Chapter 7
“So, like, you can’t walk anymore?”
Sitting in her wheelchair, Clara takes a sip of her water. She scratches the back of her neck, laughing awkwardly. “It’s a slowly developing condition. I mean, I can walk, but—”
“Then why the wheelchair?” Jared frowns, leaning back in his chair. He’s got of a pinched face with brown hair slicked back from the concert.
Clara doesn’t attempt to hide her look of irritation. “It’s painful for me to walk and sometimes not even possible. The chair is a mobility aid.”
“Don’t have to be a bitch about it. I didn’t know.” Jared shrugs, making Clara’s blood boil. Jared continues. “And Advil or whatever’s not enough?”
Another smile to hide her irritation. “No.” She sips her water.
Sighing, the man leans forward with his elbows on the table. He looks at a table across the room. There, the director of Clara’s orchestra, or the orchestra she used to be in, is sitting next to the college president. Jared turns back to her. “You said you play for the orchestra, right?”
“Played,” she corrects. “I’ve been getting used to the change—haven’t played since I switched over to the wheelchair. I graduated anyway. I’m planning on doing new things from now on.”
“So, you can’t play or you won’t?” He raises an eyebrow. Clara’s getting more and more fed up with the violinist. He’s from a visiting orchestra—he wouldn’t understand.
“Neither,” she explains. “It’s complicated.”
He shrugs. “Don’t they have, like, disabled orchestras or whatever?”
Clara grinds her teeth, clenching fingers around her glass of water. “You can play cello while sitting, Jared.”
Jared pushing his seat away, grabbing a plate to go to the banquet. He’s blatantly ignoring her comment. “Well. It was nice talking to you, Clarice. I’m going to get some food and speak to my director, so I won’t see you again.”
My name is Clara, she wants to say.
“He really said that?” Nathan looks incredulous, staring over the table and his cup of coffee.
Clara nods, shrugging. She drinks her coffee, glancing out the window. “Being disabled makes you a total different class of human in other people’s eyes. Everything you do is never just you. It’s inspiration porn for others.”
She glances at the man across from her. “People always want to hear about the strength of the Paralympic athletes or the blind person who paints or the deaf person who writes amazing music. They use it to fuel their goals. It’s not about us—we’re not people to them.”
Pausing, Clara takes another sip of coffee. “What happens to the disabled people who just can’t do that stuff? The ones who can’t take the stress? Invisible. They drop to the side.”
Her chest hurts. She scratches her sternum with one hand, feeling a familiar ugly disgust. “It’s why I stopped playing. If I play, it’s not about me or my practice or my skills anymore. It’s about me beating my disability or whatever.”
Something dawns in Nathan’s eyes and after a moment his expression sinks. “It totally minimizes your accomplishments.”
“Exactly.”
His expression seems a little distant and dark. It’s been like that all morning. She furrows her eyebrows. “What’s going on?”
He blinks. “Oh, nothing. Sorry, I’m just out of it.”
Clara leans over the table and runs her fingers over his cheek. He puts his palm over hand, closing his eyes and breathing into her wrist. His touch and his warmth make her shiver even from feet away.
When he speaks, his voice is low and drawling. Nathan’s eyes are still closed. “Why are you so much sunlight?”
“Now you’re just being cheesy,” she teases, tucking her hair behind her ear with a free hand.
Nathan opens his eyes and shakes his head. His face flushes. “I mean it.” He lets go of her hand. “I can’t relate to all your experience. My legs work, obviously. But I think I understand part of how you feel.” He stops, pursing his lips. She nods, waiting for him to elaborate, he sighs, sitting up a little straighter. “It’s like everything I do has always been about my condition. My whole life I’ve been this anchor weighing down everyone around me.”
He looks nervous and stops talking, so Clara presses him for more. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he murmurs, rubbing his face. “My uncle had the same condition and he just…lost it. Died from blood loss from shifting too much.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“No,” he shakes his head, “I didn’t know him. His issues just led everyone to think I’d be the exact same as him, so I’ve never been left alone to have my thing. If I do anything well or if I’m stable for a while, it’s some sort of miracle and I’m praised for just living. Even when I’m normal, I’m not normal.”
Something about that hits deep, striking at Clara’s heart. She breathes in sharply. “Shit,” she murmurs. “I relate.”
“Figured you might.” His expression softens and drops into shadow again. Something’s wrong—Clara knows that much.
Nathan’s eyes brighten. “What if you started playing your instrument again but, like…for me?”
Clara snorts. “For you? Like a private concert? I’m not practiced—you won’t like how it sounds.”
“You could practice before,” he says. “I just want to hear you play. I’m not a critic or anything. You could play ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ and it’d impress me.”
“I don’t play in the name of love, not even for a handsome dark horse like you,” Clara teases.
Nathan’s mouth parts slightly. “Love? Big word.”
“Oh,” Clara realizes what she said, blooming tomato red. “I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did,” he smiles that soft, calm smile that makes Clara melt. He leans on his hand, giving her a cheeky look. “It’s OK. I know how you feel.” He pauses. “Fine. If you won’t play for the thrill of romance, what would you play for?”
Clara thinks, squinting one eye and glancing out the window at the sea. “Maybe…a good kiss.”
That makes Nathan laugh out loud. It sounds genuine, and Clara feels drawn into him. He’s like a magnet, she thinks, feeling that she’s sinking deeper and deeper into a quicksand of affection that she doesn’t want to escape.
“Well, that’s easy,” Nathan teases. “Don’t you want more than that?”
“I don’t know. Seems pretty nice to me.” Clara downs the last of her coffee. “I’m fond of you. But…” Another pause. “You think of something. I still want my kiss, but…surprise me, I guess.”
Nathan shakes his head in amusement. “I’m not creative. You won’t like whatever I do much.”
“Then just the kiss is fine,” Clara reiterates.
“OK. Surprise, then. I’ll find a way.”
Clara can tell that Nathan’s trying to seem cool, but he’s flustered. Something in her heart swells. It’s been awhile since she has gotten this far with a guy, although the situation could hardly be called typical in any respect. Hell, they haven’t even gotten “that far” by most relationship terms, but Clara has intentionally avoided dating for a while. Could she even say they’re dating?
“What are you thinking about?” Nathan’s staring at her, looking concerned. She opens her mouth, then closes it. She can’t tell him all this sort of stuff or she’ll sound like a commitment-crazy girl who’s moving too fast. There’s no way to even know if he’ll stay with her or leave suddenly in the night.
Her mood dims considerably, and she frowns. “Just thinking about playing again. I could ask you the same thing—you’ve been on a different frequency all day.”
“Didn’t sleep much last night,” Nathan says, running fingers through his hair with a look of exasperation.
She narrows her eyes. He has pretty bad eye bags, so she believes him. But he rarely sleeps much as far as she’s witnessed, and although he’s usually distant, his attitude feels different.
“Nightmares?” she wagers a guess.
He nods. She gives him a questioning look. He gives in and explains after a moment. “Dreamed about Naomi.”
“Oh, God.” Clara hasn’t gained the most positive view of his bossy, controlling older sister. “What about her?”
“Just…” He rubs his temples. “Pointing out how I can’t function on my own and how I make her life harder. The usual.”
Shaking her head in irritation, Clara pulls all her hair behind her shoulders. “God, pardon my language, but she’s such a bitch. She treats you like garbage.”
“It was a dream,” Nathan points out.
“Yeah, but are you going to pretend like she doesn’t do that in real life? You’re twenty-five. It’s ridiculous.” Nathan starts to speak, but she cuts him off. “I don’t care about your condition. I don’t care whatever fancy shifter title she has. It’s bullshit. You’re a grown man, and she treats you like a child.”
Nathan looks guilty. He rubs his nose. “Yeah, you’re right. She’s my only family, though.”
Clara drops her gaze. “You can love your family without letting them treat you like a child.”
As she says it, Clara wonders if she’s being a hypocrite. She’s not the only one to think this—Nathan picks up her mistake quickly. “Your mom calls you every day to make sure her baby’s doing OK.”
“Moms do that,” Clara says, smiling awkwardly.
He stands. “Do they? Every day? Or just moms with disabled daughters?”
He grabs both of their cups, dumping them in the sink and turning on the water. Clenching and unclenching his fist, he grabs a sponge and goes at the dishes with vigor. Guilt floods Clara. “Nathan, I—”
“I’m not mad at you,” he mutters, softening. “I’m mad about other things. Don’t worry about it.”
Not as easy as you make it sound, Clara thinks but bites her tongue. Grabbing the wheels of her chair, she backs up and swivels around to go to the other room. She grabs her laptop from the coffee table and rolls down the hallway to work in her study. Nathan doesn’t follow her.
As there isn’t currently a polar bear in her house, she’s pretty sure he’s not that pissed. He’ll cool off quickly. The more she thinks about it, the more she feels far from him. Last night, they were so close. He opened up for once, and the kiss they shared was real and deeper than just lust. What happened between last night and today?
She’s troubled while working and can’t really focus on the music she’s reviewing. Clara restarts the audio, but that doesn’t work either. She works on editing a client’s sheet music, but there’s not much of that left to do.
After trying and failing to write another music review, Clara closes her laptop and lays her head face down on the desk.
The dull sound of water running from the other room stops, but Nathan doesn’t walk toward her. The sound of the sliding door closing tells her he’s gone outside. Probably good. He needs air.
Clara wonders what she needs. Wasn’t she the one who ran off mad this time?
He’s not completely wrong. Her mom does treat her like a child. Moms sometimes do that, but she would be lying to herself if she said some of the fussing wasn’t because of her muscular sclerosis.
Clara can’t pretend that her illness doesn’t exist. As soon as it started getting worse, her mom started visiting her college all the time. It’s only natural for a mom to do that, and Clara knows that to hate her mom’s clinginess doesn’t mean her mom is in the wrong.
Being disabled is hard. It impacts her life every day, making her do things differently and making people look at her differently. She’s coped pretty well and can function mostly on her, but it’s not a cakewalk. Clara just hates to think about the fact that she’s disabled. As much as she preaches disability rights and the idea that disabled people are still whole, Clara knows she’s probably ashamed of her disability. She wishes she wasn’t.
Sitting, she glances at the closet. She’s left in silence. Something about that bothers her—the way the wood creaks as her chair shifts, the way her breath sound shaky coming out of her mouth. Clara has been alone. She is used to being alone. But now the silence feels like a curse. It gnaws at her ears, leaving her wanting to clutch them. She twitches, reaching to scratch her opposite arm. A magnetic force pulls her toward the closet, and she cracks the doors open.
Her cello case is dusty. She grabs a ratty shirt she received from a volunteer event and uses it to wipe off the grime before tossing it in the laundry.
Leaning in a way that hurts her back, she unlatches the lid of the case and touches the velvet lining.
No more wallowing. No more avoidance, even if people will try to pin Clara’s success on her disability.
Carefully, she struggles and lifts the heavy instrument into her arms. At first, she doesn’t see the tuner, but some digging reveals it hiding in a small side pocket. Carefully, gently, she plucks the strings together. It makes an ugly mash of a sound, a product of bad tuning. Cringing, she starts to tune all the strings.
Clara reaches for the bow. Hesitance holds her back but only for a moment. Clara drags the bow across the strings in one smooth stroke.
The sound vibrates her whole being, settling into Clara’s bones like an old friend. She breathes slowly, closing her eyes before playing a scale to warm up her fingers. Her fingers shake, and it’s off at first.
She chips away at it for a few hours. Scales, triads, modes, simple songs—Clara practices all them, letting her irritation with Nathan (and herself) fall away into music. It consumes her like it used to, and she doesn’t stop even when her fingers sting without her calluses.
When she goes out for lunch, Nathan is asleep on the couch. With no intent to wake him, she makes herself some yogurt and granola and shovels it down before returning to her office. After that, she manages to do some of the music review work for her job before returning to the cello.
She goes back to sheet music this time, setting it out on a music stand that was hiding in her closet. She’s out of practice and it shows. Frustration bubbles up inside of her slowly, but she keeps playing anyway. Clara’s so wrapped up in the music that she doesn’t even notice Nathan’s presence.
“You play like an angel. I knew it.”
Whipping her head around, she sees him leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed. He smiles, but she furrows her brows and avoids his gaze. “I wasn’t ready to show you. You have to give a girl a few days of practice.”
A sigh. Nathan steps forward, taking the cello from her and carefully laying it back in its case. Clara clings to the bow, but he pulls her hands away from that too and looks at her fingertips. “You need to rest.”
“But,” she chokes out, “I wanted to play for you.”
Nathan drapes his arms over her shoulders, kissing the crook of Clara’s neck and making a shiver run from her hairline to the base of her spine. “You did,” he murmurs. Nathan squeezes her closer, and she finds herself relaxing.
“You’re just saying that.”
“I mean it.” He pulls away, stepping to the front of the chair and pulling some bandages out of his pocket. He must have seen her injuries and gone to get them before stepping in. With that gentle touch that makes her feel so weak, Nathan bandages her fingers. Blood dots the tip of one, which comes as a shock.
“You’re really something, you know that?” A pause. “Talented. Beautiful. Hardworking.”
“Flattery only gets you so far,” Clara teases, tilting his chin up with her index finger.
He smiles, laughing a dorky half-snort. Something in his eyes is shadowed, and Clara frowns. “Something wrong?”
“No.” Nathan looks up and smiles before tucking hair behind her ear. “I’m just glad to hear you play. I wish…”
Clara creases her eyebrows. “You wish…?”
The shifter finishes quickly, struggling to his feet. “I wish you had more faith in yourself is all. You’re wonderful.”
Heat makes Clara’s cheeks flush pink. “You talk like you’re in the movies or something, you know.”
“Is that bad?” Nathan ducks, squeezing her hand. “In any case, I brought something for you.”
He dodges out of the room to grab something in the hallway and walks back in. He carries a vase of wildflowers—not the ones Clara grows in her garden. Clara presses a hand to her mouth and smiles. If she’s blushing, Nathan’s blushing more. He sets the flowers on the desk.
“I know this is cheesy, but I—”
Clara pulls Nathan close, kissing him. He’s shocked at first, and then he leans into her. This pushes her wheelchair back, and he stumbles into her until it knocks into the wall. Laughing against her lips, he takes her face in his hand and dives in, flicking his tongue inside of her mouth.
She had control of the kiss at first, but he quickly takes command. Clara doesn’t mind at all as he leans his body into hers. He leans his knee between her legs on the wheelchair seat, closing her in with his warmth. His lips, his touch—all of it burns like fire. Clara kisses back, swirling her tongue with his.
It’s a passionate kiss, but it’s a romantic one too. His chest feels broad, closing her in, making her feel safe. She hates the concept of safety, of a man who functions as the protector for a weak girl, especially a disabled one. But Nathan…Clara wonders if, for once in her life, it might not so bad to let herself be weak. She’s not—but she could be if she wanted to, for him.
He nips at her bottom lip, chest pressed to her. His kisses are deep, with their teeth knocking against each other. Gasping, Clara weaves her fingers into his thick, black hair.
They separate, and she breathes hot and heavy into his lips. After a moment, Nathan laughs quietly, the kind of way that vibrates his chest. “I did say I owed you a kiss, didn’t I?”
He pulls away just far enough that she can see the smile in his eyes. Clara reaches her hands up, running her hands over his stubble. “I usually hate when people take care of me.”
Nathan tilts his head, drifting his lips over her cheek. “Good thing you can take care of yourself, huh?”
“You’re different.” Clara rubs her cheek against his affectionately. “It makes me feel spoiled, like it’s a treat. It’s not patronizing when it’s with you.”
Pulling away, Nathan leans his palms on the armrests of her wheelchair and raises an eyebrow. “That’s good.”
“I was thinking,” Clara finds herself saying, “you could…stay here awhile. After the investigation is finished, too.”
Nathan pauses, maintaining eye contact that seems to waver somewhere faraway. Clara holds the sides of his face again, trying to reach him. “Nathan?”
He blinks then smiles gently before kissing the side of Clara’s mouth. “I think I’d like that.”
Warmth spreading through her chest, Clara pulls him into a kiss again. When Nathan pulls away, he twirls her hazelnut-colored hair around his fingers before letting it go.
He pulls away again, leaving Clara cold. She clings to his touch, grabbing the front of his shirt and dragging him closer again. “Is that it?”
“I don’t know.” Nathan wears a hesitant, cheeky look. “Did you want something else?”
She laughs. “I was kind of hoping for sex. I’m quite invested in you, Nathanael Walker.”
He laughs, vibrating her to her core. Nathan raises an eyebrow at Clara, taking a step back. One gesture of the head at her open laptop. “Finish up whatever you have to do, huh?”
“Fine,” Clara concedes. “Since we have time.”
One more of those wonderful, deep laughs—this time, however, there’s a nervous hint below the surface. She doesn’t blame him—commitment of any kind Ha got to be hard after his recent loss. Nathan stops in the doorway. “Yeah, no rush, right?” Before she can respond, he’s darted away.
She basks in the glow of her feelings for a moment, the memory of the warmth of his lips still tingling the skin of her cheek.
He’s right—she’s completely neglected her work. Rolling back to the desk, she puts the nose to the grindstone for another hour before dinner. Before she goes back to the dining room, she opens an unread email.
Clara,
Lunch tomorrow? Feeling cooped up—let’s grab food and go for a walk. Or, uh, roll. 11 a.m. at the coffee place?
xx Alice
Smiling, Clara types out an affirmative reply
Be happy to! See you then.
Clara
She closes the email application and shuts her laptop. For a while, Clara gnaws at her lip. Why is she nervous? That’s a question without an answer.
Clara wheels to the coat hangers by the door and grabs a scarf, winding it around her neck. Sighing, she pulls out her phone and looks at the time. 10:40 a.m.
A smile spreads across her face. “Why are you hovering?” She turns the wheelchair around, facing Nathan. He looks tired—Clara knows he didn’t sleep again. He was tossing and turning all night, and it shows on his face today. “Do you want to come? I’m sure Alice would like to speak with you again.”
He shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so, and you and I both know that.”
“It was just a suggestion, Nathan.” Clara smiles. “No need to get worked up.”
Nathan nods. He rubs the back of his neck. “Not worked up.” He pauses, his lips parted. Clara watches as he creases his eyebrows. “Have fun at lunch,” he finally says, smiling.
“What, are you going to be lonely?” Reaching for Nathan’s hand, she squeezes it.
He looks distant, but her touch seems to settle him. The shifter leans down and kisses her forehead. “Not for long.”
Clara’s heart swells, and she can’t stop smiling, even after she’s kissed him goodbye and rolled out to her car. Her physical state isn’t so bad today, so she pulls out the ramp and rolls her wheelchair into the backseat of her car. After it was left in town the other day, Nathan snuck down to town and drove it back.
When she gets to the coffee shop, it’s not Alice who greets her. Rolling up to the shop, Clara squints. The woman against the wall by the door glances at her, raising an eyebrow. Her black hair is pulled into a ponytail. She puts out her cigarette against the brick and tosses it in the ash tray by the garbage can.
Clara feels ugly gnarling thing in her gut. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Naomi?”