For anyone out there reading this, this is the most writing I've done in a long time. I hope you are enjoying the story. Thank you for inspiring me to keep it up. Hope I will continue to do so!

Chapter 8

It would be two more weeks until they met again. On the Sunday before what should have been their next appointment, Christine came down with a nasty stomach bug. She supposed there were worse indignities than being curled in a ball on the floor of her bathroom, but she had yet to experience them. She didn't get sick often, but when it happened, it was almost always related to her stomach, and this time was particularly bad.

After a miserable ten hours of retching, she opened her bleary eyes to the early morning light breaking through the windows of her basement apartment. She took stock of her body. Work was a no-go, but she hoped her symptoms would be alleviated enough by evening so she could get to her standing appointment with Erik. When her stomach churned again, and she barely made it to the bathroom, she realized how unlikely that was. She shot out two quick emails on her phone. The one to work was easy – Marie Giry was an empathetic boss. Mindy would certainly make some sort of nasty comment, but Christine couldn't be bothered to worry about that now.

What to write to Erik? That was another matter entirely. While he had reached out a handful of times, she had never initiated contact and she'd rather the first time not be a discussion of the inner workings of her gut.

Maybe...

Good morning Erik,

I hope this finds you well! I'm afraid I am unable to make it this evening as I am under the weather. I promise I will continue to work on my breathing!

Christine

Were the exclamation points too much? She tried again.

Hey Erik,

I'm currently embracing the cold tile on my bathroom floor having spent last night praying to the porcelain god. I'm quarantining. See you next week.

Christine

Definitely not - but she was sure that accidentally sending him that email would be the start to some preposterous romance novel. Best to stick to the bare facts.

Hi Erik

I'm sorry to do this last minute but I need to cancel our meeting for this week. I was sick last night and am recovering today. I look forward to seeing you next week.

Christine

Having absented herself from her day's responsibilities, Christine took a nausea pill and plodded back to bed, hoping that she would feel better when she woke up.

When Christine next opened her eyes, she could have sworn she had slept for only a few minutes, but her senses told her otherwise. Her body was drenched with sweat, and when she shifted, the stiffness in her joints indicated it had been a while since her body position had changed. The light coming from her window was at a different angle – it was at least early afternoon. She wasn't surprised when her phone showed the time to be 12 pm. She had slept for five hours. She felt like she could sleep for another ten.

A notification on her phone showed she had a message from an hour before; from a number she did not recognize.

Unknown: I hope you are feeling better. – Erik

Erik was texting her? She blinked groggily and reread the message. Like most of his correspondence, it was succinct.

Christine: Yes, thank you. I just woke up.

Erik: It's good that you got some rest. How is your stomach?

Christine: It seems to have settled. How did you know I had a stomachache?

Erik: Marie Giry mentioned it to me on the phone earlier.

Erik: Can you do me a favor? Can you go to your door?

Christine looked around her room. What was he playing at? Intrigued and only slightly annoyed she put a fuzzy bathrobe and slippers over her well-worn threadbare pajamas from college and did as he asked. Standing at her front door was Garret Dixon with an expression on his face that could only be described as beleaguered. He'd clearly been waiting a while.

"Mr. Dixon – what in the…?"

"Thank goodness you're awake. He's been having me wait outside for an hour now." Mr. Dixon handed her a large basket. "Forgive me for leaving so quickly, I do NOT want to get a stomach virus." He practically sprinted out the door.

"If it makes you feel better, I think it was grocery store sushi!" She called out, but he was already gone. Christine looked at the heavy wicker basket he'd left in her possession.

The contents brought a giant smile to her face: two quarts of Matzo ball soup and a loaf of challah from Veselka's of the East Village (how did he know she liked Vaselka's?), Ginger ale, Gatorade and a small-wrapped box. A card tied to the basket only said, Get well soon. – Erik

She picked up her phone to text him.

Christine: Thank you – that was incredibly thoughtful of you. Please thank Mr. Dixon for me as well.

Erik: My pleasure. Did you open the box yet?

Christine considered the small cardboard box. It was slender and about a foot in length. She opened it gingerly to find a small metronome inside.

Christine: I just did. Why did you send me a metronome?

Erik: I was going to give it to you tonight. For the next week I want you to practice presenting while keeping time with the metronome and using your correct breathing. This is the next step for helping you – first breathing, now timing.

Christine: Thank you and thank you for the soup. How did you know I like Veselka's?

Erik: I took a lucky guess – it's on the edge of Alphabet city. I figured there was a decent chance you went there as a kid.

Christine was beyond pleased that he had made such an effort on her behalf. She couldn't believe that he had remembered where she had grown up and had sent his butler (Valet? Manservant? Assistant? who knew) to hunt down something that would make her feel better.

Christine: Thank you, Erik. I really appreciate it.

Erik: You're welcome. Get some rest. Let me know if you need anything else.

Christine decided to chance her stomach and heated up a bowl of the soup immediately, dipping pieces of challah bread into the salty broth. It was amazing how the flavor of the meal nourished her and how Erik's lovely gesture improved her outlook. How did he balance the cold stranger who dismissed her so abruptly last week with the friend who made her feel less alone when she was ill? His mood swings were giving her whiplash.

She looked at the dark brown metronome. It was standard, the kind she used during the piano lessons of her youth. Her fingers ran along the wooden surface when she felt something etched along the back. She turned it over and laughed audibly as she recognized the line from Vienna; the song they discussed when they first met –

Slow down, you're doing fine.

Erik justified his concerns at Christine's well being as he would do for anyone in his circle who was ill. When Garret's wife had shingles, he had sent flowers. When Reza's youngest was born, he provided their family with the services of a baby nurse. It felt good to be generous. What was the point of having as much money as he did if he could not share it with those he cared about who were in need?

And of course, he cared about Christine Derring. It would be strange if he didn't. He did NOT expect the violence of his reaction at her email that morning. His own heart picked up pace when he read that she had been ill. She didn't have anyone to care for her. She didn't have the resources to get help. He'd have to be made of stone not to have compassion for a fellow human being in distress.

A forgotten memory from the days after he was released from the hospital emerged. Gus had shown up at Erik's home in Princeton with bags from Veselka's. It had been filled with soup, pierogies, potato latkes and beef stroganoff. The smell wafted into his mother's mansion making Erik's mouth water. It brought back his appetite after many months of apathy.

"This soup is the only food my daughter eats when she gets sick." Gus had said with a smile as he dished out portions to Erik and Reza. "The families in my neighborhood call it Jewish Penicillin."

That Erik would have had a good memory from such a dark time in his life was surprising, but he was grateful. Thanks to Gus, he could provide Christine with some comfort.

It was 5:30 PM and even though she was sick, Erik's nerves were on edge. He felt frayed and angry. When the elevator doors opened unexpectedly, he looked up with desperate hope. The hope was dashed when Garret entered carrying another bag from Veselka's. Their eyes met and Garret gave him a wry grin.

"I thought you might be hungry." Garret took the bag into the kitchen and began the process of removing pre-packaged foods onto the counter. The smell was familiar and comforting. Erik sat down on a bar height chair across from Garret while the other man portioned out servings.

"Garret, why do I get the feeling that you are handling me?"

"Handling you? Why would you say that?"

Erik indicated the food with a raised eyebrow and slight nod.

"I never heard you so panicked than when you called me at 6:15 in the morning to send me to a restaurant that wouldn't open for another two hours. Don't get me wrong, after so long being one of your only friends, it's nice to see your circle widen ever so slightly but I thought you might like a little company tonight since your regular 'appointment' is otherwise indisposed."

Erik held Garret's gaze before looking down at the bowl of soup he was given. The overhead lights reflected off the translucent yellow surface and Erik saw a reflection of the awful asymmetry that was his face. He never truly forgot his face even if he avoided his reflection as much as possible. In those few moments earlier when he conversed with Christine over text, he had stopped thinking about the impossibility of anything happening between them.

"Are you saying I'm wasting my time?" He asked Garret at length.

"Didn't say that at all. Just didn't want you to go dark again."

Erik's phone pinged as he contemplated what Garret was saying. It was Christine.

Christine: Wanted to thank you again for the soup. It's incredible how much better I feel. 😊

Erik tamped down the smile that came to his mouth unbidden. A cold feeling of dread filled him as the unknowable lingered before him. Garret cut off a piece of potato latke with his fork.

"Erik, for whatever my opinion is worth, I don't think you're wasting your time."

Christine HATED the metronome. It was amazing how a device that had been a regular presence in so many pleasant hours spent learning piano with her father was now the bane of her existence.

Erik: Most presentations are spoken at a cadence of 100 to 150 words a minute. Start slowly. Try to practice your presentation at a regular pace. Time yourself and see if you can replicate the run time. Come up with a rhythm to the story you are trying to tell.

What the heck did that mean? The first run through took her 37 minutes. The second 45. The third 26 minutes. By the time Monday came around she was about to throw the metronome out the window in Erik's apartment much to his bemusement.

"I hate this thing, Erik. I feel more tied up in knots than ever."

"Show me what you're doing." Erik put the metronome on and watched Christine take a deep breath (through her nose) and begin. He kept his face impartial as she made her way through the introductory slides. As she continued through her agenda, she saw his lips quirk.

"You're laughing at me!" she accused, "No, don't deny it."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry – you're right." Erik pinched his mask at the bridge his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "You sound like one of those tape recordings starting at a normal pace and then getting really quick and then…going…very…slow…."

"I'm glad you're so amused." But she was smiling too. "Okay, what am I doing wrong?"

"Come on." He walked her to the recording studio. There were two chairs there now. "I asked you to talk at a cadence of 100-150 words per minute but that doesn't mean talking robotically. It's an average overall to ensure that you don't get anxious and speed up unnecessarily. When you go fast, your heart rate ramps up and your anxiety gets worse. The metronome is a reminder to be deliberate" He sat down and handed her a pair of headphones. "It's an art, not a science. Can you hear me?"

She nodded and gave him a thumbs up.

"You understand music so let's start with that. Do you know Christina Perri's song 1000 Years?"

"Yes."

"The tempo is 139 BPM which is right where you will want to be when you present. The song starts off very deliberate, slow. As it continues the melody becomes more fluid. I want you to try and sing it. Heaven help you if I see you breathe through your mouth." He gave her a stern look and Christine gave her head a slight shake in response.

It was her first time watching him play and she almost missed her cue. She watched his fingers caress the keys and blushed furiously. It was too much input for her to take. She closed her eyes, took a breath, and began.

"Heat beats fast…colors and promises…how to be brave…how can I love when I'm afraid to fall?" The first lines of the song were almost staccato, each syllable a beat. It forced her into a rhythm without having to think about it. Then came that beautiful chorus.

"I have died, every day, waiting for you. Darling, don't be afraid, I have loved you for a 1000 years, I'll love you for 1000 more…"

She'd always loved this song, despite its unfortunately cheesy association with the Twilight films. It was so easy to slide into the melody. The training she had done to maintain breath control clicked on almost automatically and in that moment understood what Erik was trying to teach her. She could keep with the beat of the song but still influence how the words were expressed. There was artistry in how she could play with the language and the same was true for how she could present her work to others.

Not that her stage fright was gone but now she understood the method for how she was going to overcome it. She had a strategy and that felt so much like a victory that the joy of it rang through the rest of the song. When Erik played the outro, she turned to him with a grin. He was staring at her with an unnamed emotion.

"You have a beautiful voice, Christine." He said quietly, swallowing the praise slightly.

"Erik, thank you. Oh my God! I get it!" She threw herself at him and hugged him, around his back. "I understand what you're trying to teach me. I get it now. I can do this! For the first time I really feel like I can do this! Thank you so much!" She kissed the unmasked side of his face. "Can we practice the presentation now? God, I'm so worked up I probably sound like a 10-year-old."

Erik laughed and absently rubbed at the place on his cheek where she kissed. "It's great seeing you so self-assured. We can practice your presentation and I'd like to make another suggestion."

"Yes, to whatever you are going to suggest. Pretty sure I'd follow you into a volcano right about now."

"No volcanos," he laughed, "today was a huge leap forward. We'll need to help you set your own cadence for your work but what I'd really like to do is take this new optimism out for a test run."

Christine's face fell slightly. "What did you have in mind?"

"Christine, do you have plans for Halloween?"