The week 2 also led Lena to the conclusion that making the appearances and having the careful conversations were not the most challenging part of this arrangement. It was the silent intervals between, the ones which no other beholder noticed, at which there was no auditorium to persuade and no play-book to consult.
At those times, things were most real.
The day started as usual in the morning. Lena got up early and her organism was not yet used to the new bed or the dull sounds of the city that were instead of the creaks and voices of the old apartment. She sat motionless a few minutes, looking at the ceiling with the sun streaming dimly through the curtain. The mornings here were strangely quiet, the sense of order was such that she was thankful and uneasy.
She woke up, dressed and walked into the kitchen only to find Nathaniel there.
Unbuttoned tie, jacket always out of view, sleeves rolled up, he was going through papers that had been neatly stacked before him. There was a cup of coffee lying unfinished next his hand. He raised his eyes as he sensed her coming and his face changed slightly as he was focused and then acknowledged her.
"You're up early," he said.
"So are you," she replied.
He glanced at the clock. "Old habit."
She inhaled and poured herself some coffee and leaned on the counter opposite to him. They had a moment of silence, that which could no longer be described as awkward, but at the same time not quite comfortable. Lena saw the dark lines under his eyes, in his shoulders which he could not conceal by his poised stature.
You do not sleep much, you know, she said before she could restrain herself.
Nathaniel hesitated, and shook his shoulders. "I sleep enough."
"That's not an answer."
One side of his mouth jerked. It is the sole one you are getting.
She smiled vaguely, amazed at the ease with which the conversation ran. That ease worried her.
Claire explained to them that they would have a change of heart later that afternoon. An urgency family meeting. Informal, but important. Nathaniel had a large extended family, most of which Lena was yet to meet.
Claire; "They are curious, over the phone. And curiosity is likely to become speculation unless it is dealt with.
Lena closed her eyes briefly. "Of course it does."
Nathaniel observed her in the other room, as she put down the phone. It is not necessary to go when you feel bad.
She shook her head. "I agreed to this. It would be better not to avoid them, as doing so would bring up more questions.
His eyes were on her, meditative. You cannot do this here without owing some one his discomfort.
"Maybe not," she replied. But I do follow-through on myself.
The commute to the family house was a longer one than usual, which brought them further out of the city, into a more upscale and quieter neighborhood. Lena was observing the landscape, and her nerves became tighter with each mile. This was not a party and smiles and practiced tales could do. Family saw more. They found dissimilarities, felt strain.
As they came the house was already alive with sound and movement. The laughter was floating in the open windows and there was a smell of food in the air. Nathaniel left the car and turned to her and then did get out of the car.
"Stay close to me," he said. At all times, in case anything seems too much, we go.
She nodded. "Thank you."
The instant they crossed the door, there was a change of focus. Discussions were interrupted, glances exchanged, interest aroused. Lena thought she felt as though a load was resting on her shoulders, but she continued to pose with an easy manner, and with a smiling face.
One introduction was followed by another. Aunts, uncles, cousins. There was a confusion of names, a shaking of hands and compliments of a pleasant nature. Lena tried to remember faces, to react in a natural way, to stay down to earth.
Nathaniel had been with her the whole time and was constant. He led discussions in the most subtle manner, indicating when it had gone on too long, responding to inquiries with smooth professionalism. Once his hand touched hers and the fingers interlocked momentarily as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
The contact startled her.
It was not out of impropriety, but because it was comforting.
It was standing in close vicinity of the back garden when an elder man approached them and his keen eyes were staring at Lena. So that you are the woman who finally got Nathaniel to slow down.
Lena looked back at Nathaniel, and at the man. I did not persuade him, she said timorously. I believe that he made the choice himself.
The man gazed a long time at her, and nodded. "Interesting answer."
Nathaniel closed his hand a little, it was a silent nod.
It was afternoon, and Lena came to relax, in spite of her anxiety. The family was no cruel, but curious. Some of them were friendly, some far, and none openly hostile. She was agreeable in laughing where it suited, in listening where people were speaking, and by and by the feeling of being examined had got to be something like approval.
The burden of it all did not overtake her until she later on when she said she had to go outside to get air.
She was left alone on the back patio and she was drawing long breaths with her hands on the railing. The blue sky above was pallid, as the sun recorded its gradual setting. Physical exhaustion was not all she felt.
"You're doing that thing again."
The voice of Nathaniel was heard behind her.
She turned, surprised. "What thing?"
Carrying everything without looking like one.
She sighed. "Someone has to."
He moved forward, putting his arms next to hers on the railing. They were standing shoulder against shoulder, too near together to escape the warmth that was issuing out of him.
You need not do it, said he to himself.
Something tender was struck at in the words.
I am not accustomed to having to depend on folk, she confessed. "It usually doesn't end well."
He considered that. I am not accustomed to having anything to depend on but results.
She looked at him, looked at him all right. Under the control and trust, she discovered signs of another thing. Fatigue. Pressure. A loneliness which he had kept locked up.
I am out of my comfort zone too, she thought.
"Yes," he replied. And that is what I mind about.
She smiled faintly. "Because it feels too easy?"
It does not, he said, "So because it does not, I said, it does not. "It feels... necessary."
The language hung about their mouths, betokening.
They went back in a bit later and something had changed. The act was now thinner, the boundary between acting and reality less clear. As soon as they said their goodbyes and returned to the car, there was silence.
Nathaniel was at the wheel with one hand and with the other hand loosely positioned towards the console. Lena looked into the window, and she was again reflected in the glass with him. She asked herself, and she wondered whether or not he also saw it, that physical reminder of how they were so bound up together so fast.
The rest of the evening was spent quietly back at the apartment. Nathaniel went away to his office to complete some work and Lena hung around the living room flipping through a book that she was not actually reading. Her mind reverted to the patio, to his words, to how he had made her feel herself rooted when she was in a state of confusion.
When he came out later, jacketless, expression fatigued though softer, she looked up.
"Everything okay?" she asked.
He nodded. "Just a long day."
She was going to say, but instead said, You do not always need to be strong.
He paused, studying her. "Neither do you."
It was a weighty and easy exchange.
As Lena laid in bed that night she could not think about the arrangement, but rather of the man who was sharing the space that was beyond her door. She wondered how he defended her in such a non-obtrusive way, how he could listen without saying anything, how respectfully he could listen to her decisions.
This was not part of the plan.
She knew that. She had realized it at the very start.
But even as sleep gradually overcame her Lena was aware that the hazardous element of this establishment was not the expectations or the lies or the inevitable conclusion.
It was the truth increasing below.
The fact that she was starting to care.
And when that had occurred, there could not be a plan in the world to prevent her heart.