I had done the same.
It was half full.
And somehow, no one ever took something that wasn’t theirs. It was part of the charm of this place. It was a little pocket of something, just like our loft had been. A little pocket where greed and image didn’t creep in. Somehow couldn’t.
I hadn’t taken Craig here.
For whatever reason.
Lukas yanked me into a warm hug. He smelled of garlic and olive oil. Of comfort.
He’d been rude to me on my first visit. They were rude to everyone on their first visit. It wasn’t a case of the customer being impressed enough to come back. It was a place where you had to impress Lukas enough to let you come back.
He didn’t invite food critics. He told everyone to sign a verbal contract saying they weren’t some kind of “hipster food blogger.”
It shouldn’t have worked since the food was out of this world, Lukas was amazing—once he approved you, of course—welcoming and one of the best chefs (and people) in the world.
“We haven’t seen you in a year,” he exclaimed. “I was worried about you. Was going to call your sister!” He was holding me at arm’s length and yelling like he did when he was happy. Or angry. “But of course, I told my Maria you’d be out adventuring, exploring the world.” His eyes went to Heath. Then to me. “Ah,” he said, quiet, almost a whisper.
Lukas didn’t whisper.
“You did a different kind of exploring,” he said, voice still soft.
“No,” I said quickly, not able to have this man think of Heath and I like that. I’d never be able to come back here.
“Thank you, Lukas,” Heath interrupted me. “You know Polly, she’s got about a thousand places to be and she needs fuel.”
I was jolted at the familiarity in Heath’s voice and the fact he didn’t seem to want Lukas to know that we weren’t what he thought we were.
Lukas nodded rapidly, grinning. “Of course, of course.” He looked up. “You!” He pointed to a couple that were just getting their drinks. “You move, over there.” He was pointing to the only other free table in the joint.
Free only because it was slightly dark and closest to the restrooms.
“But—” the man began to argue, betraying the fact it was his first visit.
“But nothing!” Lukas yelled. “You wanna eat, you move.”
No one else at the other tables looked up from their food. Obviously all regulars. Most people were regulars.
The couple moved.
Lukas clapped his hands. “Right. One vegetarian. One meat. Sit. Sit. I’ll bring drinks.”
He rushed us to the newly vacated table.
There were no menus.
You told your waiter about allergies—“real ones, none of that gluten-free bullshit”—and vegetarianism and they gave you food. Whatever Lukas decided to cook that night.
And whatever it was was mind-blowing.
Sometimes it was Tagine.
Or moussaka.
Or Irish stew.
You would never know, but you would never be disappointed.
One of the things I loved the most about this place was that every single table was talking to the people surrounding them. They were engaged. Present.
Because everyone’s phones were in a bucket at the front door.
It was rare, almost impossible to truly enjoy a meal, good company with just the people in front of you. You were always competing with whoever was more important on the screen of a phone.
Craig had never been separated from his phone. But his work, which I didn’t know much about, required him to be ‘accessible.’ Being accessible to everyone else meant that he was inaccessible to me.
Heath had never glanced at his phone.
Even when I wished he would, wished he’d stop giving me so much of his empty attention.
So yes, it was one of the things I loved about this place.
Until now.
Because I wished there was something here to connect us to the world, disconnect us from each other.
But we were already disconnected.
Because Heath didn’t speak.
Didn’t make an effort to do so.
No small talk.
No polite mutterings.
Nothing.
Because it was all or nothing with us.
I’d made sure all wasn’t an option.
“You come here?” I asked when I couldn’t stand the silence and the chill in one of the loudest and warmest places in L.A.
Heath nodded.
“Since when?”
His eyes hadn’t left mine since we sat down. “Since I got back.”
“Why?” I whispered.
He was silent for so long I didn’t think he was going to answer.
“Was trying to keep something alive,” he said finally. “Trying to kill some other things.”
Don’t cry, I commanded.
Because I couldn’t stand the thought of Heath, emerging from the war, damaged, tortured and alone, coming to the place I’d told him about while we were naked and in each other’s arms.
We didn’t speak for the rest of the meal.
Because there was nothing to say.
Because there was everything to say.
Chapter Thirteen
One Week Later
One week.
One week had passed since we’d silently eaten the best food of my life in one of my favorite places on earth.
None of the warmth from the restaurant, from Lukas, from the past, seeped back into us. No, if anything, it chilled Heath more. He was more withdrawn than usual, if that was even possible.
He was still accompanying me to the homeless shelter four times a week. To the children’s hospital. But he barely spoke. And then I spoke too much. About where I was going. Who I was seeing. How Tim, the young man who’d been living on the street for three years had gotten a job, an apartment, and a girlfriend.
I didn’t say that I’d gotten him two out of the three.
I spoke so I didn’t have to hear the roar of the silence. Not that it changed. Not that Heath responded.
I wasn’t speaking now, though. Hadn’t since I walked out of the doors of St Mary’s. Heath hadn’t come in this time.
He had ‘shit to do’ in the car.
I was glad. So fricking glad that he wasn’t in there when...it happened. When I’d had to witness the single most ugly thing I’d ever experienced.
Though I’d come to crave the pain of his presence, there was no way I could’ve wished him standing inside a hospital room watching a little girl quietly and devastatingly leave the earth.
Ella had been holding my hand when she died.
I’d sat there, frozen, unblinking and holding onto a dead little girl’s hand for a long time before I moved. Before I reacted. And I didn’t cry, throw up or sink to the floor.
No.
I laid my lips to her cold forehead and leaned over to press the call button.
Then the nurses came.
I left quietly before Ella’s parents could arrive.
No way I could handle that.
I’d walked straight to the car, needing Heath’s empty stare, his cold indifference.
I needed the agony of it. Something to distract me from the horror I’d just witnessed. Just lived.
If he noticed my change in demeanor, he didn’t mention it, not while he walked me from my car into my building and up the stairs.