“Yes. I did consider it. You have to understand, it wasn’t about Freddie to me. It was more of me weighing, one last time, whether I thought the life that comes with you is one that I could live.”
“It wasn’t because any part of you loves him?” Nick sounded nervous.
“I didn’t say that. A part of me does love him,” I said. “All of me loves him, actually. He’s Freddie. I stopped getting to make new friends when you and I got serious. He filled that void for me.” I took Nick’s hand. “He’s not the brother I was willing to face the wrath of the world with, and he’s not the one I will write love letters about, which I’ll leave in Sex Den for some future generation to find. But in my own way, even if it’s not the way he wanted, I love him.”
“Dr. Kep thanks you in advance for the billable hours,” Nick cracked, but he wasn’t smiling.
“I’m not saying that to hurt you. But I am done dancing around how I feel.” I turned on my side to face him. “I miss my friend. I want to be able to see him without you thinking it means anything.”
Nick closed his eyes. “This is going to be hard.”
“It is,” I agreed. “But if we both back away, and then you realize you’re ready for him again, he might be too far gone for either of us.”
“You’re keeping my foot in the door, as it were,” he said.
“However you want to look at it.”
Nick stroked my cheek with his gloves. His fingers caught a strand of my hair, which became electrified with static.
“We always do have sparks,” he said teasingly.
A remote control landed hard in my lap. I emerged from my reverie to see Eleanor looking impatiently at me.
“Find something on TV that isn’t awful,” she said. “Richard made me watch a highlight reel of things I’d missed in Parliament. Can you imagine the torture?”
“I mean, you did tell him to fuck off,” I said.
“Language, Rebecca,” Eleanor said, horrified.
I clapped my hand over my mouth.
“Ah. I see your sense of humor fucked off with him,” she said.
I burst out laughing. “I don’t even know what to say right now. I’m so off-kilter.”
“I’m getting a little revenge for those things you did while I was in my semi-coma,” she said.
“Do you remember any of that?”
“I was vaguely aware of people coming and going, and I heard snippets of words here and there, but it was very dreamlike, and surreal,” she said. “I do recall you stomping around talking about your sports team, but then your hair caught on fire, which I assume I hallucinated.” She frowned. “It was a strange state to be in, and now, I can’t feel that passage of time anymore. It’s as if I just blinked.”
“We felt every day of it,” I said. “Richard did you proud, but the public missed you.”
“Did he enjoy having my job?”
Richard’s face the night of the state dinner flashed into my mind. He was glowing, glad-handing dignitaries, deeply pleased with himself. “He wasn’t happy about the reason for his regency,” I hedged.
“He came in here with a whole list of accomplishments, to suggest that perhaps he should remain in the position while I am rehabbing,” she said, her nostrils flaring. “He’s probably right but I sent him packing anyway. He was very cross.” And then she winked at me, not without some effort. I started flipping through the channels to avoid reacting.
“Stop there,” Eleanor said, when I landed on Entertainment Tonight. “I have a bad feeling about Brad and Angelina. Although they did send me beautiful flowers.” She waved at a tremendous bouquet of out-of-season peonies. “Now. There’s something we need to discuss.”
“Oh yes, about that,” I said. “Nick and Freddie are—”
“Rebecca, if you don’t have that under some semblance of control by now, please keep me in divine ignorance of your failure,” Eleanor said. “This is important. This is about me.” She put her hands to her chest. “I have cheated death.”
Next to her, Marta grunted.
“Cheated death,” Eleanor repeated, “and now I’d like to have more of a life. I intend to have fun.”
We looked at each other. The longer she said nothing, the more certain I was that being Eleanor’s official purveyor of post-near-death fun was about to become my full-time job.
“Well?” Eleanor prodded. “Where do we start?”
Everything that popped into my mind was inappropriate for an ailing octogenarian—beer pong, bungee jumping, skinny-dipping in the Buckingham