.”

“We were about to leave,” I confess, holding her hand as I grab the stool so I can sit on it. “But how can I leave after knowing you collapsed?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” She places her hand over mine. “Nothing?” I stare at her bandaged elbow and look at her with wide eyes. “Mom, you passed out. What if… if…” “Hello, Dash,” my mother interrupts, her gaze beyond me.

I glance back, seeing Dash standing there with his coat draped over his arm, the purse that I have left behind in my haste hanging from his hand.

“Hi, Mom,” he greets, waving at her. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” she answers. “You didn’t have to come here. I’m sorry I ruined your honeymoon.”

“Mom.” I narrow my eyes at her.

“Please don’t say that.” Dash approaches the bed. “It’s all good. We can go some other time.”

He squeezes my shoulder. “I’ll just get coffee. Do you want one?”

“No.” Not now.

“Okay.” He puts my purse and his coat down on the empty armchair against the wall. “I’ll leave these here.”

“Okay.”

He leaves the room and I turn back to my mother, grip- ping her hand.

“Mom, this isn’t nothing,” I pick up the conversation to where it was left hanging after Dash came in. “I’m worried this kind of thing might happen again.”

“People fall all the time.”

Unbelievable. “You didn’t fall. You lost consciousness.

You almost broke your arm.”

“It’s just a sprain.” She shrugs, glancing at her bandaged elbow. “It’ll heal.”

I frown. “Well, you were lucky it was just a sprain, Mom.” My eyes crowd with hot tears. “You’re so fragile right now. We both know it could have been worse.”

“Janine.”

“You’re too sick, Mom,” I blurt out, unable to contain myself any longer. “It could have been much worse and I can’t stand to see you suffering more than you already are.”

She says nothing.

Just then, the door opens and a man in his forties wearing eyeglasses and a white coat comes in, a nurse pushing a wheelchair behind him.

“Hello.” He approaches me. “I’m Dr. Stevens. I’m the endocrinologist here.”

“Janine Davidson.”

I stand up to introduce myself, shaking his hand. “You’re Olivia’s daughter?”

“Yes,” I answer, nodding.

“I just need to take her for some tests,” Dr. Steven tells me.

“Tests?” My eyebrows furrow. “I thought she already had her X-ray and stuff.”

“She did but given her condition, she needs more,” he says, glancing at her. “I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course.” I step back.

I watch as the nurse carefully transfers my mother into the chair then wheels her off. Dr. Stevens gives me a nod then follows them out of the room.

Exhaling, I sit on the armchair but stand up as soon as I realize my purse and Dash’s coat are on it. I pick them both and something falls.

A picture lies face down on the floor.

Then I remember. Back at the airport, Marissa slipped something into his pocket. It was just for a second and I wasn’t sure I even really saw it. I wasn’t thinking clearly and I was in too much of a hurry to stop and confirm.

Confirmed.

I bend my knees and pick up the picture. There’s some- thing written at the back in blue ink.

Dash, I’m forever yours – Marissa

Yup. This confirms it.

I turn the picture over, ignoring the voice in my head telling me not to.

Marissa wears panties and a large military jacket emblazoned by the surname Siegel, nothing else. She’s blowing a kiss at the camera. Dash must have been the one holding it.

How dare she? Right in front of me?

My first impulse is to tear the picture to pieces, my fingers already gripping its sides.

Then I breathe. My shoulders relax. And I slip it into my purse.

Destroying it won’t accomplish anything and this isn’t the right time to question Dash. But I’m holding on to it.

Mom used to tell me not to throw anything away in case I might need it later.

Mom’s a bit of a hoarder. She has boxes full of receipts, used gift wrapping, old shirts, toys, candles, jars, pressed flowers, everything you can imagine.

What will I do with all those boxes when she’s gone?

I sit on the armchair, a hand clasped over my mouth as I try not to think of that scenario.

I can’t. I just can’t.

I could have lost her this time.

What if her fall had been worse? What if she was too weak to stand and just ended lying there with no one to help her? What if this is only the beginning? What if it gets worse and she’s all alone?

I shake my head, pushing those unbearable images aside but not before they can cause tears to trickle down my cheeks.

I should have been there.

A buzzing sound disrupts my thoughts.

As the sound goes on, I realize it’s Dash’s phone. He left it in another pocket of his coat.

Should I answer it?

What if it’s Marissa? Or what if it’s an important phone call?

I wipe my tears and stand up, grabbing Dash’s coat and my purse. I’ll just go look for Dash and tell him about it. I don’t care who’s calling him. It’s not like he’s my real husband, anyway. Right?

After a few minutes, I find Dash sitting alone on a bench on the hospital grounds, his elbows on his knees and his coffee cup in both his hands. I sit next to him.

He looks at me. “Janine. What are you doing here?” “Someone was calling you.” I hand him his coat.

He takes it and checks his phone. “It’s not important.”

He puts it back in the coat pocket. “How’s your mother?”

“They took her for some tests,” I reply, letting out a deep breath as I place my purse on my lap. “I’m just glad she’s… alive.”

“I know.” Dash places his hand on my thigh.

“I still think I could have prevented this from happening, though. I don’t want to see her get hurt anymore.”

For a moment, Dash falls silent, his hand still on my thigh. Then he slowly retracts his arm, both hands around his cup once more.

“You know, I’ve been thinking…”

I look at him expectantly, clutching the straps of my purse. “Yes?”

He strokes his cup. “What if we put your Mom in a facility? You know, one of those facilities for terminally ill patients where—”

I stand up with my mouth open, my purse falling off my lap.

Dash sets down the coffee cup beside him and picks up my purse. “It’s just a suggestion, Janine. You—”

“How can you suggest such a thing?” I ask him, breathing heavily as my chest grows tight. “Do you honestly think being surrounded by dying people and strangers is what’s best for her?”

He puts my purse on the bench. “It’s better than being alone. That way, if anything happens to her, someone will always be there to take care of her and—”

“I’m her daughter.” I place a hand on my aching chest. “I’m the one who’s going to take care of her.”

“But you’re an accountant, not a nurse,” he points out, standing. “What if you get pregnant and have a baby? Will you be able to take care of her then?”

My hand falls from my chest as my gaze falls on my feet, my mind unable to come up with anything to say.

“Besides, we both know she doesn’t want you to see her suffering. It makes her suffer more.”

“What do you know?” I lift my palms in exasperation, clenching them and then letting them fall at my sides. “She’s not your mother. You don’t love her. You don’t understand her. Hell, you barely know her.”

I feel my tears spill out along with my emotions – my frustration, my pain.

I place a hand on my hip as I look away, trying to calm myself down. “You don’t know her.”

“I don’t,” Dash admits, placing his hands on my shoulders. “Maybe that’s why I can think clearly. I’m not clouded with emotions.”

I shake my head.

He places his arms around me, resting his chin on my shoulder. “I’m not the enemy here, Janine. I’m just trying to help you do what’s best for your mother.”

“Why do you care so much, huh?” I snap at him as I turn around, pushing him away.

“Because you obviously do, and–”

“I signed your stupid contract. No matter what happens to her, you’ll still get your baby.”

He sighs. “Janine…”

“You don’t get to have a say in this, Dash. I’m her daughter.” I point a finger at my chest. “And you…” I poke my finger at his chest. “You’re just a stranger passing by.”

With that, I grab my purse and go back inside the hospital, wiping my tears.

* * *

“I don’t know why Dash would say that,” I confide between sniffles, crying on Mom’s arm as she lies on the hospital bed. I wasn’t going to tell her about the fight. I was going to hold back my tears and hide my emotions but she saw how upset I was and when she held my hand, everything just broke loose.

“Sorry.”

I lift my head, wiping my tears with the back of my hand and grabbing a tissue so that I can wipe the puddle I’ve caused on the sleeve of her sweater.

“I just don’t know why he can’t understand me.”

“Oh, but he does.” Mom wipes my cheek. “And you know what? You understand him, too. You just don’t want to accept it because it hurts too much.”

I grab another tissue, blowing my nose.

As much as I hate to admit it, she’s right. She’s always right. She knows me too well.

I shake my head, wiping another tear. “I can’t do it.” It does hurt. Too much.

I’ve actually thought of putting my Mom in a facility before but even if I could afford it, I can’t bring myself to do it. I just feel like if I put her there, it will make things more real. I’ll have to face the fact that soon, she’ll be gone, maybe sooner than I expect.

I can’t.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Mom reaches for my hand, squeezing it. “You have to be strong. And being strong doesn’t always mean hanging on. Sometimes, it means letting go.”

More tears spill out. “Mom…”

She strokes my hair. “I remember when you were going off to college. I didn’t want to let go of you. I didn’t want you to leave home. You’re my only daughter. How could I?”

I grab another tissue.

“But I had to. I had to let you go so you could move on and become the person you were destined to be. What an amazing person that is.”

I smile between the tears. “Mom.”

She places her hand over mine. “I’m not letting go just yet but you have to face the fact that I am going.”

I shake my head. “Please don’t say that.”

“But I am.” She squeezes my hand, her voice choking. “Like you said, I’m very sick.”

“Mom…”

“It’s true.” She squeezes my hand tighter. “I am. And it’s true. Something worse could have happened to me. You said it yourself. I hate to admit it but I’m not as strong as I used to be. I need someone to take care of me.”

I wipe my tears. “I’ll take care of you.”

She shakes her head. “You have to take care of yourself and Dash.” She strokes my hair. “I may not know him well but I can tell he cares about you. He’s a good man. I’m glad you have him to take care of you. That way, you won’t be alone.”

The tears keep falling.

“I wish your Dad and I had been there at your wedding.” “Oh, Mom.” I grab her hand, pressing it to my wet cheek. “But you were there. You were both there in my heart, where you always will be.”

She gives me a weak smile.

I give her a hug then rest my head on her chest like the child I used to be.

“I love you, Mom,” I tell her. “I love you, too, baby.”

For a moment, I just lie there, savoring her warmth and listening to her heart, its slow beating calming me down. Then I lift my head and dry my tears for good.

“Feel better?” Mom asks.

I chuckle. Even with her condition, she worries about me first.

“Yes, I do.”

She holds my hand. “Now, go after your husband. Apologize to him. Talk things over. Patch things up. A husband and wife should not leave a fight unresolved for long.”

I give her a puzzled look. “But what about you, Mom?” “Your cousin, Nancy, will be here soon. She’ll take care of me.”

I still don’t think I should go.

“Go,” my Mom urges, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Come back here when everything’s alright.”

“Okay.” I nod as I stand up.

She smiles. “Life is too short for misunderstandings.” I return her smile. Of course, she’s right again.

Grabbing my purse, I go look for Dash.

* * *

I stop in front of Dash’s apartment building, pausing to catch my breath.

I’ve had to take the bus all the way from Woonsocket after finding out that he had gone home and now, here I am, at his home. Or is this his home?

I’ve never been here. I only know the address because I saw it on some documents. I’ve heard Dash talk about it, saying his mother just purchased it for him recently.

I look at the tall, glass doors at the top of the carpeted stairs. I sure hope this is the right place.

Straightening up, I start climbing the stairs but stop when I catch a reflection of a blonde woman in the glass. I turn around, seeing Marissa standing across the street.

Even from several feet away, I can tell it’s her. She’s wearing that same black jumpsuit she wore at the airport.

I clutch my purse, my eyebrows furrowed as I look at her. What is she doing here? Isn’t she supposed to be in Tokyo with her husband?

Don’t tell me she’s here to see Dash. Well, I intend to find out.

I cross the street, scurrying over to her. She stops pacing the sidewalk, the arm holding her phone falling to her side as she looks at me with wide eyes.

She recognizes me.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, worry in her voice.

I place my hand on my hip. “I should be asking you that question.”

“None of your business.” She starts pacing again, pressing a button on her phone and holding it to her ear.

I narrow my eyebrows at her. “Are you here to see Dash?

Because if you are, I’m telling you…”

“What? Leave him alone?” She walks up to me. “Why? Because you can make him happy? He definitely didn’t look happy when he went in earlier.”

So she knows Dash lives here. Wait. She saw Dash? “That’s none of your business,” I tell her, folding my arms over my chest. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Tokyo?”

“I couldn’t just leave Dash alone after seeing how upset he was at the airport.”

“Thanks for the concern but I’ll take care of him. I’m his wife, after all.”

For a moment, she just stands there as if trying to digest my words and having a hard time based on the expression of dismay on her face, then she scurries into a red Toyota and then drives off.

I wait until the car is out of sight, making sure she’s gone, then cross the street. Wrapping my scarf tighter around my neck, I walk up the stairs, the doorman in the crisp black and gold uniform greeting me with a smile.

“Good evening. Can I help you, Miss…?”

“Mrs. Siegel,” I say, surprised by how it rolls off my tongue. “I’m the wife of Dash Siegel.”

“You are?” The doorman gives me a look of suspicion. I can’t blame him. He’s never seen me before.

“Yes,” I tell him, showing him my golden band.

“Nice ring,” he says but he doesn’t budge. “Better than what the other woman was wearing, I think.”

What other woman?

I rummage through the contents of my purse, trying to find some proof that I am Dash’s wife. I remember that I still have the plane tickets and I show them to him.

“See. I’m Janine Siegel.”

“Oh, okay.” He nods as he looks at the tickets then gives them back. “I guess you’re the real one.”

Real one? I don’t understand.

“It’s a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Siegel.”

“Pleasure.” I shake his hand. “So, is Da… Mr.

Siegel home?”

“Yes. I believe I saw him come in earlier.” I let out a sigh of relief.

“Please come in.” He opens the door wide. “Thank you.” I enter, adjusting my scarf.

In the middle of the gleaming lobby, I pause with wide eyes, staring at the giant crystal chandelier suspended from the high ceiling and then at the huge aquarium on one side. On the other side, there is an electric stone fireplace, above which is a painting that looks like a Monet and in front of which is a large, wool rug. There are also a few bean bags and wingback chairs.

Now, this is a far cry from my apartment.

But enough of being awestruck. I have a husband to see.

Remembering Dash’s apartment number, still from the documents, I go to the elevator, relaying it to the operator, a dark-haired woman in her twenties wearing a gray dress with gold trimmings. She presses the button as she sits on her brass and leather stool and I stand silently behind her, staring at the floor numbers as we pass them, holding my breath.

What if Dash isn’t home? Worse, what if he doesn’t want to see me? I said quite a few, mean things to him, after all.

I’m already here, though, so I might as well give it a shot, or so I tell myself as I step out of the elevator, walking down the hallway covered in a maroon carpet and lined with elegant wall sconces.

In front of his apartment, I stop to take a deep breath and a moment to make sure I look presentable. Then I push the doorbell.

After a few seconds, I hear someone coming to the door. “Who is it?” Dash’s muffled voice asks.

I let out another sigh of relief. “It’s Janine.”

I hear a pause and then the bolt comes off and the door opens, Dash standing in the doorway in the same shirt and jeans he was wearing earlier, his coat off.

Seeing the sadness in his eyes, I feel a lump form in my throat and I clutch the straps of my purse nervously.

“Dash…”

“Come in.” He steps aside so I can enter the apartment. “Or should I say welcome home?”

Well, at least he’s not mad.

I take off my scarf, putting it down on a table.

“How’s your mother? Are you sure you shouldn’t stay with her?”

“I’ll go back,” I tell him, clasping my hands on my lap. “But I wanted to talk to you first.”

He sits on the Papasan chair, his arms propped on his knees.

I take a deep breath. “You’re right, Dash. It’s best if my Mom stays at a special facility in the care of professionals who can really look after her. She’ll be safe and hopefully happy.”

Dash nods. “We’ll make sure we pick the best one.”

I look at my hands and rub my fingers. “You were right all along. I just didn’t want to admit it. I don’t want to let her go.”

“I understand.”

I look at him. “I’m sorry for snapping at you and for all those things I said. I didn’t…”

“Shh.” He scoots over to me, kneeling in front of me and taking my hands in his. “You don’t have to be sorry for anything.”

“But I do. I feel bad.” I touch his cheek. “Will you forgive me?”

“Of course.” Dash takes my hand, kissing it. “Always.” I smile, my heart swelling with warmth.

I’m lucky to have such a wonderful husband.

Overcome with newfound joy and relief, I cup his face, kissing him. Dash immediately kisses me back, putting his arms around my waist and pulling me off the couch as he stands up.

As his mouth conquers mine over and over, giving me little time to breathe in between, he pushes my cardigan off my shoulders. I shrug it off, letting it fall to the ground before slipping my hands beneath his shirt, my soft palms sliding across hard muscles.

He takes off his shirt in a quick gesture and after a particularly long kiss, he releases my lips, his latching on to the patch of skin behind my ear instead. I moan, the same sound escaping my lips when he kisses my neck and my collarbone.

My hands glide up his back as he moves lower, kissing my breasts through my dress and then the soft curve of my belly. Everywhere his lips touch, a seed of heat is planted, taking root and spreading like wildfire across my skin. He moves even lower, my hands resting on his bare shoulders as he is down on his knees on the carpet again, kissing my sex through the layers of cotton, now damp from inside to out, and caressing my thighs.

Gripping the hem of my dress, Dash pulls it up as he gets back on his feet. I raise my hands, letting him pull it over my head then toss it aside.

He sits on the couch, pulling me on to his lap. I place my hands on the back of his head, pulling his hair as we kiss. His hands travel across my back, fingers running across my spine, and then giving my ass a firm squeeze. Then they travel back up, stopping to unhook my bra.

I let the straps fall down my arms, my breasts right in front of his face. I blush as he stares at them, my hands falling to his shoulders, then gasp as he cups them in his palms, his thumbs rubbing my nipples.

“Beautiful,” Dash says, kissing one breast reverently. “Have I ever told you how much I love your breasts?”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “No. That has never come up in any conversation.”

“Well, I do.” He kisses the other.

“Yeah. I remember you staring at them the night we met.”

“It was afternoon when we met,” he reminds, kissing the patch of skin between my breasts. “And yes, I was staring at them.”

He takes one breast inside his mouth and I bury my hands in his hair again, throwing my head at the incredible sensation that travels right down to my toes and causes a wet spot in my panties. Then he touches that spot, stroking me through my panties and then beneath them, making my knees tremble as I pull at his hair harder, moans tumbling out of my lips.

I can feel my senses slowly slipping away, my body going out of control. I don’t know how much longer I can endure the assault of his tongue and his fingers.

“God. You’re driving me crazy.”

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, his mouth against my other breast.

“No.”

“Good.”

Suddenly, he flips me over, pulling me into his lap with my back against his chest. He kisses my neck, one of his hands on my breast and the other back under my panties, fingers slipping inside me, stroking me.

My back arches, my body trembling as my hands try to clutch at the couch behind me.

“Shit.”

I don’t know why but this new position is somehow more intense. I can’t touch him and I feel more at his mercy.

It’s terrifying. And exciting.

I turn my head so I can kiss him and he captures my mouth, his tongue entangled with mine while he continues to pluck my nipple and strum my sex, playing me like a guitar. I continue trembling, unable to stop now, my moans muffled by his kisses.

Dash moves his fingers faster and I snap like a string, tearing my mouth away from his so I can open mine in a silent scream as my back arches against his chest and my hips buck, my toes curling.

Afterwards, I lie against him, breathless, resting my head on his shoulder.

“What was that?” I ask softly, hands lying limply at my sides.

“Passion,” Dash answers, kissing my ear.

Suddenly, I become aware of the bulge behind me, beneath me. I felt it earlier but I was too wrapped up in the throes of my own passion to pay attention. I do that now, reaching for it and wrapping my fingers around it.

Dash gasps.

I get off his lap and down on my knees, popping out the button of his pants and pulling down the zipper. Then I reach inside his boxers, wrapping my fingers around his pulsing, leaking cock and freeing it from its confines.

“Holy shit,” the curse spills out between my lips. “Has it always been this huge?”

Dash chuckles. “I think so, though it always seems a little bigger when you’re around.”

I trace each vein with my thumb from the base to the tip, fascinated, and then I stop, staring at the swollen, leaking tip.

I move my face closer, parting my lips and gathering the liquid on the tip of my tongue. It’s slightly bitter, slightly salty, slightly sweet. It’s a new taste altogether but not unpleasant.

Dash grips my shoulder, his hand shaking. “You don’t have to do that.”

“But I want to.” I give the tip another lick and then slowly wrap my lips around it.

Both of Dash’s hands are on my shoulders now, their grip almost bruising. His head is thrown back, his eyes half- lidded, his body shaking.

The sight is enough to make my panties wet again.

I want to continue but suddenly, Dash pushes me off. “Did I do something wrong?” I ask him, concerned. “No.” He shakes his head, getting off the couch to take off his pants and his boxers. “But I would rather have another part of you wrapped around me.”

He kisses me, hands in my hair, and pushes me down on the carpet, pulling my panties out of the way before settling between my legs.

“Janine,” he whispers my name as he enters me.

My eyes fall shut, my fingers trying to clutch at the carpet at my sides.

I can feel his every thrust, each one sending heat flowing through my veins. He moves faster, pounding into me. I feel the carpet rubbing against my bare back but I don’t care. All I care about is his cock rubbing against the deepest, most secret parts of me.

Then his lips come crashing down on mine, pinning me down as he gives a particularly deep thrust, his cock pulsing and then spilling inside me.

At the same time, my body bursts, the pleasure causing tiny explosions across my skin. I moan into his mouth and grip his arms and tremble.

Finally, he lets my mouth go, allowing us both to gasp for air. Then he moves off me, offering me a hand so that I can get off the carpet.

I manage to get up but just enough to move to the couch, collapsing on it, still panting.

“God, that was amazing,” I tell him. “I’m going to have rug burn for days.”

“Yeah, look at my knees,” Dash agrees with a soft laugh, sitting beside me. His knees were turned a bright, chapped pink by the carpet.

I place my hand in his. “I’m sorry we couldn’t go on that honeymoon.”

He shakes his head, looking at me. “Please stop apologizing. You have nothing to be sorry for. Besides, we can have our honeymoon right here in this apartment.”

He leans over to give me a kiss on the cheek.

A grin forms on my lips. “I like the sound of that.”