The Craving (15 page)

“He’s so adorable when he sleeps, isn’t he?”

Obviously Alison still didn’t have any clue what was going on.
Simon was still struggling to breathe. His hands and feet were still tingly. He looked at his hands; was he imagining it, or were they a little hairier? They didn’t look much different than they did normally, though; well, not different enough for anyone else to notice anyway.

“He’ll probably wake up in twenty minutes,” Alison said. “Maybe we can go to the dim sum place we went to last time, the one on Mott?”

Simon was breathing. It still felt like he had asthma, but at least he was getting air into his lungs.

“Or, wait, is it Bayard?” Alison asked. “I always get those streets down there confused … Are you okay?”

Simon waited to get enough air to speak, then said, “Yes,” but his voice was very faint.

Alison came over to get a look at his face. He tried to turn away, but not fast enough, and she caught a glimpse.

“Oh my God,” she said, “you’re sweating.”

Simon hadn’t realized he was sweating, but he was. He tasted the saltiness on his lips, and his shirt was practically soaked. But he was relieved that the sensation in his extremities had almost dissipated completely, and he hoped the increased hairiness was going away as well.

“It’s nothing,” he said, “just a little anxiety. Dr. Levinson said I might have panic attacks. It’s probably just a side effect of my medication.”

He hated how it was getting easier and easier to tell these lies, how invented explanations flowed effortlessly.

She stared at him, as if she were trying to see into him, and he couldn’t help wondering,
Can she?

Then she finally said, “You look really pale.”

“I’m fine,” he said, thinking,
Yeah, fine except I think I’m about
to turn into a werewolf in one of the busiest areas of Manhattan
. “I just need a minute.”

“How about something to drink?” She reached into the bag attached to the handle of the stroller and took out a juice box. “Here.”

He wasn’t thirsty, but drinking seemed like a good idea. Alison poked the straw into the container and handed him the apple juice. The liquid did seem to relax his throat a little.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“Better,” he said, “I’m almost back.”

Since the attack had started he’d been so focused on trying to breathe and to prevent a nightmare from ensuing that he hadn’t thought about what had caused the panic. But now that he was calmer he turned away from Alison, toward the river, and gazed across at Brooklyn Heights, and to the left, the Brooklyn Bridge and the trendy DUMBO area, and beyond, before a bend in the river, the old factories and warehouses near the Navy Yard, including the defunct Hartman Brewery where all of Simon’s troubles had begun.

When Simon had suggested going to the Seaport today he’d made no connection that he’d been returning to the area where, for all he knew, Michael and the guys were hanging out at this very moment. Like yesterday when he’d caught himself heading toward the Battery Park playground, he didn’t know if coming here was just a coincidence, or if something was pulling him unconsciously. He remembered Michael saying,
Welcome back to us
, with his weird Germanic accent, and the voice in Simon’s head was so clear that it sounded as if Michael himself were here next to him, whispering in his ear.

“Maybe you should call Levinson,” Alison said.

“What?” Simon was startled, thinking she’d said,
Call Hartman
, even though that didn’t make any sense. Then it hit and he said, “Oh. What for?”

“To adjust your medication,” she said, as if it were obvious.

“It’s not my medication,” he said, thinking at least this wasn’t a lie since he wasn’t on any medication. “It’s just going to take a little time, that’s all.”

He had the rest of the juice box and felt almost normal. He didn’t know why he’d had such a strong panicked reaction, but he took it as a positive sign that he’d been able to avoid a full transformation. It gave him hope that it was possible that he could control all of this, and he wouldn’t have to live his life in constant fear.

“Simon,” Alison said in the tone she had when she was very angry or very serious; it was hard to tell which was the case this time.

“Yeah,” Simon said.

She looked so intense; it was hard to maintain eye contact with her.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” she asked.

He wanted to blurt it out, get it all over with, say,
Yes, there is something I’m not telling you. I don’t have lycanthropic disorder. I don’t
think
I’m a werewolf, I actually am one. And I’m terrified that if you know the truth you’ll leave me and take Jeremy away, so I’m hoping, no, I’m
praying,
I can figure out some way to control this, to keep it a secret forever, but still live a normal, functional life.

But instead he heard himself say, “Not telling you about what?”

Before continuing, Alison looked around. There were a lot of people nearby, but no one seemed to be eavesdropping. Most people were just hanging out, eating, resting in wooden lounge chairs, or admiring the view. Maybe twenty yards away, a boy, maybe ten years old, was begging his mother for change to put into a coin-operated telescope, which was fixed on some point in the distance, maybe the Statue of Liberty. The boy was saying, “Please, Ma, I really wanna use
it,” and the mom was saying, “The answer is no,” and then Simon realized that the conversation was taking place way too far away for an average person to overhear.

“Do you want to be in this marriage?” Alison asked.

“What?” Simon said. “What kind of ques—”

“I just want you to be honest with me,” she said. “You don’t have to be afraid to tell me the truth. If you want out and this is, I don’t know, your way of trying to tell me, I understand. I mean, I
don’t
understand, but I won’t be angry at you for telling me how you feel.”

Like before, Alison didn’t sound like herself; she sounded like some self-help book. Simon held her hand and pulled her toward him, trying to focus on
her
, instead of how amazing she smelled and how badly he wanted her.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “You know that’s not true.”

“How do I know?” She seemed strong, in control, but he knew she was just overcompensating, trying not to get emotional in public. “All I know is you’ve been avoiding intimacy and now we’re spending time together for the first time in ages and it seems to give you panic attacks.”

“It’s not you,” Simon said.

“If it’s not me,” she said, “then who is it?”

He knew what she was getting at. “Come on, you know there’s no one else.”

“I want to believe that, I really do, and you know I never get jealous. But it’s hard when … well, when I see the way women look at you.”

“What do you mean?” Simon said, but it was hard to pretend to be shocked when he knew exactly what she meant.

“Come on, I see the way women are checking you out lately,” Alison said. “Just before in the elevator, that cute blonde was totally
staring at you. Maybe it’s just an, I don’t know, available vibe you’re sending out.”

Simon hadn’t noticed the blonde. He’d been getting so much female attention lately, maybe he was becoming oblivious to it.

Simon put his arms around her waist and pulled her in close—it was okay, he was in control—and said, “It’s true, I have noticed women paying more attention to me lately, but it’s not on my end, I swear. Maybe they’re just attracted to my wisdom.”

“Your wisdom?”

“Yeah,” Simon said, smiling to show he was joking. “Maybe I’m getting better with age, like cheese.”

“Oh no, now he thinks he’s cheese,” Alison said. “I’m not going to have to find you a psychiatrist who cures that disorder too, am I?”

They were suddenly kissing. With his nose so close to her face, the scent of her skin was even more overwhelming. While he was aware of the effect this was having on his body, he tried to accept it, to go with it. Hadn’t Michael once said that too, that you just have to go with it? Or maybe not—maybe it was something he’d said to himself—but it was helpful nevertheless.

Accept it, accept it,
he kept telling himself, as he continued kissing her. His tongue was rougher than it used to be—more like a dog’s than a human’s—but if she noticed she didn’t seem to care. Going by the way she was moaning softly and moving her hips up against him, she seemed to be pretty distracted.

Then, realizing they were in public, she pulled back, not too far—their noses were almost touching—and said, “I think we need to get a room.”

“Accept it.” Simon didn’t mean to say this out loud.

“What?” Alison was confused.

“I mean it’s a good thing we already live together,” Simon said,
and then he got distracted, looking beyond Alison toward the area in Brooklyn, past DUMBO, where the Hartman Brewery was located. Simon was certain that Michael was there at this very moment. He was probably hanging out with Charlie and Ramon and maybe with other werewolves. Simon pictured Michael, with his thick gray hair, jet black eyes, and usual affectless expression. The vision was so clear it had to be real.

Alison must’ve seen something in Simon’s eyes.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing.” He kissed her again, holding her tight, loving that he was able to control himself and be close with his wife. Then with his lips still against hers he said, “Nothing at all.”

T
he rest of the day was pretty much perfect. Jeremy woke up from his nap and the family took a nice walk to Chinatown. After they had lunch at their favorite dim sum place—Simon managed not to OD on pork dumplings, even though he wanted to, by repeating his
Accept it
mantra—they bought fruit and vegetables to last a few days and then caught a bus uptown at Canal and Hudson. It wasn’t a particularly exciting day and nothing memorable happened—just a lot of small talk and tending to Jeremy—but that was what made it so great. It was a family Saturday like the other family Saturdays they used to have before he lost his job and this whole werewolf nightmare started.

But now Simon felt like he had new hope. Not only had repeating his new mantra helped temper his meat cravings, it seemed to curb the attention from random women. He was still getting noticed much more than he had in his pre-werewolf days—even the older Chinese woman serving the dim sum had given him a kind of seductive look
while she was doling out the shrimp dumplings—but women weren’t completely fawning over him the way they’d been lately. On the bus Simon was aware of a few women noticing him, the way they would notice any attractive guy, but the attention wasn’t out of control.

When they got back to the apartment, Simon suggested that Alison go to the gym. Her schedule hadn’t given her much opportunity to work out lately, and she was glad to have the time to herself. Simon and Jeremy played a game Simon had invented called “apartment tag,” which involved almost constant running around the apartment. They were both having a blast, but they had to stop when the doorman called up with a noise complaint from the neighbors downstairs.

When Alison returned all sweaty—God, she smelled amazing—Simon, needing to exert himself in a big way, went for a run. In the park he wanted to let loose, but his mantra helped restrain him and he was content jogging at a normal pace around the park’s six-mile “big loop.”

Back at home, around nine, Alison had put Jeremy to bed.

“He fell right asleep; I was surprised,” Alison said. “I mean after he had that long nap this afternoon. Maybe he’s growing. So how do you feel?”

Simon knew she was really saying,
Do you want to have sex?
To make her intention even more clear, Alison bit down on her lower lip seductively. She’d showered, so her natural scent was masked by odors of shampoo, conditioner, soap, and skin moisturizer, but when Simon focused he could still make out her natural scent and he couldn’t help getting turned on.

“Today was nice,” Alison said, moving closer to Simon.

Even if she didn’t notice the growing bulge in his sweats, she sensed he was getting excited, and he could smell her excitement.

“I know,” Simon said. “We should have family days more often.”

“I’m not just talking about that,” Alison said. “I’m talking about us. It was nice kissing you at the Seaport.”

Seeing the image of Michael, watching, waiting on the roof of the brewery, Simon said, “I know, it was really nice.”

“We should have a regular date night,” Alison said. “I know we’ve talked about it before with Dr. Hagan, but this time we should stick to it. We can get Christina to babysit one fixed night a week, let’s say Thursday nights because I usually don’t have any big meetings on Fridays, and then we can go out. Even if it’s just out to dinner or to get coffee or take a walk around the neighborhood. It’s time spent together and I think that’s important.”

“Sounds like a great idea,” Simon said. “Let’s go for it.”