Part 46
Lights. Flickering. Eye piercing. Unendurable lights. Then darkness. Blissful, velvety darkness where there's no pain, no anguish. Somewhere behind the blackness, there are voices. Low, murmuring, but sometimes cut off by a pinging noise. She's certain she hears the words code blue. Who's ill? Who's dying? She can't remember. More darkness. Barely any light.
Miranda's throat is sore, to a point where it feels as if someone's scratched her with a cheese grater. She tries to clear it, but she's too tired. Different colors play behind her eyelids. Shapes move and shift, wobble and it's making her dizzy. Is she underwater? No. She can breathe. Her chest hurts, but she's breathing on her own.
"Miranda?" a gentle, male voice says quietly. "Are you awake?" There's hope in that voice.
Miranda does her best to pry her eyelids open, but it's hard. After a while, she manages to open them a tiny slit, but it takes a few moments before she can focus. Above her hangs a couple of infusion bags, half empty. The ceiling seems very far away. Slowly turning her head, she sees a familiar face by the side of the bed.
"Nigel," she tries to say, but only manages to mouth it.
"Hey. Look at you." Fat tears fall from Nigel's eyes. "You're awake."
"Wh-what…?" Miranda is trying to remember what's going on. Why she's here, clearly in some hospital.
"You're okay. You're going to be fine," Nigel says hurriedly. "I'm going to call the nurse." He reaches for the button, but she weakly raises her hand. "What?"
"Why?"
"They need to know you're fully awake, finally." Nigel wipes at his cheeks.
"No. Why here." Miranda's voice is finally just above whispering.
"What do you remember?" Nigel sits down, clearly hesitant, taking her hand.
"I—I'm not sure." Her brain feels as if filled with cotton. "An accident? The smell of blood…"
"I think I need to wake Andy." Nigel squeezes Miranda's hand, but that's not what makes her flinch.
Andy. Andrea…Andrea! The images flicker through Miranda's brain so fast, she's starting to tremble. "Andrea. Where…is…she…" She needs one new breath for each word. "Where's…Andrea?"
"Let me get her. She went for a nap in a room for next of kin down the corridor. Please stay awake so I have time to get her." Nigel lets go of Miranda's hand and leaves. The room is only lit by the light by the bed, but the half-open door lets more light in, and through the drumming of her heart, she can hear Nigel calling for a nurse.
Where is Andrea? Sleeping in some room? What is going on? Miranda tries to move, to sit up, but something on fire in her side makes her whimper and break into a full-body sweat. She grips the rails on either side of the bed when more dizziness hits.
A nurse enters and leans over her. "Good to see you awake, Miranda. Welcome back."
"Where's Andrea? Is she all right?" Miranda desperately wants the nurse to move out of the way so she can see the door.
"Who? Oh, Andy? She's—" The nurse is interrupted by running footfalls in the corridor and then Andrea rounds the bed to reach Miranda from the other side. Her face is pale and her hair tousled, but she's still the only one Miranda cares about in this instant.
"Miranda!" Andrea lowers the rail with a practiced move. "You're awake. Truly awake. Oh, my God." She buries her face into Miranda's neck and holds her gently. Miranda wants to wrap her arms around Andrea, cling to her, and make sure she's all right, but she's too weak.
"Miranda's vitals are still good," the nurse says kindly. "Why don't I arrange for some coffee for you in the dayroom, Nigel? These two have some catching up to do, I think."
"Good idea," Nigel says from the doorway. Miranda looks at him over Andrea's head, mouthing 'thank you, before he leaves.
"I'll be back later, okay?" Nigel nods and closes the door behind him.
"He's been great. They all have." Andrea sits up, wiping at her eyes.
"What do you mean, they all have?" Miranda whispers. Her voice simply doesn't want to carry yet.
"Nigel, Emily, Serena, and the others. They've taken turns sitting here with us." Pushing at Miranda's bangs, Andrea gives an unsteady smile.
"How long?"
"Eight days. Five days in the ICU after your surgery. Three days on this ward. Jacinda, the nurse, has been on duty all three of those nights. She's a gem."
Miranda is still trying to capture the fleeting memories. "The church. The man."
"Damian is dead. Tyrone is in custody. Roy is recuperating like you, but at home with his wife." Andrea takes Miranda's hands. "And now that you're awake, I think I can finally breathe."
"He had a knife. Damian. I missed it." Miranda remembers how Damian suddenly drew a narrow blade and shoved it into her side only moments before she ended him. "I'm sorry you were there. That you saw all that."
"Hey. We came through it. Last I heard, the cops are rounding up Damian's and Tyrone's cohorts. Turns out they were running quite a successful operation with at least ten other guys. Part of organized crime, specializing in artifacts, et cetera."
Miranda has so many questions, but she's fading. Shuffling to the side, not bothering with the pain in her side, she pats the bed. "Join me. Please."
"Sure thing." Andy lays down next to Miranda and slides her arm under her neck. "That okay?"
"Yes." Finally able to relax, Miranda closes her eyes. "How can I be so tired? Slept for eight days."
"You're healing and it's taking its time and energy." Andrea kisses her temple.
This makes Miranda open her eyes again. "What do you mean?"
"Your stab wound. The cuts and bruises, not to mention the two cracked ribs. It's going to take a while, Miranda." Andy runs her hand up and down Miranda's left arm.
Miranda closes her eyes again, her mind whirling. She has been severely injured before. More times than she can count. The worst wound was also from a knife, at a seedy establishment in Boston where Miranda was trying to persuade the owner to let two young girls go and not be part of his group of prostitutes. The barkeep drew a knife and buried it in her shoulder. Despite the blood loss that time, the wound was almost healed in five days. Holding up her arm where someone has stitched her up, Miranda regards it, feeling her eyes grow wide. It's healing, but in her case, a minor cut like that should already be a mere white line. It should be done.
"Can you tell me what happened when I got to the hospital?" Miranda whispers.
"Sure. They took you into surgery as soon as they had stabilized you in the ER. You had to have the mother of all blood transfusions, the surgeon said. She claimed they almost exchanged your entire blood volume before they were done, since Damian did such damaged with that serrated knife." Andrea shudders. "When I finally was able to sit with you, you were whiter than anyone I've ever seen. They weren't optimistic, but I kept thinking that your special physique would kick in since your blood count was climbing."
But not with her own blood. Miranda blinks. She turns her head and nuzzles Andrea's hair. It smells of hospital soap, but the underlying scent is Andrea's own. "I love you," Miranda murmurs. "More than I can say."
Andrea gets up on her elbow without removing her arm from under Miranda's neck. "And I love you." She kisses Miranda's lips gently. "That reminds me. If any of the staff happens to mention that we're engaged, that's the lie I had to tell to be able to be in your hospital room. Nigel backed me up. So did the others."
Miranda's heart skips a beat. With her inside melting at the thought of being engaged to Andrea, she can't help but smile. "I think since I know now, and have no objections whatsoever, let's make it official." Holding her breath, Miranda looks up into the amber eyes above her.
"Yeah?" Andrea smiles and the smile transforms her pale face into a completely different expression. She simply glows and her cheeks are infused with some much-needed color.
"Yes."
This time the kiss isn't careful. Andrea parts Miranda's lips and deepens the kiss instantly. Only when Miranda has to cough, do they part and Andrea makes sure she's all right before they settle back down on the bed.
Miranda knows her body's had enough for now. She's falling back asleep, but now without anxiety, and with hope that she might have a future with Andrea after all.
xxxxx
Two weeks later, on a Friday afternoon, Amaranthine Inc. looks exactly the same as when they left. Andy steps out of the cab and holds out her hand to Miranda. After raising her eyebrow pointedly, Miranda smiles and accepts it, holding on to Andy as she exits the car. The driver pulls away and they stand on the sidewalk, looking up at the old warehouse that Miranda once transformed to fit her business and to live in.
"We're back," Andy says and sighs contentedly.
"We are." Miranda moves with care as she reaches for her briefcase, but Andy beats her to it.
"Don't even try," Andy says lightly and takes it. Hosting their backpack onto her shoulder, she flinches when the door opens and all Miranda's employees flood the sidewalk.
"Allow me," Nigel says and grabs both the backpack and the briefcase. "Step inside, ladies. We're ready for you."
Not sure what to expect, and surprised at how hard Miranda is clutching her hand, Andy looks questioningly at Emily and Serena. "What's going on?"
"It's a surprise." Emily shakes her head. "And if I told you, it wouldn't be, would it?" Emily's acerbic words are contradicted by her warm tone.
"True." Andy walks hand in hand with Miranda through the door. Inside, Nigel points to the workshop.
"In there." He actually rubs his hands.
Inside the workshop, the staff has put two large worksurfaces together and set a fantastic table with white linen table cloths and napkins, crystalware, and silver utensils. Along the closest wall, an impressive buffet is arranged.
"I know you're tired, both of you, but you've got to eat." Nigel points to the two chairs in the middle of the table. "Why don't you sit down and let us wait on you hand and foot?"
"You really must've missed us." Miranda blinks repeatedly and Andy knows that her tears aren't far away. She also knows how Miranda will loathe for them to fall among her staff.
"What's not to miss?" Andy asks lightly. "I for one can see this happen on a weekly basis." She winks at Nigel and Emily who nod.
"Dream on," Emily says, but smiles.
As they sit down and everyone fills their plates, Miranda seems content in listening to the conversation around them about painting and other pieces of art, of what everyone has been up to since last time. Nobody asks Andy or Miranda about why they were gone and where. Some junior employees seems to be under the impression that they've been working in Paris all this time and that Miranda was in an accident. This shows how loyal Miranda's senior staff is, and what friends she, and now also Andy, have in them.
Once the celebration is over, Nigel accompanies Andy and Miranda to the condo on the third floor. He stops outside the door, handing Miranda a stack of letters while Andy unlocks it. "This came during the time you were gone. The newest ones are on the top."
"Thank you, Nigel." Miranda pulls him in and kisses his cheek. "For everything."
"Always," Nigel says, returning the caress. He gently cups Andy's cheek. "Take care of each other and I'll see you on Monday." He winks at them and hurries down the stairs.
Andy enters the condo, looking around. Emily had arranged for a cleaning service to go over it and it's immaculate. A lot of dark wood, leather, and almost masculine in its décor, she finds it suits Miranda. A cozy fireplace under a large LCD screen on the wall is the focal point in the living room.
"It just dawned on me that you've never been up here." Miranda stands in the center of the floor. Do you like it?"
"I do. A lot." Andy joins Miranda and wraps an arm around her waist.
"Can you see yourself living here? We can change anything you want." Miranda pulls Andy in for a hug. When she doesn't let go, Andy tips her head back to look at Miranda's face.
"I've stayed with you in so many different places, luxurious to quaint, and this…" she motions around them, "…your space is beautiful. I really like it. What little things I've collected will fit in nicely."
"It's bigger than at first glance. I even had a studio built that I never use. You can breathe life into that if you want." Sounding eager now, and with a new sparkle in her eyes, Miranda gestures toward the back of the living room where Andy sees a narrow doorway.
"Sounds like a great idea." Andy kisses Miranda. "As long as you're here, I'll be happy."
"Likewise." Miranda manages to infuse so much love in the single word that Andy simply melts. "Want to just come and sit on the couch with me? I'm starting to feel the jetlag, which is a new sensation for me."
"Of course. Here. Bring your mail." Andy picks up the envelopes and gives them to Miranda.
Miranda starts going through the letters, some she just leaves on the coffee table unread, and then she stops. "Oh, my."
"What?" Andy has slumped against the backrest but now sits up straight. "What's wrong?"
"It's from Holland." Miranda turns the envelope over. "No sender." She keeps turning it over in her hands.
"Want me to read it?" Andy waits while Miranda keeps staring at the letter.
"Yes. If you don't mind?"
"Not at all." Still dreading what the letter might say, Andy takes it from Miranda's unsteady hands and opens it. The letter is written by hand on regular printer paper.
Dear Miranda,
I hope my letter finds you well, dear friend. I don't know if you've come across the two men that paid me a visit a few weeks ago, and if you have, that you've managed to escape their violent ways. My contacts tell me that they have been dealt with, but the details are sketchy. Apparently, they ran into superior opposition and I couldn't be more glad.
I'm slowly healing and right now I'm at a rehabilitation clinic where I receive physio and occupational therapy to regain my strength and ability. I can now walk using a walker and the doctors say that I can expect at least a 90% recovery, perhaps more. They don't know what those men did to me, but truth be told, I don't care about recovery percentages—I'm simply happy to be alive.
I'm sending this to your address at the firm. Enclosed is a P.O. Box address in Rotterdam. My friends here will collect the mail for me and when I'm convinced that the men are truly rendered harmless, I look forward to speaking with you again.
If your young lady is still with you, give her my best.
Here's to surviving, Miranda. I hope the same is true for you.
Much love,
Rosalee
Andy lowers the letter and looks at Miranda with tear-filled eyes. "She survived."
Miranda's eyes are dry, but her hand that covers her mouth trembles. She nods, clearly unable to speak.
"There will be a trial, obviously, against Tyrone, but that's the only part we're involved with." Andy pulls Miranda close. "The case against the organized crime part of their endeavors have nothing to do with us."
"True." Miranda lowers the hand and instead presses her lips against Andy's. "I'm so relieved. Soon, we'll have to contact Iris's stepdaughter and let her know what's happened. Once the trial is over, we'll be able to contact them more openly."
"Of course." Andy hopes Miranda won't insist on doing everything at once. Even if she was discharged from the hospital in Boston two days ago, she is still frail and healing very slowly. The latter thoughts give Andy pause. Didn't Miranda once say that she always healed remarkably fast, no matter how bad the injury? And still, her scars are red and swollen even now. Shaking her head, Andy decides that there has to be an explanation for that.
"Darling, I have to talk to you about something." Miranda kisses Andy's forehead. "It's about how I'm not healing like I used to."
"Wait…what? Are you psychic or something? I was just thinking about that. Can't it just be because of your severe injury and blood loss?" Andy doesn't know what to think of the pensive look on Miranda's face.
"The blood loss is the key, I think. I'm not responding like I have to injuries and illness for the last two-hundred and fifty years. I'm sore. I'm healing like any other person would, slowly. I think it has to do with the fact that my blood was exchanged for normal blood. You said so yourself at the hospital. I practically bled out."
"And you…you think this has altered the rate of how you heal? Or more than that?" Andy grips Miranda's shoulder's gently but isn't about to let go. "Or do you think it's more than that? Has having normal blood, as you put it, made you start to age at a normal pace?"
"I have no idea, darling. If the healing process is anything to go by, there's a chance." Eyeing Andy with a cautious look on her face, Miranda swallows hard. "If that's the case…?"
"If that's the case, we'll age together. If not, then I'll age faster than you. That's what I thought would happen until a moment ago. What might still happen, for all we know."
"I find myself truly hoping that I'll age right alongside you." Miranda caresses Andy's face. "Truth be told, nobody knows how my body will react in the future. My life expectancy can either be a lot longer than normal, or my metabolism might speed up and I can age faster than expected."
"And yet, here we are, right now, together. Loving each other deeply. That's more than many people ever get." Andy doesn't want to think about any strange physical manifestations that can happen to Miranda. "There is something to be said for living in the now. Just a few weeks ago, I nearly lost you. You saw me nearly strangle by that brute."
"And yes, here we are." Miranda's blue eyes soften to an almost grey. "And yes, we do love each other. I know that with every fiber of my being. Perhaps that's why I've lived such a long time, to love, and be loved, by you."
Andy's heart melts for the umpteenth time. "Why don't we just go to bed? I know you're still not well enough for me to make passionate love to you, but I can't think of anything else I'd rather do right now than hold you and be safe here in our home."
Miranda chuckles and stands, albeit with some effort. "You have some great ideas that we need to cultivate. I knew I chose the perfect person when I hired you."
Andy throws her head back and laughs. "And here I thought I was the clever one to apply for an internship at your firm."
Miranda holds Andy close and kisses her. Pulling back, she tilts her head. "I think you're right. In fact, I think we're both right."
As they make their way to the bedroom, Andy with a hand at the small of Miranda's back for subtle support, she knows they're both right. Looking back at all they've been through and how they still managed to find love in the midst of it all—it is nothing short of miraculous.
Epilogue
Three years later
"Ready to open the doors?" Miranda steps into the foyer of Amaranthine Inc. "Your reputation must be preceding you as there's actually a line.
Andrea pivots, making her flowing green dress billow around her. Her chestnut hair is long again, and for the evening piled into a stylish messy updo. Her eyes are dark and widening as she peers out through the narrow window next to the door. "There is. A line I mean."
"Well, they're coming to see your exhibition and you're one of the most talked-about new artists in New York. Hell, the East Coast, if you ask me."
"God. I'm going to be sick." Andrea presses a hand to her stomach.
"Don't you dare. Now, how's my hair?" Miranda drags a hand through her hair, now all white. "I'm not sure that new girl knew how I want it done."
Andrea stops rubbing her belly and steps closer. "Hey, you look fantastic. The white is amazing on you, you know that. And the new girl, whose name is Hannah, by the way, did your hair just right. S-shaped bangs and all." Winking at Miranda, Andrea nudges a few locks. "There. And yes, I know you did this on purpose. My stomach calmed down."
"Then go open the doors and let people in to see your paintings." Miranda steps back to join Nigel, Emily, and Serena. She watches how Andrea opens the doors and greets the first guest with the graze and natural charisma that's only grown since they returned to New York.
"She's amazing," Nigel says. "And you, my friend, are happier than I've ever seen you."
"Andrea is everything to me." Miranda nudges Nigel's arm. "And thank you—I'm very happy." She is. The last two years has confirmed that she's aging the way any middle-aged woman would. Crow's feet, more white strands of hair, sometimes more tired, and, oh God, pre-menopause. Not so romantic, but real. She's not aging faster than anyone else, but in a way that feels normal.
"There's the New York art critic she fears so much," Serena says in a low whisper. "He better be fair to her."
Miranda hopes so too as the art critic has misogynous tendencies. "She'll be fine. Her work speaks for itself and if there's anything that man treasures, it's his reputation for being able to judge art."
Miranda follows Andrea's movements with her eyes as more and more of her art pieces receive a sticker that shows they're sold. Eventually, she joins her wife next to the only painting in the workshop-turned-gallery that's not for sale. It's a painting of Miranda as she holds the infant Andrea gave birth to four months ago. The little girl, Corinne, looks up at Miranda with such a stern glance, it makes her smile every time she looks at it. Corinne is sleeping upstairs under the watchful eyes of Serena's parents.
"You're a hit, darling. I told you that."
Andrea beams at Miranda. "You did say something to that effect."
Miranda chuckles. "Congratulations. You've worked hard for this."
Merely leaning into Miranda, Andrea smiles as they stand among friends and strangers. "I could stand here and look at them all forever."
Miranda tugs Andrea closer, thinking that she's grateful that forever is a more manageable concept for them these days—and she wouldn't want it any other way.
END