Total Rush (35 page)

“Can we stop this, please?” Gemma pleaded. “It's not very productive.” She approached her Aunt Betty Anne, who'd been silent up until now. “I'm sorry I ruined your weekend, Aunt Betty Anne. I know how important it was to you.”

Betty Anne just nodded as tears filled her eyes. “We can always go back.”

“Not if Ma's a vegetable!” Gemma's mother exclaimed dramatically.

Gemma glared at her. “She's not a vegetable. She suffered severe smoke inhalation. It might take a while, but the doctor said she's going to be fine.”

“Sweetie, what caused the fire?” Aunt Millie asked kindly, shaking a cigarette out of the pack she always kept in her coat pocket. She put it in her mouth and was striking the match to light it when she suddenly remembered where she was. Shamefaced, she hurriedly put them away.

“I don't know,” Gemma replied, distraught. “Nonna could have turned the oven on, or tried to cook something. I just don't know.”

“She doesn't know!” Her mother threw two imploring hands up to heaven. “Her own grandmother almost burns to death and she doesn't know!”

“Mom, I want you to listen to me.” Gemma's voice was unnaturally calm. “Nonna wasn't supposed to be alone. Frankie was supposed to be there. A traffic accident delayed her.”

“YOU SHOULD NEVER HAVE LEFT HER ALONE FOR ONE MINUTE!” her mother shouted. “NEVER!”

“YOU THINK I DON'T KNOW THAT?” Gemma shouted back. “You think I don't feel like complete and UTTER SHIT about what happened? A loony was holding my part-timer hostage! I had to get to the store to HELP!”

Her mother looked confused. “Wha? A loony wha?”

“A tarot card student was upset that I wanted to stop teaching him, and he held my part-timer hostage. It was a big deal, with the police and a SWAT team and everything.”

“This doesn't surprise me one bit.” Her mother snorted. “You're loony yourself. It stands to reason you'd attract other loonies.”

“
Cara,
I'm so sorry,” Aunt Millie said, ignoring her sister. Her eyes searched Gemma's. “Is your part-timer all right?”

“She's fine. No one was hurt.”

“Except your grandmother,” her mother muttered.

“Ma, did you hear one word I said?” Gemma said sharply, voice rising. “There was a
hostage situation in my store.
My apartment burned down. You're not helping with your snide comments!”

“Amen,” Aunt Millie said.

“And if it wasn't for me telling the firefighters she was in there, Nonna might well have died.”

“What, so now you're the hero?” her mother shot back.

That was it. Last straw. “I'm done here.” Quietly opening the door to her grandmother's room, Gemma stepped back inside to fetch her things. “The doctor who treated Nonna was named Dr. Kaiser,” she said to no one in particular as she reentered the hall. “The head nurse on duty is named Molly. Have a good night.”

“Gemma, don't leave this way,” Aunt Millie called after her as she strode down the hall.

But Gemma refused to look back.

“
Gemma!
”

“Sean?”

They were in the hospital lobby: Gemma on her way out, Sean on his way in.

Gemma looked up at him, bewildered. “What are you doing here?”

“I told you I'd stop by to see how your grandmother was doing.”

Gemma blinked. “But—how did you know I'd still be here?”

“Wild guess.” He looked around. “I'm sure the coffee shop's closed, but there's a Starbucks up the street.”

“Sounds good.”

She followed him through the sliding glass doors, out into the spring night. The temperature had dropped considerably, but there was still something in the air—a tang, a feeling—that promised warmer days to come.

“How is she?” Sean asked.

“Severe smoke inhalation, but the doctor thinks she's going to be fine. She's tough as nails, my grandmother.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” He paused. “I want you to know I got to her as soon as I could.”

Gemma was taken aback. “I know that, Sean. Please. We can't thank you enough.”

He waved away her praise. “All part of the job. Thank God no one else was hurt.”

Now at Starbucks, he held open the door for her. Taking in his faded jeans and crisp blue Oxford shirt, Gemma was reminded of how grubby she must look in comparison. She'd been in the same sweats all day. And she was still in her slippers. Maybe Sean wouldn't notice.

“Why don't you go grab a table and I'll order? What do you want?”

“Chai, please. Grande.” Sean nodded and went to order while Gemma slid into a small table for two near the front window. The place was filled with student types, most of them tapping away on laptops. Gemma felt old.

“Cookie?”

She looked up to see Sean at the counter, holding up a giant chocolate chip cookie. Gemma nodded yes. Apart from a cup of coffee from a hospital vending machine, she hadn't put anything in her stomach all day, mostly because the thought of food made her sick. Now she was ravenous.

Settling back in her chair, she felt a wave of exhaustion roll over her. All she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and sleep. That, and turn back time. If she could restart the day, waiting for Frankie to arrive before she went down to the store . . . Inevitably, her gaze drifted to Sean. He looked as tired as she did, the faintest hint of stubble beginning on his face.
So handsome.

“Here you are.”

He handed her a cookie and a chai.

“Didn't want to share, huh?” Gemma said, noticing he'd bought a cookie for himself as he sat down opposite her.

“Nope.”

“Thank you, Sean.”

“Don't mention it.” He tore the plastic wrapping off the cookie with his teeth. “You look tired,” he observed gently.

“So do you.”

“Long day.” He took a sip of coffee, not quite meeting her eyes. “We did salvage and overhaul on your apartment, Gemma.”

“What's that, exactly?”

“It's where we go in and try to salvage any furniture we can, board up broken windows, rip open the floors and walls that still feel warm and douse them with water. It's also where we try to figure out what started the fire.”

“Any ideas?” she asked quietly.

“As far as we can tell, it looks like wind might have blown your living room drapes into the flame of a candle sitting on the windowsill. They went right up. That started everything.”

“You're sure it's a candle that did it?”

Sean nodded. “Pretty much.” His thumb traced the edge of his coffee mug. “I remember you had a lot of candles in there.”

“But none of them were lit.” Her throat went tight. “My grandmother must have done it.” She put her hand to her forehead, closing her eyes.
Candles.
How could she have left an Alzheimer's patient alone in a room full of candles?
What an idiot, what a—

Warmth suddenly blanketed her free hand. She opened her eyes: Sean's big hand was covering hers, his blue eyes—eyes she once drowned in, eyes she could drown in still, if she let herself—studying her with concern.

“Don't beat yourself up, Gemma. Stuff like this happens all the time.”

“Not to me it doesn't.”

“What does that mean?”

“I'm the responsible one,” Gemma said wearily. “Good old responsible Gemma.” Her voice caught. “Well, not this time. God, did I screw up.”

Sean squeezed her hand. “It's okay.”

“It's not,” Gemma whispered, blinking back tears. She would not cry. She had cried enough today, cried so much she got on her own bloody nerves, and there was no way she was going to lose it now. She clamped her jaw down tight, pain radiating all the way up to her earlobes. Then, like a beam of bright light cutting through fog, she became increasingly aware of sensation in another part of her body. It was Sean. He was caressing the top of her hand with his thumb.

“What happened?” he asked.

“It's a long story.”

Sean smiled that crooked grin of his. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“I'll give you the condensed version. I got a call from the police department. You know Julie, the girl who works for me?”

“Tattoo queen?”

Gemma laughed, surprising herself. “Yes. She was being held hostage by an ex-tarot student of mine.”

Sean looked shocked. “Get outta here.”

“I'm not kidding. Anyway, I called Frankie to come over and watch my grandmother. I know it was dumb to leave her, but she was sleeping, and I thought, even if she did wake up, it would only be a few minutes until Frankie arrived. Wrong. Frankie's cab got stuck behind an accident on Third Avenue. By the time she got to my apartment, you guys were already there.”

“Jesus, Gemma.” Sean sounded horrified.

“Not my best day,” Gemma agreed.

She tore open the cookie wrapper and popped a giant piece in her mouth, washing it down with a shot of chai. A year ago she would never have let these kinds of toxins into her body. Now she reveled in them.
Sugar? Fat? Bring 'em on, wake me up. Life's too short.
She took another huge bite. As she devoured the last of the cookie, she noticed Sean was watching her with an amused expression on his face. Embarrassed, Gemma halted mid-chew.

“What?”

“You haven't eaten all day, have you?”

Gemma blushed. “Does vending machine coffee count?”

“No way.” He pushed his cookie toward her. “Finish it. I had dinner.”

“Are you sure?” She hoped he wasn't just being polite. She wanted that cookie badly.

“Completely. It's yours.”

“Thank you.” She ducked her head self-consciously. “I seem to be saying that to you a lot.”

“Better stop,” said Sean, sipping his coffee. “I might get a swelled head.”

I wouldn't mind.
She was shocked she could even come up with such a filthy pun in her current state. It only proved what she'd known deep down for months: She'd never stopped being attracted to him. It would be nice if he felt the same way about her. Maybe some small part of him did? His hand still rested atop hers, though his thumb had ceased its comforting caress. More than likely he was just being kind. Even so, the weight of his hand on hers, the remembered brush of his fingertips across her knuckles from just a few moments before . . . lovely.

“Tell me about the store.”

“Well, like I said, an ex-student of mine was annoyed I cut him loose, and he decided to make a statement by holding Julie hostage.”

“ ‘Annoyed'? That's a nice way of putting it. Sounds like the guy's deranged.”

“He's not,” Gemma sighed, dabbing cookie crumbs from her mouth. “He just kind of lost it for a minute there, is all. He's sad, really.”

An odd expression stole across Sean's face.

“What?”

“Is he skinny? With a long beard?”

“Yes,” Gemma said cautiously.

“I saw him heading toward your store a couple of weeks ago. He looked fit to be tied.”

A couple of weeks ago . . . that had to be the visit Julie was referring to, the one she forgot to mention. Gemma peered down at the paper napkin in her lap for a moment. “I just found out this morning that you stopped by the store that day, Sean. Julie forgot about it. If I'd known earlier, I certainly would have gotten in touch with you.”

Shyness snuck into his eyes. “I was wondering why I hadn't heard from you.”

“It's because I didn't know.” He was making her feel shy, too. “Why did you stop by?”

“I wanted to set the record straight about JJ.”

Gemma's heart plummeted. “Your girlfriend.”

“
Not
my girlfriend,” Sean corrected. “JJ was bird-sitting for me while I went upstate for the weekend to try to get my head screwed back on. She's a firefighter, too. She was looking to get away so it seemed like the perfect swap: She got to use my apartment for free, and I got a bird-sitter out of the deal. End of story.” His eyes held hers. “She's my friend, Gemma. Nothing more.”

Gemma could feel her heart beginning to climb back to its rightful place, beating a little faster. “I'm glad you told me that. Because I thought—”

“I know what you thought, which is why I wanted to set the record straight.”

“Again,” Gemma said humbly, “I thank you.”

Sean looked relieved. Leaning over, he chastely kissed her cheek. “You're welcome.”

Before Gemma had time to react, she caught sight of the barrista behind the counter staring at them imploringly. She looked around. Everyone else had left.

“I think he wants to close up.”

Sean twisted around in his chair, told the kid to give them a minute, and turned back to chug his coffee.

“Where are you staying while they rebuild the apartment?”

“Michael and Theresa's.”

“I'll give you a lift.”

“It's in Brooklyn, Sean. Really, you've done enough already.”

“Take me twenty minutes. C'mon.”

“All right. Just let me . . .” Suddenly tears filled her eyes.

“What's wrong?” Sean asked, alarmed.

“I was going to say, ‘Just let me stop by my apartment' to get a change of clothes, but I've got no apartment and so”—her jaw began throbbing—“I've got no change of clothes.”

“You do have some clothes. We got some out during salvage. They don't smell too good, though. Smoky.” He gulped the last of his coffee. “Got your altar out, too,” he added.