Hot Mess (21 page)

If I had been paying attention to my body, I would have seen the signs of impending illness, and I could have taken some preventative measures to decrease the impact, hopefully bypassing the hospital stay. I could have upped my vitamin dosage. I could have been a little more vigilant about hand-washing. I could have increased my level of fluid intake. I could have done so many things to keep the flu from hitting me so hard.

Instead of yelling at myself for being depressed all the time, I should have been listening to my body's signs of infection and saved myself a lot of hassle. As it is, I'm on the mend, with a hunky neighbor helping me out. Who can really complain much about that?

Rachel had gotten home from the hospital last night, but was still feeling extremely weak. The antibiotics the doctors had prescribed were doing a number on her, and she could barely get out of bed. On top of that, Sam had brought her soup at lunchtime today. She was sure he hadn't made it himself because it was too good to have come from a can.

Overwhelmed by the idea that his interest might have rekindled itself, she pushed the thought aside. It wasn't possible. She had seen the disgust flash through his eyes at the accident, and she knew that a knee-jerk reaction like that was probably right on par with his true emotions. He hadn't been able to disguise his revulsion at her disease status. Even when he'd come back a couple of days later on his fact-finding mission, she'd seen the unease in his arctic blue gaze. So, what had changed? He'd seemed to actually care at the hospital when he was there with her. And what had prompted him to come over in the first place? To find her passed out in the tub, covered in vomit? Why hadn't he shied away from that?

She sighed in confusion and shrugged to herself. Her knees were still wobbly and her muscles still felt like jello, but she barely managed to heave herself off the couch, before shuffling across the living room to the hallway to go back to bed.

Rachel felt like she was imposing on Sam too much, but she needed him to watch Sophia again this evening. She texted him.

Can Sophie come back over this evening? I should be better tomorrow.

He didn't text her back.

She called Sophia into her bedroom to ask for some tea, but her daughter didn't respond to her weak appeal. Wondering where her daughter was, and feeling abandoned, she hauled herself out of bed and shuffled into the kitchen.

Rachel's limbs were so weak, she dropped the teapot into the sink when it got full of water and whimpered in frustration.

"What are you doing up?" A voice from behind her scared her witless. Turning, she saw Sam standing there, a concerned look on her face.

"I can't find Sophia, and I wanted some tea."

"Sophia's at my house, watching TV. I'll make your tea," he said softly. "You need to be in bed."

"I know." She stammered.

Giving in to the need for her bed, she started her slow shuffle back to her bedroom, satisfied that Sam could put the teapot on the stove and stick a teabag in a cup. It was almost like a frozen dinner. Before she could get far though, his strong arms scooped her up and carried her the rest of the way.

Succumbing to the warmth of his grip, she leaned her head on his broad chest and tried not to read anything into his actions.

She had decided that Sam was only doing his job. He was a firefighter, after all. He broke into people's houses and saved them for a living. She wasn't anyone special, only another job to him. That fact hurt her, and she didn't want to delve into the whys of it.

He gently laid her in her bed, and pulled the covers up to her chin, tucking her in.

"I need to tell you something, Rachel." His gaze on her was calming, yet it held something more, something tender. His mouth opened to say something, then shut, and he turned to leave the bedroom.

She snuggled into her quilts, wondering what he wanted to tell her. Was Sophia okay? She had been sick for a few days and hadn't seen much of her daughter. Had she gotten sick too? Did Sam need to know the name of their doctor? When he returned, cup of tea in hand, she said, "Dr. Baine is Sophia's doctor. I can write a note for you to take her if she's sick."

He looked perplexed, "Sophia's not sick, Rachel. She's fine."

"Then, what do you need to talk to me about?"

He sat on the edge of her bed, scooting her over a bit to make room. He then crossed one ankle over his knee, and leaned his elbows on his knees, and put his head in his hands, running them through his hair.

"Us, Rachel. I need to talk about us."

"Oh."

"I realize this may not be the best time, while you're sick, but I need to tell you what's going on."

"What's going on?" Rachel was confused, and she didn't even try to hide it.

Sam sat up and dipped his hand into his pocket, pulling out a ring. He handed it to Rachel. "I got a phone call from Lone Star Antiques a few days ago. They caught Amanda stealing a jeweled pin. They didn't press charges, thankfully." He looked at his lap. "I'm ashamed to admit, it took me a couple of days for it to click to the night we met, and I searched her room. I found this."

"Meemaw's ring…" Tears filled her eyes at the sight of the scratched silver bauble with the colored stones set in it. "Thank you." Her voice was a choked whisper.

"I found the ring, and it reminded me of that night, and how I let my own perceptions of the situation rule my thoughts, without questioning further, to find out the truth…" He turned his body so that he was facing her. "I'm sorry, Rachel."

"It's okay. She's just a little girl, and she's been going through a tough time, lately." Her voice trailed off at the look of pain on Sam's face. "What else?" A sense of foreboding filled her.

"I'm sorry for everything, Rachel. I've done it to you a couple of times." He ran his hand through his hair again, making it stick up wildly in all directions. "When you told me you were positive, I did it again. Even after I found out the facts, from you, from the internet, I still pushed you away. I was scared." He was staring at her, as if gauging her reaction, but she couldn't react. She was too curious to find out what he would say next.

"My mom died, Amanda's mom died. I was scared that if we stayed together, that Amanda would get attached to you too, and then you would…" He stopped talking, his voice choked. Rachel wanted to reassure him, tell him everything would be okay, but she had to hear what he was going to say next.

"But I realized, as I watched you these past few months, that you had a greater impact on me. My heart's been twisted, Rachel, bent all out of shape and turned inside out and completely unrecognizable from what it was. I've been fighting fires for eleven years, but every time I look at you from across the street, something burns inside of me, and I can't put it out."

He looked at her, a rare moment of uncertainty, but she could do nothing to reassure him. She couldn't tell him that she felt the same way. She couldn't tell him anything, because her voice had fled, and her mouth was gaping open. She wondered if maybe she still had a fever, and this was all just a hallucination.

"Right now, I want nothing more than to take you into my arms and kiss you senseless. I want to try again, Rachel. I'm sorry for judging you, for rejecting you, for hurting you. If I could take it all back, I would." He leaned over and kissed her forehead, chastely, leaving a burning spot on her skin. "I'll let you rest, now. Don't worry about Sophie. I've got the next two days off, and she can stay at my house. I'll make sure she gets to school, and eats and stuff." He stood, running his hands through his hair once more, before turning to go.

"Sam?" He turned, his china blue eyes looking hopeful. "Thank you for saying those things to me. I don't know what to say."

"I meant them, Rachel. I'll be back to check on you. You rest now. You'll feel better soon."

She watched his enormous bulk leave her bedroom with mixed emotions. She was relieved to have her grandmother's ring back, glad to hear his apology, but felt like the other words had been grounded in pity. There just wasn't any way that he felt like that about her. How could he?

Rachel managed to roll over, and succumb to the wastelands of sleep.

When firefighters arrive on the scene of an emergency medical call, they can get a lot of information just by taking a quick look at the patient, the environment, and the situation. --From
Firefighter's Handbook, Essentials of Firefighting ad Emergency Response

Driving home from work, two days later, Sam was ruminating on Serendipity and his months there so far. The drive from the fire station to his home was ten minutes long and took him through all of downtown. It was a rather scenic drive and apparent to him that the community was making an effort to restore some of it's past grandeur.

Scaffolding covered nearly forty percent of the downtown building facades, and temporary banners announcing grand openings of new business were everywhere. Older, more established buildings had permanent signs and storefronts, giving the town a homey feel. He anticipated the town at Christmas, looking forward to an old town feel for the holidays.

He briefly relived a memory of his mother, driving him to Marshall, Texas, to look at the entire town lit up in twinkling lights and the magic and wonder he had felt as a child. She took him there every year, at the beginning of the Christmas season, while he was out of school for the holiday, and his dad was still working. Then they would come home, and his mom would make her Christmas cookies. He grinned to himself at the thought of doing that with Amanda and seeing the lights again through his daughter's eyes. Maybe Rachel and Sophia would come too? Rachel probably had a killer Christmas cookie recipe. A warm feeling crept into his heart, and he was suddenly excited to get home, and check on everybody.

When he walked in his door, his warm fuzzies dissipated rapidly.

"'Manda? What do you think you're doing?" Rhetorical question. She knew she was busted. She'd been grounded from the Wii, as well as the TV, and everything else the least bit fun for the shoplifting incident, and here she was playing video games. Big. As. Day.

"Brenda said it was okay," she insisted.

"Brenda is not the boss in this house, and you know it. I told you, you are grounded from all electronics. You know better than to go behind my back on this. Now you have an extra week from everything. Go finish your homework."

"I'm already finished, Dad."

"Then go read a book, draw in your sketchpad, write in a diary, needlepoint, something. I've got to talk to Brenda."

He stomped through the house, finding Brenda in the kitchen pulling something out of the oven.

"Brenda."

"Hey, Sugar. How was work?" She asked brightly.

"Fine." Sam growled. "Why was Amanda on the Wii when I came home?"

Brenda shrugged her shoulders. "She was bored. I didn't think it would hurt anything."

"She is grounded, and you know it. You cannot go behind my back, defying my wishes in this household. That is not your place."

She had the decency to look chagrined and lowered her eyes to the floor. "I'm sorry Sam. It won't happen again."

Sam sighed, and sank into the chair. "Look Brenda, we need to talk." Motioning to the other chair at the table, "Have a seat."

She did, and he looked at her squarely. "You are an employee here, you understand that, right?"

She dropped her gaze and nodded.

"There won't be a relationship between us, except that of an employer and an employee. I hope I've made that clear." He was trying to be gentle, but he needed to get this out in the open.

She swallowed and nodded again.

"In fact, even if there were interest on my part, I wouldn't pursue it. I work with Derrick, and I don't know what y'all's history is together, but he's still got it pretty bad for you. I've just managed to prove myself as a team mate to him, and I'm not going to jeopardize that because of you."

Brenda looked back up at him, surprise in her eyes. "He does?"

Sam smiled. "Yeah. He likes you a lot, Brenda. When is the last time you talked to him?"

"Oh gosh, it's been ages. I thought I'd ruined things with him a long time ago."

"You may have to make some amends, but I'd say your chances with him are pretty good." He stood. "So, we're clear? I'm the dad and you’re the caretaker? Nothing more?"

"Yes, Sam."

"Good."

Sam walked back into the living room and began yanking cords out of the wall, effectively unhooking the Wii, playstation, and the TV. He scooped everything up in his arms and carried it all out to the garage before taking a deep breath and walking across the street to check on Rachel.

When she opened the door to his knock, Rachel's eyes were puffy and rimmed in red, and his heart sank.

"What happened? What's wrong?" He asked, stifling the urge to envelope her in his arms.

"I got a phone call today, from the newspaper. I knew it was coming, but it was still brutal." She had walked to the living room and slumped onto the sofa, curling her legs up underneath her. Her pose was one of dejection, hopelessness, and Sam just stood there, feeling helpless.