ée Carlino - Nowhere but Here

“What was her name?”

“Julia.”

“What happened?”

“She left me.”

“Why?”

“She wanted other things in life.”

“Like what?”

“Material things.”

“Were you in love with her?”

“Not when I realized what she wanted from me.”

“Were you hurt?”

“Yes.” He remained serious.

“So you don’t sleep around?”

He chuckled. “I’m a man. I’ve dated, but I’m not interested in sleeping around. I want to be with someone who intrigues me, who I can have fun with, who I can laugh with, but who will challenge me. I’ve been looking for the same thing most of us are looking for.”

“What’s that?”

“Someone to come home to.”

My eyes filled with tears. He leaned in slowly and cautiously and then he kissed me softly before whispering, “Can we have fun now?”

“Yes!” I said passionately. “What do you have in mind, sailor?”

“Well, first I’m going to feed you tiramisu. Then we’re going to walk across the street and I’m going to kick your ass at shuffleboard and darts. And then, if you’re lucky, I’ll take you back to the winery and show you my barn.” My eyes went wide. He laughed. “No expectations.”

“That is by far the strangest offer I’ve ever had, but I’d love to see your barn. There is one thing you must know, though.”

“Uh-oh. What?”

“I’m known as the shuffleboard champion east of the Mississippi.”

“You’re all talk. You said that about karaoke.” He slipped a bite of tiramisu into my mouth.

“What are the stakes?”

He kissed cream away from the side of my mouth before answering. “If I win, I get to kiss you for as long as I want.”

I nodded enthusiastically. “And if I win . . . then you get to kiss me for as long as you want.”

“Deal.”

We went to a little dive bar where I won two games of shuffleboard but lost three games of darts, so Jamie still claimed that he was the champion. He talked me into doing three Fireball whiskey shots, and every time I did one he kissed me for an entire minute afterward.

“I like the taste in your mouth,” he said.

“You just like getting me drunk.”

“It’s not about that, I just want you to enjoy yourself.”

“I am, but you’re going to doom me all night.” He laughed so loudly when I said it that I quickly realized what the words sounded like.

“Katy, I would love to, but don’t you think that’s a lot of pressure to put on me?”

I offered to settle the bar challenge score with a game of pool.

“I think I should get you back. Plus I’m ready to claim my prize. I won fair and square.” Just as he said that, a short, stocky fellow took a seat at the bar next to me on my right.

The man next to me said, “Hi,” in a kind, friendly voice.

I turned toward him slightly and said, “Hi,” very blandly.

The man had one of those chests that stuck out in some futile attempt to make him look taller, and he wore a black muscle shirt that hugged his large, gunlike biceps. Not my style at all. “Do you live here or are you just visiting San Francisco?” he asked. I looked at Jamie first before turning back to answer. He swept his hair back out of his face and I could see his jaw flex, but his expression never changed. He looked unaffected.

I swiveled back toward the man. “I’m just visiting.”

He put his hand on my leg and rubbed it up and down. “Can I get you another shot?”

I gasped and pulled my leg away. I blinked twice and Jamie was suddenly standing on the other side of the man, gripping the back of his neck and pushing the guy’s face to the bar. Jamie lowered his own face to the man’s ear and spoke in a steely voice that was so quiet but so powerful that it gave me chills.

“You see that she’s with me, don’t you?” Jamie was looking right into his eyes. I could see the man struggling. He was breathing through his mouth. Jamie’s grip on his neck was so strong, the veins in his forearms and in the man’s neck were bulging and pulsing. “Answer me.”

The man nodded.

“Then keep your fucking hands off her.”

The guy stood from the bar and held his hands up in a defensive gesture. “Okay, man, back off.”

I stood as well. “I have to use the restroom,” I said quickly then marched off. I turned back just as I entered the bathroom door and saw Jamie standing at the bar, looking shattered as he watched me walk away. My heart was beating out of my chest. What do I say? That was so weird and possessive.

Gathering myself, I took two deep breaths and splashed cold water on my face. When I opened the door, Jamie was standing against the wall just outside the bathroom, waiting for me. His hands were in his pockets and he was looking down.

“I’m sorry,” he said to the floor. When he looked up, I noticed his eyes were misty. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m not a violent person at all. I would never lay a hand on you. I just want you to know that.”

“Why did you do that?”

“I just thought he was being really disrespectful, and I wouldn’t want anyone to treat you that way.”

“We barely know each other, Jamie. You don’t have to do that for me.”

“Did I ruin the night?”

I walked up to him and pressed myself against his body. Looking up into his eyes, I brushed his hair back and said, “I have mixed emotions right now. It scared me a little, but no one has ever done anything like that for me.” I kissed his cheek. “Thank you. It made me feel important.”

“You are.”

We walked several blocks back to the truck. Every time there was a shadow cast on the wall of a building, Jamie would push me into it and kiss me like Armageddon was around the corner. Once we were back at the parking garage, I felt like the world was spinning. I stumbled just before I got to the truck. Jamie braced me by the elbow. “I’m pretty drunk,” I said to him as he opened the truck door for me.

He cupped my face and gave me the lightest kiss. “I’ll take care of you.” He helped me in and then went around to his side and gave himself a shot of insulin.

I scrunched up my nose. “Smells like Band-Aids.”

“Yeah, the insulin has a really potent smell. Does it bother you?” He looked over at me apprehensively.

“Not at all. I was just making an observation, and I’m drunk. Just ignore me.”

“Never.” He winked at me then pulled the truck out onto the street and into the bustling city traffic.

“Didn’t you do that before we ate?”

“What?”

“Use the insulin pen.”

He looked up. His eyes were wide, and there was a faint look of fear in them. “Did I?”

“Yeah, you did.”

“I felt hot, so I thought . . .”

I giggled. “Maybe it was all the kissing.” His expression never changed. He looked bewildered. “Are you okay, Jamie?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said quietly as he looked up into the rearview mirror and over his shoulder to change lanes. “I’m fine.”

We were approaching the Golden Gate Bridge. Jamie was very quiet. I started to fade, and the last thing I remembered was laying my head in his lap and him stroking my hair.

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was that my head was pounding from the alcohol. The second thing I realized was that we weren’t moving. I was still in Jamie’s lap. His forehead was resting on the steering wheel and his right arm was on the dashboard out in front of him. My initial assumption was that he was sleeping. I shimmied out from underneath him and saw that he was clutching the bottle of glucose tablets in his left hand. We were across the bridge in the parking lot of Golden Gate Overlook, facing the city. I looked closely at Jamie and saw that his eyes were very slightly open.

“Jamie.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Jamie, are you okay?” I grabbed the bottle from his left hand and discovered that it was empty. I became frantic. I put my hand to his forehead, and he tried to give me a weak smile.

“What is it?”

“Low,” he mumbled, barely loud enough for me to hear.

It occurred to me, very brutally, that Jamie had given himself too much insulin. I started searching the car but couldn’t find the glucagon kit. “Jamie!” I screamed, but at that point his eyes were closed and he was unresponsive. He started to lean left. I gently laid him against the driver’s side door and then glanced out at the bridge. The traffic had stopped; the pedestrians were frozen in space and time. I felt frustrated and powerless, like in a dream. I screamed again, “Where is it?” And then I prayed and reached for my phone, but just before I dialed 911, I visualized the orange case under the seat. Visualize to realize. When I looked, it was there. Yanking it from below and popping it open, my motions were fluid and precise, as if I were on autopilot. Somehow I knew exactly how to pump the liquid into the vial of powder. I filled the syringe and pushed a drop up through the needle, removing any air. I unbuckled his belt and yanked at his jeans to where I could see just enough skin below his hip to give him the shot, and then I jabbed the needle into his flesh and pushed the liquid through. I was crying, panic-stricken. Please be okay. Please be okay.

I dialed 911 on my phone, just in case, but right before I hit SEND, I heard Jamie speak.

“Katy?” he murmured.

“Yes?” I slid toward him. He sat up against the seat, his head falling back, and took two deep breaths. I straddled him and cupped his face, searching his eyes. They were dilated and he was clammy, but he was conscious and watching me.

“Oh my god, Jamie! Oh my god!”