More Than Words

Nina left the room. She went into her bedroom, shut the door, and let herself cry into her pillow, muffling the animal sounds that came from somewhere deep in her heart. Or maybe it was her soul. That three quarters of an ounce that may or may not exist.

28

A while later there was a knock on Nina’s bedroom door. She bit her lip to stop the sobs and ended up taking long gulping breaths instead. “Aunt Caro?” she asked.

“It’s me,” Tim answered, his voice choked with apology, with sorrow, with love. “I got home late and forgot to charge my phone last night. It ran out of battery. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

Nina got off her bed and opened the door. Tim’s eyes were red-rimmed, his face pale. He bent down to hug her, then lifted her with him when he straightened, so she was clinging to his neck, her feet a few inches off the floor.

“I’m so sorry, Nina,” he said, as he leaned back over, so she was standing once more. “I’ll never forgive myself. Of all nights.”

“It’s okay,” she said, feeling the words against her sore throat. “I’m glad you’re here now.” And then she dissolved into tears again, and this time Tim cried with her.

29

With TJ and Caro there to take care of everything, Nina told Tim she wanted to go home. To her apartment. Where the ghost of her father wasn’t lurking around every corner. Where his shoes and medications and books and Thanksgiving turkey collection didn’t feel like they were taking up all the air.

“Will you come with me?” Nina asked.

“Of course,” Tim said. “I told the office I was going to be MIA for the next week. I’m here to help in whatever way I can.”

“Thanks,” Nina said. She laced her fingers through his. She wanted to never let him go.

* * *

• • •

When the elevator opened into her loft, Nina took a deep breath. Being here was better. Not great, but better.

“Did you eat yet today?” Tim asked Nina as he closed the door behind them.

Nina shook her head. “I’m not hungry,” she said.

“How about coffee?”

“How about we watch my dad’s favorite movie while I deal with your mom’s list?” she countered. Before they’d left, Caro had given Nina a list of the decisions that her father had left to her, and the phone numbers of the people who should hear from Nina directly before the press release went out.

“What do you want me to do?” Tim asked.

“Just . . . be here,” Nina said.

Tim slipped an arm around her shoulder and squeezed. “That I can do,” he said. “But you do have to eat something at some point today.”

Nina looked up at him. She thought about all the meals she and Tim had eaten with her father. All the times the three of them snuck to the hot dog stand across the street from the Seaport hotel, even though they knew Caro wouldn’t approve. With Tim, she would have that extra piece of her father. His memories as well as her own. I should just tell him I want to marry him now, Nina thought. But every time she opened her mouth to say the words, something stopped her.

“So, Dune?” Tim asked.

“Of course,” Nina said. Her father’s obsession with the movie had caused Tim and Nina to dress as Paul and Chani one Halloween in the late ’90s. No one knew who they were, but they didn’t care.

As Tim turned on the TV to order Dune, Nina dimmed the lights and grabbed a fleece blanket from her rocking chair. It was blue, with an embroidered Y in the corner, and was big enough to cover two people, if not three. Her father had picked it up at his last Yale reunion and given it to Nina. She held it to her nose, but it didn’t smell anything like him. As the movie started, Tim and Nina sat together under the blanket, Nina’s head leaning against Tim’s chest, his arm around her back. He was keeping her from falling apart—holding her up, literally and figuratively.

“I love you so much,” she said to him, as she unfolded the list of phone numbers.

“Me, too,” he answered, resting his cheek on the top of her head. “Me, too.”

Nina made phone call after phone call, telling practically everyone she’d ever met that her father had died. She accepted their condolences and swallowed everything she wanted to say when one of his longtime squash partners asked her if she was going to see a medium to speak to her father from beyond the grave and when their neighbors in East Hampton launched into a story about how their dog died a week ago last Thursday and how they thought it might be from the pesticide the gardeners put on the hydrangeas.

“Everyone’s a lunatic,” she said to Tim, who’d been half listening to her end of the conversations and half dealing with the e-mails on his phone.

“I’m not going to disagree,” he said. “Well, except for us. We’re the only nonlunatics out there.”

Nina sighed. “I don’t know,” she said. “We might be lunatics, too. Do you know if you’re a lunatic?”

Then Nina’s eyes went to the television screen and she realized the poison capsule in Duke Leto’s tooth was about to kill him. Nina flinched against Tim. This part had never bothered her before, but now she couldn’t watch.

“Turn it off,” she said. “Tim, please. Turn it off. Don’t let it get to that part.” She heard the panic in her voice but couldn’t stop it.

Tim fumbled for the remote control and hit pause.

“He’s Paul’s dad,” Tim said, realizing the problem.

Nina nodded. “I forgot that happened. Can we . . . can we put something else on?” she asked quietly.

“Of course,” Tim said.

Nina laid her head back against his chest and he stroked her hair with one hand while flicking through the options on the screen with the other. “Here,” he said. “How about this one?” He put on Matilda. “You used to like this.”

“Better choice,” Nina said, her voice small. “Thank you.”

She took her glasses off and closed her eyes, listening to the familiar dialogue, feeling Tim’s chest rise and fall against her.

* * *

• • •

About an hour later, Nina woke up to the sound of a text message. She looked around and realized she and Tim had fallen asleep on the couch together. Somehow they’d both stretched out so they were lying like spoons, her body just in front of his, his arm draped across her stomach, the fleece blanket pulled up to their chins. She could feel his even breath on her neck.

Nina slowly reached in front of her to grab her glasses and phone from the coffee table, not wanting to wake Tim. She slipped on her glasses, flicked the phone to silent, and then looked at the text. There were two. Both from Rafael. They’d come one right after the other. The fact that there weren’t any others meant the press release hadn’t gone out yet.

Hey, Palabrecita, the text said. Just wanted to see how you were doing. When my dad died, I was a real disaster. And that was with my brother and sister and mom there with me. Hope you have people to lean on.

The office isn’t the same without you here.

Nina took a quiet breath. In reading the text, she could hear Rafael’s voice. She could see him, sitting at his desk, texting while drinking a cup of Jane’s horrific coffee. Maybe he’d rolled up his sleeves and anyone who was watching could see the muscles in his forearm ripple every time he moved his thumb to type. Nina closed her eyes and let herself melt against Tim. She shouldn’t be thinking about Rafael.

She reread his message.

Should she respond? What should she say? She didn’t want to write anything that would’ve made her father say, You’re smarter than that.

She’d planned to go back to work at some point before election day. Help Rafael win. But was that even fair, to take so much time off right before an election? And Nina knew her brain wasn’t functioning properly. She’d be no help to him in the state she was in. Plus, there was the connection that they both knew was there, even if they’d never spoken it aloud. It wasn’t smart to put herself in that situation. Even now, thinking about him made her cheeks feel warm.

She could quit. Focus on the Gregory Corporation. Focus on Tim. Live her life in a way that would carry forth her father’s legacy—the one he cared so much about that he gave a speech to Rafael’s Junior Achievement club about it. Her dad didn’t approve of quitting in general, but this seemed like one of the extenuating circumstances that would make it okay.

Tim moved in his sleep and tightened his hand on Nina’s stomach, pulling her closer to him. She took a deep breath.

Hey, she typed back to Rafael. Thanks for checking in. I’m here with Tim. Good for leaning purposes. Listen, I’ve been thinking: Would it be better for you to hire someone else to write your speeches for the general? I’m not sure if I’ll really be able to handle that on top of all of this. I don’t know if I’ll even be able to handle all of this, honestly. And you need someone who can give the election 100%.

Her finger hovered over the send button, but she didn’t press it.

She added: I can send you some suggestions if you need. And then she hit send. She felt an immediate pang of regret, a sense of loss that was an echo of the one she felt when she’d hung up with him that morning, but she knew she’d made the right decision. And maybe, in time, they could be friends. Without seeing each other nearly every day, whatever sparked between them might fizzle out and leave mutual respect and admiration behind.