have the heat turned high—and she stood in the doorway for a while, watching his shadow through the shower curtain. She frowned, trying to sort her confused emotions from those of his she might be feeling; frustration, anxiety? And she thought about what the dreams had been telling her last night—that Nico was gone, that she would never hold him in her arms again, never feel him smile and shudder against her neck as he came inside her. Never again argue with him about who was the greatest painter or sculptor.
She pulled the curtain aside and stepped into the bath. Nico still had his back to her, face turned up into the overhead shower and hands both clasping a tablet of soap. He was rubbing at his shoulders and chest, and his breath came in short gasps.
She stepped forward and reached around to his stomach.
Nico jumped and spun around, almost sending her sprawling. The shower reached her, and it was scalding hot across her face, shoulders, and chest. She gasped.
“I just can’t get myself clean,” he said, and for the first time since she had met him, he sounded like a child.
“I’ll help you,” she said. He nodded and smiled gratefully, and for the next half an hour as she scrubbed his skin pink, he projected only an unfamiliar, heartrending vulnerability.
Domenic returned mid-morning with a doctor, and although Nico protested, he let the doctor look him over. There were no injuries and no obvious indications of any head trauma. He sat through the whole examination looking vaguely befuddled, and when the doctor stood to leave, Nico walked him to the door.
“How is he?” Domenic whispered.
“I don’t know,” Geena said. “It’s like he’s been away a lot longer.”
“How do you mean?”
She shrugged. How could she communicate to Domenic the subtle differences, the awkwardness between them that had never been there before? So instead she changed the subject.
“Is Dr. Schiavo angry that we’re not at the site?” she asked.
“Of course not. You two have had quite a trauma—”
Geena frowned. “Not more than anyone else who was down there when the wall gave way.”
“Not true,” Domenic said. “I didn’t explain to Dr. Schiavo what had happened with you and Nico—that’s not my business to explain to him—but I told him you’d both had a close call. Ramus is site manager and he’s been there all day, talking with the city engineers about shoring up the canal wall, getting pumps in, all of it. You let us worry about all of that for today.”
“Have you looked at the film yet?” she asked.
“No, but your BBC friend is all over us.” Domenic rolled his eyes.
“Let’s have a viewing here. Finch can come, too.”
“You’re sure?” He looked around uncertainly, and at first she thought he was still worried about Nico. But then she realized the source of his discomfort and smiled.
“Sure. I don’t think we can pretend that Nico and I are a secret anymore, can we?”
“I suppose not,” Domenic said, returning her smile. “I’ll call the others and get them here for … two o’clock?”
“What’s at two o’clock?” Nico said, entering from the hallway.
“We’re going to watch the footage Sabrina shot,” Geena said.
“Of course!” he said, and his eagerness was troubling. He pushed past them with a vague smile and started picking up books and magazines, clearing the sofa, tidying Geena’s room in preparation for visitors. She watched him, wondering why she was unsettled, and it was only when Domenic touched her shoulder that it clicked.
“Geena? I said, do you want me to pick up some food?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said, and she went into the kitchen to fetch her purse.
As if it were as ingrained in his skin as it was in the foundations of the city itself.
Domenic brought pizza and Finch arrived with two bottles of cheap wine, wearing a bemused expression at actually being invited. Geena welcomed him in and chatted inconsequentialities, and when he saw Nico standing by her living room window he nodded once.
“Glad to see you’re well,” he said.
Nico only smiled in response.
Ramus and Sabrina arrived around two p.m., hot and hassled from their dash through the city. The temperature had been rising all day, and now the air had grown motionless and heavy with humidity. Geena had opened all her windows and turned on the ceiling fan in her living room, but all these measures only seemed to push the hot air around rather than provide a cooling breeze. She’d chilled the red wine, much to Finch’s consternation, and they drank from tall glasses filled with ice. She would happily forsake some of its subtler tastes to be refreshed.
With other people in the flat, Nico projected his normal self. There were familiar intimacies: his fingers playing across Geena’s as she handed him a wineglass; the touch in the small of her back that always made her weak at the knees; his smile, dazzling and beautiful, the best part reserved for her. But there was still something different about him that went beyond the faint aroma beneath his aftershave and perspiration. She did her best to shut out the strange time spent in the shower in case lingering sexual frustration was clouding her thoughts. Even then, there was a distance between them that had not been there before. And she could think of no better way to describe it than how she had put it to Domenic.
She was glad when Ramus closed her blinds and Sabrina loaded up the DVD player.
“Burned this an hour ago,” she said. “Dr. Schiavo wanted to see the footage first, so I left the camera in the lab, told him I had to get home for my grandmother’s birthday. He’s quite concerned.”
“You told him we’re all fine, though?” Geena said.
“Yes, yes,” Sabrina said, then looked away sheepishly. “Actually, I meant he’s concerned about Petrarch’s library.”
“Well,” Geena said, letting the word hang for a while.
“Maybe we fucked up,” Domenic said. No one answered, and for that Geena was grateful. This was her responsibility, and she usually had strong shoulders.
“I haven’t even had time to check that it works,” Sabrina said, slipping the disc into the machine.
“Now you tell us!” Ramus said.
“They usually work,” she muttered defensively.
“Yeah, I’ve heard about you and your home movies,” Domenic quipped.
“Make sure you’ve put the right one in!” Ramus seconded.
“Oh, you’ve seen them as well?”
The banter continued until Sabrina held up a hand, smiled as she made a gun with forefinger and thumb, and shot Ramus.
“Jealous boy,” she purred, and then the screen blinked into life. She paused the picture on the title card, which contained the date, location, and time of the filming. She glanced around at Geena, then her eyes flickered briefly to Finch.
“I invited him here,” Geena said. “Mr. Finch is more interested than ever.”
“I am,” Finch said. He sat at the small window table, wineglass already empty before him. He was sweating and uncomfortable, but there was an eagerness about him, too. “After what I saw, I’m certain this could be a fascinating documentary.”
“We lost about half of what was still down there,” Domenic said bitterly.
“And it’s the recovery of what was saved that will make the program,” Finch said slowly, talking down to him, though the silver-haired Domenic wasn’t much younger than Finch himself. Geena was still unsure whether she liked the British man for his candidness, or hated him for his vacuous pomposity.
