The Hand That Found Her

Mara saw the disaster forming before the woman in the white blouse did: the sudden blast of wind turning the transparent umbrella inside out, the narrow heel slipping between the iron bars of a storm drain, the startled twist of a body trying to save both dignity and balance, and then the terrible instant when the heel snapped and the woman pitched sideways toward the rain-slicked street just as a taxi swept through a deep gutter puddle. “Wait—don’t move!” Mara ran, one hand gripping her black umbrella while the other caught the stranger around the waist barely a second before she fell beneath the taxi’s spray, and although both women were drenched by the wave of dirty water, Mara managed to pull her upright—or almost upright, because the stranger immediately gasped and dropped to one knee. “My ankle,” she whispered, looking at the broken shoe, the ruined umbrella and the water pouring through her once-white blouse as though the storm had personally selected her for humiliation. “Of course. Why wouldn’t my ankle be broken too?” “Don’t decide that yet,” Mara said, crouching beside her and angling the umbrella over them both. “Can you move your toes?” The woman stared at her. “I’m serious.” “Yes, I can move them.” “Can you put any weight on it?” “I don’t know.” “Then lean on me.” “I’m soaking wet.” “So am I.” “I’ve probably ruined your dress.” “I was never particularly attached to it.” Despite everything, the stranger gave a small, trembling laugh, then wrapped one arm around Mara’s shoulders and allowed herself to be lifted, her remaining heel wobbling uselessly until Mara bent, slipped it from her foot and carried it along with the broken one. “My name is Mara,” she said as they limped toward the sidewalk. “Elena.” “Well, Elena, my apartment is around the corner.” Elena stopped so suddenly that Mara nearly lost her grip. “I can’t go home with a stranger.” “You’re barefoot, your umbrella has become modern sculpture, your ankle is swelling, and you’re crying in the middle of a thunderstorm.” “I am not crying.” “Then apparently it’s raining beneath your eyelashes too.” Elena looked at her, rain dripping from her lashes, and something passed between them that neither woman could quite name—gratitude, perhaps, or attraction arriving at the most inappropriate possible moment. “Just until you’re warm,” Mara said more softly. “And until we know whether you need a doctor.” “Thank you,” Elena whispered. “Honestly, I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t—” “Thank me when we’re out of the street.” Mara’s apartment was only a block away, though Elena apologized during nearly every step of the journey. “I’m getting water everywhere.” “It’s raining everywhere.” “I’m leaning too heavily.” “You weigh less than my groceries.” “I’ve lost one of my shoes.” “I have the pieces.” “And I’ve probably destroyed your evening.” “My evening consisted of reheating soup and arguing with a television detective, so this is already more interesting.” By the time they reached the apartment, Elena was shivering violently, and Mara guided her onto the couch, knelt before her and carefully examined the swelling around her ankle. “This may feel slightly intimate,” Mara warned, sliding her fingers gently along Elena’s foot. “After you carried me out of the road, I think we’ve skipped several stages of normal acquaintance.” “Does this hurt?” “A little.” “This?” “No.” “And this?” Elena inhaled sharply. “That one.” “I don’t think it’s broken, but it needs ice and rest. The shower is through there, towels are in the cabinet, and there’s a clean bathrobe hanging behind the door.” “You’re offering me a shower?” “I’m offering you the chance not to catch pneumonia on my couch.” Elena looked down at her soaked blouse, now clinging with uncomfortable transparency. “I don’t have anything dry to wear.” “I’ll find something.” “You do this often?” “Rescue barefoot women from traffic?” “Yes.” “Only on Thursdays.” “It’s Tuesday.” “Then you’re very special.” This time Elena’s laugh was real. When she emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, wrapped in Mara’s dark blue bathrobe with her wet hair loose around her shoulders, Mara momentarily forgot the mug she was filling and poured tea across the counter. “Careful,” Elena said, smiling. “I’m usually much better with liquids.” “Your performance in the rain suggested otherwise.” Mara handed her the least overfilled mug, then placed a bowl of soup and warm bread before her at the small kitchen table. “You don’t have to feed me too.” “I’m not letting you drink tea on an empty stomach after whatever happened tonight.” Elena’s smile disappeared. Mara sat opposite her. “You don’t have to tell me.” “He left me outside his apartment exactly as you found me,” Elena said after a long silence. “Soaked, stranded, and apparently no longer useful to him. The apartment wasn’t mine, technically. Neither was the man, technically, though he spent a year assuring me otherwise.” Mara became very still. “He was my employer,” Elena continued. “He said his relationship had ended, that they lived separate lives, that he was only waiting for the right time to make everything official. I was stupid enough to believe him.” “What was his name?” Elena hesitated. “Daniel Mercer.” The rain struck the windows with renewed force. Mara slowly put down her spoon. Elena noticed the change in her face. “You know him.” “I lived with him.” The color drained from Elena’s cheeks. “No.” “For four years.” “No, he said—” “He always said a great many things.” Elena pushed back from the table as though the chair had burned her. “You’re Mara Vale.” “Yes.” “Oh, God.” “And you were his secretary.” Elena stared at her, horrified. “I didn’t know—not at first. When I found out, I confronted him, and he insisted you had already left him emotionally, that you were seeing someone else, that you—” “I wasn’t.” “I know that now.” Mara folded her hands, unsure whether she wanted to cry, shout or marvel at the extraordinary cruelty of the universe. Elena’s eyes filled with tears. “He cheated on you with me, then cheated on me with the new secretary, and tonight, when I objected, he fired me and told me to leave.” For one suspended second, neither woman spoke. Then Mara made a strangled sound. Elena looked wounded. “Are you laughing?” “I’m trying not to.” “This isn’t funny.” “No, it’s awful.” “It’s completely awful.” “He replaced his secretary with a secretary.” “And left both of us in the street.” Mara covered her mouth, but Elena’s lips began to twitch, and within moments they were both laughing—not because anything was truly amusing, but because the absurdity was too enormous and the alternative was to collapse beneath it. “I’m so sorry,” Elena said when the laughter faded. “I should leave.” “Your clothes are still wet.” “You can lend me something.” “You can barely walk.” “I’ll call a cab.” “In this storm?” Elena stood anyway, then winced as her injured foot touched the floor. Mara rose and caught her by the waist. They froze. Elena’s hands rested against Mara’s shoulders, Mara’s arm encircled Elena’s robe-covered body, and their faces were suddenly close enough that each could feel the other’s breath. “This is a terrible idea,” Elena whispered. “Possibly.” “You should hate me.” “I tried for nearly three minutes.” “And?” “You’re making it inconvenient.” Elena looked at Mara’s mouth, then quickly away. “I should get dressed.” Mara found a soft sweater and drawstring pants, and Elena carried them into the bedroom, but a minute later she called, “Mara?” Mara appeared in the doorway. “What’s wrong?” “The knot is stuck.” Elena stood with her back toward her, trying to loosen the bathrobe’s rain-dampened belt, and Mara stepped closer, carefully working the fabric free. “There,” she murmured. Elena turned before Mara could retreat. The loosened robe remained securely closed, yet the moment felt startlingly intimate, and neither woman pretended not to understand it. “Thank you,” Elena said. “For the knot?” “For stopping.” Mara touched a strand of wet hair near Elena’s cheek. “I’m glad I did.” The first kiss was tentative, almost questioning, but when Elena answered it, placing both hands against Mara’s face, the second kiss became warmer and longer, carrying all the loneliness of two women who had been deceived by the same man and all the unexpected wonder of discovering honesty in each other. When they separated, Elena’s eyes were wide. “I suppose the couch would still be best,” she whispered. “Definitely,” Mara agreed. Neither sounded convinced. An hour later, Elena lay on the couch beneath a blanket while Mara stood in the doorway holding an extra pillow. “Is the ankle hurting?” “Only when I move.” “Are you cold?” “A little.” “The bedroom is warmer.” Elena raised an eyebrow. “Is that a medical recommendation?” “Entirely.” “And would the doctor be sharing the bed?” “Only to monitor the patient.” “That sounds professionally questionable.” “Then you should probably report me in the morning.” Elena followed her to the bedroom. They kissed again beneath the blankets, slowly and without urgency, and when Mara drew Elena closer, Elena rested her head against Mara’s shoulder with a sigh that sounded like someone finally putting down a weight she had carried too long. They fell asleep tangled together while the storm softened beyond the windows. Morning arrived in pale gold, turning the last drops on the glass into tiny points of light. Elena opened her eyes to find Mara watching her. “This is either wonderfully romantic,” Elena murmured, “or extremely awkward.” “I haven’t decided.” “I should probably start looking for work today.” Mara smiled. “My office needs a secretary.” Elena blinked. “You cannot be serious.” “I run a small architectural design firm, my assistant resigned last week, and you already have experience managing a difficult employer.” “I also slept in your bed before the interview.” “It’s an unconventional recruitment process.” “What happens if the relationship doesn’t work?” “The job will remain the job.” “And if the job doesn’t work?” Mara moved closer. “Then I’ll still invite you to dinner.” Elena studied her face, searching for the trick, the hidden condition, the familiar dishonesty—and found none. “You barely know me,” she whispered. “I know you apologize too much, laugh when everything is falling apart, drink tea without sugar, and risked your employment by confronting a liar. The rest I would like to learn.” Elena’s smile arrived slowly. “Is the position available immediately?” “Yes.” “And does it include health insurance?” “Of course.” “Good. I may need someone to look at my ankle.” Mara kissed her, soft and certain, while morning filled the room and the broken umbrellas dried together near the door. Outside, the city was still wet, but the storm had passed.