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Chapter 16

Days passed, and Claire saw and heard nothing more of Nick. By the middle of the week, her annoyance with him had faded, and she found herself wondering when he was going to call her… if he was going to call her, that was. She had certainly fought the urge to pick up the phone and call him first, but her stubborn streak never failed at keeping her from dialing all seven digits of his number – she usually got four or five of them in and then hung up. After refusing to talk to him after work on Monday, she didn’t want to come crawling back to him; she wanted him to call first. And she was sure he felt the same way about her. Again, it was a battle of wills – who was going to break down and make the first move?

She thought it should be him – even though he had technically already apologized for leaving her at Leonardi’s, it was still he who had started the whole thing, as far as she was concerned. But by the time Thursday rolled around, she decided that if she had heard nothing from him by the time she got off work that afternoon, she would call. If nothing else, she had to find out whether or not he was still coming to Gainesville with her that weekend to visit her parents. The way things seemed to be going, it didn’t look promising.

This whole week has sucked, Claire thought, as she hit yet another red light on the way home from work. She slammed on her brakes and laid on her horn at the truck in the lane next to her, who sailed through the red without a care in the world. She heard other horns echoing hers from the intersecting street and smiled to herself in satisfaction. Now if only there was a cop around to see that… But, of course, cops only seemed to be around at the most inopportune times, like when she was late to work and speeding to get there before she went from late to really late.

That hadn’t happened to her that morning, luckily, but it was just about the only thing that hadn’t. Over the course of the day, she figured she had to have set some kind of new record for highest number of nightmare patients in a matter of hours – a little boy who tried to bite her fingers whenever she had them in his mouth; a little girl who screamed bloody murder every time her fingers even neared her mouth; a chubby kid who managed to swallow his fluoride treatment and then proceeded to vomit it right back up, all over himself, the dental chair, and her; and an old man with rotting teeth and rancid breath who tried to pinch her ass every time she turned around. By the time she’d finished with the smelly old pervert, she was too fed up to even joke about it, although she sure it would make for a good story to tell around lunch the next day.

For now though, she was still too grossed out to even think about food, and all she wanted to do was get home, take a long shower, and try to forget this whole day – no, make that week – had ever happened.

When she reached her apartment building, she parked in her usual spot in the small lot and got out of her car. Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she shuffled tiredly up the walkway, which was in need of a good weeding, to the front door. She pushed it open and walked inside, heading straight for the narrow staircase that would take her up to her second story apartment. Stopping at the foot of the stairs, she looked down and frowned. There, lying at her feet, was a single, long-stemmed yellow rose. And on the stair above that was another, and above that, yet another. Her eyes followed the banister all the way up the staircase and widened as she saw yellow blossoms peeking down at her from every step.

Instinctively, she knew exactly what this was, and who had done it. But she had to see for herself. She knelt down and gingerly picked up the flower at her feet. There was a note tied to its stem with a red satin ribbon, written on a small scrap of plain white paper, folded over once. She unfolded it and recognized Nick’s boyish scrawl. Feeling herself smile, she read the words.

Living without you…

Her smile faded to a frown – what was that supposed to mean? Perplexed, she plucked the rose from the first step and brought it up to her nose, inhaling its scent briefly before curiously unfolding the attached note and reading it.

Living alone…

Now her smile returned, as recognition hit her with those two words. She reached for the rose on the next stair and eagerly read its message.

This empty house seems so cold…

Giggling, she climbed up a step and picked up the next rose. This time, she whispered the words even before her eyes recognized them on the scrap of paper.

Wanting to hold you…

“Wanting you near,” she added, leaning down to get the next one. She smiled as she read the note: Wanting you near…

The next rose’s note said just what she expected.

How much I wanted you home…

“I know you do, Nick,” she sighed softly, with a wistful smile. “I know.”

The notes continued on, right in order, each saying just what she thought they would. Yet she enjoyed reading each and every word, penned so endearingly in his own hand.

But now that you’ve come back…

Turned night into day…

I need you to stay…

She reached the ninth step, and, tightening her hold on her ever-growing bouquet of yellow roses, she stooped to pick up the tenth rose, her heart fluttering when she read the familiar words on its note.

So now I come to you, with open arms…

And still they continued, as she kept on ascending, a rose for each stair, a note for each rose, a lyric for each note:

Nothing to hide…

Believe what I say…

So here I am, with open arms…

Hoping you’ll see…

What your love means to me…

She stopped, holding the last rose, with the last note, in her hand. She had reached the top of the staircase, the second story. But where-?

And then she heard footsteps coming up the hall. She smiled, overcome with emotion. She recognized those footsteps… faintly different from most others, just the tiniest bit off, uneven… the footfalls of someone with a slight, almost unnoticeable limp. They became louder and louder, closer and closer. They rounded the corner…

And then he was there.

He stood there before her for a minute, arms crossed over his chest, his eyes traveling the length of her. He licked his lips, and she watched them curve into a smile as he saw the bouquet in her arms.

She shook her head in amazement. And all she could find to say was, “Where’s the end? Hoping you’ll see… what your love means to me…” She trailed off; it had to be continued! Leaving it like that was like playing seven notes of a scale and never resolving it with the that all-important eighth note.

Nick grinned. And he finished the scale. He held out his arms, as if to embrace her, and then she saw the white scrap of paper taped to t-shirt with masking tape, right in the middle of his chest, where his arms had been hiding it. She leaned forward to read what it said, as if she didn’t already know.

It read, very simply:

ß (Open Arms) à

With an arrow on each side, pointing to his outstretched arms.

A giggle escaped her, and she clapped her hand over her mouth, looking up at him in absolute adoration. She didn’t even know what to say. Then she realized it didn’t matter, not quite yet. All she had to do was fall into his “open arms” and lose herself in his warm embrace. And so she did. And feeling his arms close around her, holding her tight against his broad chest, she knew that no words were needed. Apologies… forgiveness… in that instant, she felt they’d covered all bases without saying a thing.

Still clutching her flowers in one fist, she awkwardly wrapped her arms around him. He squirmed. “Ow… thorns… digging into back…” He pulled away, wincing, and she giggled, letting go of him and pulling the flowers back.

“Sorry,” she said quickly, carefully setting the bouquet on the floor next to her. “Let’s try that again.” Reaching for him, she pulled him back into a hug and felt his arms return around her. She sighed happily against his chest and ran one hand up and down his back. She could feel his spine and his muscles through the thin material of his t-shirt. And then- “Uh, Nick?” Her fingers had brushed something foreign. They curled around it, gave it a pull… She laughed. “What’s this?” She was holding yet another rose, which had apparently been sticking out of the back pocket of his jeans, hidden behind his back. This one was different from the others though – it was red, not yellow. But there was still a note.

“Oh,” he laughed, as her fingers fumbled with the note, unfolding it slowly. “I knew I’d mess something up - I was supposed to give you that.”

Smiling, she read the piece of paper. All it said was: P.S. I’m sorry

“I don’t think that’s in the song,” she joked, grinning up at him.

He grinned back. “I know. But I am.”

“I am too,” she said. “If I hurt your feelings, that day in Leonardi’s… I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “It’s all right. I was just mad. And I know you were just frustrated.”

She nodded. “So we’re good now?”

“We’re good,” he grinned. “I love you, Claire.”

“And I love you too, Nick. You know that, right?”

He nodded. “I know.”

“Good,” she said with a smile. “See that you don’t forget.”

He chuckled. “Aw, I dunno… you might have to remind me from time to time.”

“Oh yeah? And how do you suppose I should do that? Like… this?” Rising onto her toes, she pulled him close and kissed his lips with all the passion that had been building up inside her with every stair she’d climbed, every rose she’d smelled, and every note she’d read.

“Whew,” he gasped breathlessly when the kiss was broken. “Yeah, I’d say that’s a great reminder.”

“I’ll have to remember that then,” she said, coyly twisting a lock of hair around her finger. “But if I forget…”

He grinned roguishly and pulled her back to him. “Then I’ll just have to remind you.” And he caught her mouth in another fiery kiss.

As she kissed back, she decided it would not be a good time to tell him she’d been puked on by an overweight eight-year-old two hours earlier.

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Lyrics: “Open Arms” by Journey