She had started with a single glass of wine when she got home, but by the third one, which emptied the bottle, Nikki had put away the Rosa Mexicana takeout menu, deciding there was no point to the enchiladas suizas without tequila, but that tequila was just fine without the enchiladas. Nikki was making all the wrong choices that night and just kept making them.
The trauma of fearing that Rook had washed up off Sutton Place had cored out her insides, leaving her emotions strewn in a bloody tangle. Her relief, however profound and welcome, collapsed at the new shock of discovering that Lon King’s loving partner had stopped his daily run mid-span on the recreation lane of the Queensborough Bridge and, according to numerous eyewitnesses, stood on the rail, blessed himself, then let gravity tip him forward with his arms at his sides. The postmortem indicated water in his lungs, so it wasn’t the fall that killed him. Nikki knew it wasn’t the river either, but the heavy pain of unbearable loss. She submerged herself under lavender froth until she could hold her breath no longer, not to contemplate anything rash, just to see what it must have felt like to Sampson Stallings.
Yes, she was definitely making all the wrong choices.
Her cell phone rang, and Nikki made a SeaWorld dolphin vault out of the tub, naked, in her dash to grab it. She had intended to leave the phone within arm’s reach so she could get news about Rook but had been afraid she would drop it in the water. Instead, in her drunken scramble, her wet feet slipped and she fell hard to the bathroom floor, knocking the wind out of herself and sending the iPhone across the tiles like a hockey puck.
She pulled herself toward the john and snatched the phone up before the call got dumped to voice mail. But her screen swipe was clumsy and the phone fell from her hand, clattering onto the floor again. She made a fumble for it and, at last, managed to croak out a hello.
“Nikki, it’s me.” Lauren Parry. For the second time that day, Heat prayed the topic would not be the discovery of Jameson Rook. “What’s going on? You sound like something’s wrong.”
“No, I’m fi-ine.” Heat flinched, hoping she hadn’t cracked a rib. The sharp pain gave fine two syllables.
“You can’t fool me. I called because I’m worried about you. Should I be worried about you?”
Nikki didn’t answer. Didn’t know how to, didn’t have the energy to, didn’t want to open the vein. She decided to stay on the floor and rolled onto her back, hoping for some comfort from the rug, but came to a stop half on, half off. She grunted.
“I’m coming over.”
“No. Don’t. Laur, I’m OK, really. I just…I’m OK. You know me.”
“Which is why I’m calling. You looked liked hell this afternoon at my office.”
Instead of speaking, Heat shook her head no, as if Lauren could see her, though she was very glad this was not a FaceTime call. Finally, she said, “Well, it has been a bit of a strain.”
“I can’t even imagine. So what are you doing about it? Sitting home, getting hammered?”
Nikki pulled her phone away to examine it to make sure this was indeed not a FaceTime call. She began to tell Lauren not to be concerned, that she had this covered, but as the words formed, they turned into vapor and left her with nothing. Fueled by alcohol and despair, Nikki began to weep.
Her dear friend did the best thing she possibly could have done at that moment. She just listened to the sobs. A minute later, or two minutes, maybe even five, when Nikki whined a high-pitched “I’m sorry…” Lauren still didn’t intervene, except to say she was there, not to worry.
When she was cried out, at least for that round, Heat forced herself to sit, sliding her backside on the tile until she could rest her shoulders on the toilet.
“You want some company, Nikki?”
“Want to know what I’m doing right now? I’m wet and shivering from the tub, sitting on my bathroom floor naked, using the john as a backrest. I’m kinda drunk and all alone and I kinda need that. You insulted?”
“No, I get it.”
“Because if you wanted to come over like Melissa McCarthy from Bridesmaids and slap some sense into me, you might not like the result.”
Dr. Parry chuckled. “Don’t want that.”
“No, you don’t.”
“All right, then, I’ll respect your wishes.”