Sweet Salt Air by Barbara Delinsky Read Free Book Online Page B

there?”
    “Yes.”
    “You’re very quiet.”
    Nicole might have said that he had already made his mark with a breakthrough technique, which was more than most surgeons ever did—and as for his father, he would know that getting MS was not Julian’s fault, but Julian refused to tell him, too, so he was without that support as well.
    Right now, he was feeling self-pity. He had a right, she supposed.
    “Nicole?”
    “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
    He sighed. “I guess there isn’t much you can.”
    Lately, that was the state of their marriage, which was nearly as upsetting to Nicole as MS.
    “My patients could teach me about dealing with illness,” he murmured. “The frustration, the fear. I never knew. It’s humbling.”
    Nicole knew about frustration and fear. For four years, her mantra had been It’s okay, something will work, there are new treatments all the time. But it was starting to sound empty. She knew what the future could hold, and it wasn’t the illness that terrified her most. She could deal with the illness. She just wasn’t sure Julian could.
    “Beijing will be great,” she tried by way of encouragement. The invitation to speak there was a coup.
    He was suddenly hesitant. “Should I be that far away if something goes wrong?”
    Timidity was new. Not a good sign. “You’re speaking at a hospital. Peter can get the name of an MS person there.”
    Julian was quiet. Then, “So, was it great seeing Charlotte?”
    Nicole doubted his heart was in the question, but she welcomed the diversion. “It was. She’s just the same. We still get along really well. We’re both even reading the same book.”
    “Did you cook dinner for her?”
    “I was going to, then Dorey met us at the ferry and started talking about chowder, and we couldn’t resist. We brought it home and ate in front of the fire. Did you eat out?”
    “No. I picked up chicken at Whole Foods. Is the weather still cool?”
    “For sure. There?”
    “Warm and humid.”
    “I wish you’d come up,” Nicole said. In the old days, he would have eaten at restaurants with colleagues when she was gone, missing her enough to not want to eat home alone. Now he was hiding—not that she dared say that.
    “I have to get ready for North Carolina.”
    “You could do that on Quinnipeague, then fly straight to North Carolina from here. Charlotte would love to see you.”
    “Nah. There’s too much to wrap up here. Let me see if this numbness recurs.”
    “Will you let me know?”
    “You won’t be calling to check?”
    She sensed he was teasing her, but she saw nothing funny in the question. “If I call, you’ll jump on me for it, so I don’t dare, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be thinking about you all the time.”
    “I thought the point of having Charlotte there was to think about something else.”
    “It is. But you’re my husband, and everything in me is saying I should be in Philadelphia and not Quinnipeague, only you won’t allow it, so will you do this for me, at least?”
    “What if Charlotte’s right there?”
    “I’ll say I can’t talk.”
    He waited a beat. Finally, “Okay, baby. I’ll call.”
    *   *   *
    Nicole hung up the phone and cried. She did this a lot when Julian wasn’t around, just lots of quiet, helpless, frightened tears. They always slowed in time, as they did now. She blew her nose and wiped her eyes. Then she spotted the lavender on the pillow. Lifting the sprigs, she held them to her nose. She breathed in once, then again.
    Two sniffs wouldn’t do it, of course, and the more she consciously tried to relax, the more she worried. Coming off the bed, she put on a robe and fluffy slippers, then, opening the door with care so that its creak wouldn’t wake Charlotte, she crept down the stairs. In the kitchen, she made passionflower tea, turning the jar of loose leaves in her hand while a teaspoon’s worth steeped in her mug. The tea was local, made from an herb that rarely grew in