Forgive Me

“Well where, then? Where do you need someone?” Nadine opened another soda.

“Where do we need a nutcase with a broken wrist?” said Ian. “We’ll talk next year, okay? I’ve got to run.”

“Next year?”

“It’s Christmas,” said Ian. “It’s Kwanzaa. Hanukkah. The holiday season. Kiss someone under the mistletoe. Recover, Nadine. I’ll be in touch.”

“You can’t–” said Nadine.

“Happy holidays,” said Ian.

Tucking the phone under her chin, Nadine clamped a cigarette between her lips and lit it with her right hand. She swallowed, and decided to play her final card. “How about sending me back to South Africa? When I took the Mexico City job, you made me a promise.” She tapped her cigarette on the scallop shell she was using as an ashtray.

“And I intend to keep it. I know your heart’s in Cape Town, Nadine, but you’re not strong enough to go anywhere yet.”

“My heart? Ian, please.”

“Do you have any idea how much you talk about it?” said Ian.

Nadine laughed, blowing smoke. “What?”

“Will Mandela bring peace to South Africa, what about the townships, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission… and on and on.”

“Really?”

“Everyone has a story that sticks in their craw,” said Ian.

There was silence, and then Nadine said, “But seriously, Ian? I need to get back to work.”

“Dear?” Gwen’s voice was tentative from the hallway.

“One second!” said Nadine.

Ian’s tone was kind. “Talk soon, Nadine.”

“But–”

“Good-bye,” said Ian.

“Wait,” said Nadine, but Ian had hung up.

“Nadine?” said Gwen.

“Come in.”

“Are you still on the phone?” said Gwen, opening the door. She came into view wearing a sweatshirt with a reindeer appliqué. In her ears were tiny ornaments, and she held an old shoe box.

“No,” said Nadine. “I’ll pay you back for the long distance,” she added.

“Don’t worry about that, dear,” said Gwen. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.”

“I brought you something,” said Gwen.

“For the love of God,” said Nadine. “Please, no more crossword puzzles.”

“Well,” said Gwen. She stood in the doorway for a moment, and then she said, “There’s no need to be nasty.”

“I know,” said Nadine. “I don’t mean to be. It’s just… Gwen, I don’t need mothering. I’m happy for you and my dad, and I’m just ready to get back to Mexico.”

“Speaking of lovebirds…,” said Gwen, settling on the corner of Nadine’s bed, tracing a circle on the coverlet.

“Hm?” Nadine put down The New York Times and opened the Boston Tribune.

“What about you settling down? Getting married? Babies?”

“Don’t think babies are in the cards for me.”

“You still have time,” said Gwen. “Well, a little.”

“I guess I’m missing the mommy gene,” said Nadine.

“You’re so pretty,” said Gwen. “And you have lovely panties. Are they French? You could get a man, Nadine.”

“I don’t want a man,” said Nadine. “I want to get back to work.”

“What about that nice Dr. Duarte?” said Gwen. “Everyone has a past, you can’t fault him for that.”

“What?”

“Poor Dr. Duarte,” said Gwen, leaning in. “I really shouldn’t gossip.”

Nadine was silent.

“Okay,” said Gwen. “Twist my arm. His wife ran off with a Greek man she met on a cruise ship!”

“Jesus,” said Nadine.

“A Carnival Cruise,” said Gwen in wonderment. “Now she lives on Mykonos and has two children. Both Greek. So Dr. Duarte moved here.”

“I’m missing something,” said Nadine.

“Oh, he used to work in the city. Some terrible emergency room. He worked all day and night.” Gwen warmed to her story. “So Maryjane finally convinces him to take a break. They go on a Caribbean cruise. A Carnival Cruise, did I mention?”

“Yes, Gwen, you did.”

“So who knows? I heard she met the Greek in the buffet line. I keep telling your father: they have really good food on those cruises. Everybody says so. And things like Tex Mex night, sushi night, what have you.”