He came around the corner of the sidewalk at a trot. When he did, Nikki thrust herself upward, ready to bat his face with the three-foot roll of Turkish wool. Then she recognized her pursuer as Rook.
Heat just managed to pull her swing and missed hitting him, but he startled, shouting “Whoa, no, no!,” flailing his arms up defensively and losing his balance. He pitched forward, bent over in a stoop, desperately fighting gravity and losing. Rook crash landed with an “oof!” on the slate flagstones, managing, at least, to shield his face, putting his forearm between it and the sidewalk as he dropped.
“God, Rook, what do you think you’re doing?”
“Protecting you,” came his muffled voice spoken into the sleeve under him. He turned over and sat up. Blood streamed from both nostrils.
When they came into her apartment, she said, “Please don’t bleed on the floor, I just cleaned it.”
“Love the compassion. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
She sat him down on a bar stool with a box of tissues and washed him up with the remaining towelettes Lauren Parry had given her the night before. While she dabbed the dried blood from his upper lip and nose, she said, “Rook, think back over the past year. Haven’t you learned yet not to shadow me?”
“Clearly, not. Ow.”
“Sorry.”
“And clearly, you haven’t learned that, if you’re being shadowed, it just might be the cavalry. Meaning me.”
“I.”
“No grammar police, OK?” He pulled a wad of tissue away from his nose to examine for fresh blood. Satisfied, he lobbed it into the trash can. “What’s wrong with us, Nikki? Why can’t we be like a Woody Allen movie? Two old lovers with unfinished business running into each other on a New York sidewalk?”
“You mean,” she said, “instead of running into a sidewalk?”
“Is my nose broken?”
“Let’s see.” She reached her fingers for it, but he pulled back.
“No. Enough pain.” He got up and checked his face in the teakettle. “Reflection’s too distorted to tell.” He shrugged. “Well, if it is broken, it’ll give me character. I’ll be even more rugged in my rugged handsomeness.”
“Until people find out how you did it.” That made him check himself out in the kettle again. While he turned away, bending to assess the damage, she said, “Thank you for trying to protect me.” Then she added, “Guess you can’t be that angry.”
He rose upright and faced her. “Wanna bet?” But his look told her he had, at least, downgraded to a simmer.
“And I don’t blame you. I know you felt blindsided.”
“Why? Because you ditched me, and a couple of hours later, I find a naked dead man in your apartment? And when I dare to ask, you think you can get away with saying it’s complicated and giving me the boot?”
“OK, so I guess you may still be angry.”
“What if roles were reversed? What if you had come into my place and found a naked Tam Svejda with her brains on the floor? All right, maybe not so much the brains, but you get the idea.”
A stillness charged by unseen toxic particles settled in the chasm between them. Nikki knew that it fell to her to break the silence, or not to. She recognized a tipping point when she saw one and waded in. “You may not agree,” she began, “because of the … indignity of your nose injury, but tonight’s unexpected encounter is sort of good timing. Today my shrink suggested I make contact with you.”
“This is sounding more like Woody Allen, after all. You saw a shrink?” And then for emphasis, he added, “You?”