Feminine 101

If you have not already done so, or if you are new, I recommend starting with Chapter 1. This is a linear story and will make a lot more sense read as a whole. Please leave a like, comment, or subscribe to my blog to get notifications when a new chapter is published. If I get 100 views on a single post of One More Life, I will self-publish a digital and printed copy with an exclusive Epilogue. If you only missed the last post, you can read Chapter 17 here.

Rana watched Nathan’s eyes focus in the distance, felt the stillness in him, and knew he was seeing it, too; their history together. She noted the shimmer in his eyes as he turned toward her. All the practiced coldness had fled. The hard edges that he had carefully honed, the restlessness of a lifetime searching dissolved into palpable relief. It was her. He had been searching, bumbling in this world, for her all along–she was all of them, the noblewoman, the slave, the peasant, the pioneer. She had walked beside him, born his children, made him better, always finding him. And he recognized the woman he had loved for nearly four thousand years. He saw her patience, the warmth and unflappable happiness, that unwavering faith in him. He recalled well the desperate need to prove himself worthy of it. 

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He turned and caught her hands in his, pulling them to his lips, resisting the urge to crush her to his chest. He breathed in her scent and, as always, it was right. He knew her.

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“How could I ever not know you?” He breathed finally.

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She smiled, he could hear it in her voice, “You know me now. That’s what matters, darling. And until a few moments ago, I didn’t know you, either.” She put her forehead against his and chuckled softly, “But you’d think we would recognize each other after all these years.”

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He coughed a laugh then lifted his head. The server had arrived on the deck directing guests inside where dinner was being served. To be separated by such a small thing as dinner on this day! He grinned down at her and offered an arm. 

“I believe I have reserved a seat at Mr. Cargill’s table and didn’t register a plus one.” A frown ghosted across his face. 

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But ever the optimist, she reassured him, “I am with his daughter Nikkolette, just a table over,” she gestured, “I can keep you in my sights.” They parted, grinning like fools. 

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Nikki’s bewilderment was almost cartoonish. Her eyebrows climbed in clear question. Rana giggled softly, unable to suppress the happiness, the rightness, of this night. Taking her seat next to Nikki, she murmured, “I’ll explain later.” In reality, she had no notion how she would tell it. Who could believe the truth? 

Rana glanced at Derek, seated on Nikki’s opposite side. He seemed subdued, but not unhappy, perhaps even relieved.

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Conversation was lively in any case, although she would recall none of it, she did make the effort to focus on the individuals at the table, listening closely to their comments, making mental notes about each one to mention later. She waited for lulls in the conversation, then would ask about some detail, and enjoy the answer from someone pleased to talk about themself. She knew now that it was not just a natural gift, but a practiced art, fine-tuned over centuries. The talk flowed easily, and deepened comfortably, as the individuals in their company relaxed in the presence of other, entirely approachable people. 

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She schooled herself to patience, knowing there would be time. There was always time. But an absence of twenty years made her long to speak with him, to hear where he had been, what he had seen. She yearned to tell about her upbringing, to cover the distance between them. And dinner did eventually end, followed by a speech, and then some music and dancing. 

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She was almost glowing when Nathan found her and led her onto the dance floor. They began formally, as other couples on the dance floor. They knew the steps, had learned them when the dance was new. Though the music, indeed the entire room, seemed to fade and she edged closer into his embrace, feeling the comfort of a man who had been faithful throughout literal ages. It was good to be with him again. 

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Nikki danced with Derek, proving an effective diversion. Challenging though it was since she could not keep from wondering who this Dayleigh character was. And how did Rana know him? To look at them, one might be tempted to think them quite familiar. Rana was utterly enraptured, and Dayleigh’s countenance had entirely transformed. Far from the scowl he had worn all week in the hotel, he appeared relaxed, still intent, but no longer cold. Derek could only shrug. He had sensed all along that she was something special, and there was a rightness to the stranger that he couldn’t deny whether he understood it or not. 

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When the party finally wound down, Nathan kissed her hand tenderly, “Mr. Cargill has invited me to drinks later, but I don’t imagine it will take more than an hour. How can I find you, when we’re finished?”

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Rana drank in the softness of his lips on her knuckles, her eyes stinging. She dug in her satin clutch with her other hand, and sent him a text as he dictated his number to her. She replaced the phone, then lifted a palm to his cheek, fingertips brushing his temple. He closed his eyes for a moment. 

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“I’ll text you when it’s over.” Then he turned and was gone. 

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Nikki stopped by their table some time later to collect her purse. At Rana’s inquisitive glance, she admitted, “I got Derek a limo home. I also got his number. He’ll be alright. As far as breakups go, I think you got off easy. I don’t even think I’ll mind being his rebound catch.”

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Rana had to agree. Derek was a good man and she wished good things for him. She eyed her empty champagne glass and asked, “Are you ready to go?”

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Nikki’s phone dinged so she nodded distractedly, and glanced at the screen. The color drained from her cheeks. “There’s been an accident!”

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Rana felt a twist in her stomach, “An accident, where? Who?” She constrained herself to stop so that Nikki could answer.

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“Daddy’s car got clipped by a truck on the highway. They’re taking them to St. Margaret’s.” She showed the text to Rana.

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“Nathan was with him.” A strangled whisper was all she could manage. “We’ve gotta go.”

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Nikki nodded and they hurried from the room.

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At the hospital, Nikki’s father met them in the waiting room. He wore a bandage on his hand and a darkening bruise on the side of his forehead, but appeared otherwise unharmed. The wealthy hotel mogul folded Nikki into his arms, smoothing her hair. Nikki’s eyes were wet and red-rimmed when she pulled away to examine his injuries more closely. Mr. Cargill allowed her a long-suffering moment before catching sight of the tall, dark-haired woman who stood politely aside. He noted her strained and pale expression. 

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“You must be Rana.” He said softly. Nikki’s ministrations stilled. 

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Rana felt like her tongue had forgotten speech so she only nodded. 

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Mr. Cargill gently stepped away from Nikki, lowering her hands with his. “Nathan asked for you before–before he lost consciousness. Both his legs were crushed. He’s in surgery now. They said it would be some time.” 

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Rana’s face was blank. Never before had they been separated so quickly. She had just found him. 

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Mr. Cargill led them both to a waiting room where a nurse attempted to usher him back into his hospital room. It seemed he was to be kept under observation overnight. He nodded, exasperation plain on his face, but with a wink, he told them, “I’ll send for some good coffee.” 

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Nikki turned to her friend, reticent to leave her,  “I want to see him to his room. Are you gonna be okay here?”

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Rana nodded dumbly. She stood until Nikki and her father had disappeared down the long hallway, then sank into one of the gray-cushioned chairs. Late on a Saturday night, the expansive lobby was all but deserted. She sank onto a chair, back erect staring straight ahead. A wave of nausea rippled through her and an unearthly unease swept across the room. She looked around, alert, tense. She was alone in the lobby. 

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Several tense moments later, a man in a suit arrived with a cardboard tray of coffees. He caught sight of her and veered toward her. 

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“Rana?”

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She nodded softly, still not trusting her voice. 

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“Mr. Cargill, asked me to bring you a coffee. Do you do black or are you more of a latte person?”

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“Latte, please,” came her ragged reply. 

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He lifted a drink from the tray and offered it to her. 

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Rana took it, the warmth seeping into her fingers and met his gaze, “Thank you.” Tears were bright in her eyes and she looked quickly away. 

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“I hope it’s good news you get,” he said kindly and backed away with the tray.

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