She backed away from him. He ignored the grief in her eyes. He couldn't help that. She could not have Nicholas back. How could he be sorry for that and survive?
"Cole, I--"
"For the sake of appearances, it would be best if you called me by the other name."
"Appear... appearances?" she stammered, biting her lip and pressing the edge of her finger to the corner of each eye. "Yes. Yes, I understand. For appearances." The word itself seemed to give her pain. She tried to nod it away. He heard the catch in her throat when she spoke again. "Nicholas, I'm sorry my father hurt you so. You shouldn't have gone. If I had known what you were planning--"
"Don't cry," he said brusquely. "I don't remember any of that. Sometimes there is a benefit in forgetfulness."
"But the pain," her fingers stretched out to touch him. He warned her off with his frown.
"The pain is nothing. It's more reliable than breathing." Seeing the puzzlement on her face, he added, "To let you know you're alive."
An aide came in bearing the dinner tray, his first real meal since Friday.
"Will you need help with this?"
"I'll help him, thank you." The girl who was his wife lifted the metal lids revealing a cream soup, mashed potatoes, something that might be stewed chicken. A study in off-white. He saw a fleeting tautness in her jaw as she grimaced at the food then turned to him and boldly lied. "Looks delicious. I'll bet you're hungry."
"And I'll bet I still am afterwards. Are there any utensils? A straw?"
"A straw?"
"Yeah, why dirty the flatware for this? Anyway, I may have need of the knife later. To slit my wrists."
She winced. "Don't! Don't even joke about that, Nicholas."
When she thought he wasn't looking, she slipped the knife from the tray into her sweater pocket. "Do you want to sit up? I can crank up your bed."
"Yes, please. It might make dinner easier."
He held his breath and masked the pain that came when he bent at the waist. "That's good enough," he finally had to gasp.
"Oh! Should I let it down some?"
"No, I'll be all right in just a minute." He pressed his hand to his side while the pain gradually faded. The look of distress on her face was worse than the twinge in his gut. "Do you plan to watch me eat?" he asked sourly.
"I-I was going to help you."
"I have managed to feed myself for some twenty-five years. I don't need your help."
"Oh." She looked as if he'd slapped her. "I'll take a walk then."
"Why don't you go home? I assume the dark circles under your eyes are not normal for you. Haggardness would not be his style." Cole did not have the courage to look at her again, so he would not see her flinch as his insults hit their mark. He lifted a forkful of the white, lumpy stuff to his mouth. It was tuna, not chicken. He curled his lips in disgust and set it down.
She picked up her purse and a book from the windowsill and walked toward the door. "You won't push me away whatever you do or say," she said quietly. "I love Nicholas. I love you, Nicholas. I won't give you up."
After she was gone, he took a few stabs at the mashed potatoes then shoved the tray aside. His last clear, waking memory was of a November blizzard and sliding into death in a snow bank by the side of a road. But he had not been lucky. It had not been death at all that found him on that desolate highway. It was Nicholas, the thief of time. Now he, too, had deserted, leaving the encumbrances of a wife and a history Cole did not know.
Everything, she said. Fitapaldi told her everything. He would have to ask Fitapaldi to tell the same to him. Why should he always be the last to know?
"Mr. Brewer?" Cole looked up to see a round, florid face thrust into his room. "You up? Detective Chancellor, St. Louis Police Department. We need to ask you a few questions?"
"Come in." He had the sinking feeling that a part of his missing history was about to be revealed to him.
"We've been here before. This here is my partner, Detective Haskell." Chancellor was the older of the two. His partner had a skim of a mustache on his long upper lip. Both detectives wore ill-fitting suits. Chancellor's was baggy and brown, Haskell's gray had frayed cuffs that