Wait for Me

by Diana Persaud

  Ice clinked as it hit the bottom of a glass. A bottle gurgled as it spilled its cure into the glass.

  She could imagine him chugging his drink. He must have, because she heard the bottle gurgling again.

  Heavy footsteps echoed as he moved away from her.

  Let’s see what trouble I can cause down here.

  She crept along the wall. By the time she reached the main area of his shop, her eyes had adjusted to the moonlit interior.

  This…disgusting place. Stains on the floor.

  She wrinkled her nose.

  Ugh. Gasoline fumes.

  What is so important about this place, Tommy? You sold your house to buy it. When all you had to do was fuck me.

  She stifled the urge to kick something.

  That was an expensive mistake, wasn’t it?

  She pulled open a tool chest. Bits and pieces of metal were arranged in neat rows. She scattered them and mixed them around, knowing it would cost him extra time as he dug through the mess looking for a specific tool.

  What are you going to do next time you need a large amount of cash?

  She opened more drawers and moved his tools around.

  You don’t have anything else to sell.

  With a grunt, she pulled the fire extinguisher off the wall and lugged it to his office. She sprayed it until the canister was empty.

  I guess you’ll have to come crawling back to me.

  She stood back, admiring her work. Everything in his office was covered in white gunk.

  It’s like Christmas in July!

  She dropped the empty canister on the floor and searched for something else to destroy.

  And I won’t let you off the hook with a one night stand. Oh, no. You are going to satisfy me whenever I wish. For the rest of your pathetic life.

  She cackled.

  She opened the metal cabinet and picked up a bottle of Decarbonizing cleaner. Flammable fluid.

  Hmm. Flammable. If his business were to accidentally burn down…he’ll need money. He’ll need me.

  Across the room, a bright red container sported a label that made her lips curve into a satisfied smirk.

  Flammable. Dirty rags.

  She lifted off the tight lid. Reaching in, she grabbed a handful of dirty rags and dropped them on the floor in a neat line.

  Gross. My hands are oily. I hope he has some soap in the bathroom. Now, what else can I use?

  She reached for a red bottle with a long thin tube attached.

  Decarbonizing Engine Cleaner. Flammable. Perfect.

  She fiddled with the tube and aimed it at the dirty rags. She pressed down and a stream of liquid shot out of the thin tube. The tube slipped out of her oily hands, spraying her eyes.

  White hot pain lanced across her face. Her eyes burned.

  “Aaahh!” she screamed, dropping the bottle.

  She stumbled blindly, clawing at her face. Her heel caught in the metal grate and her ankle twisted. Sharp pain shot up her leg as she fell backward. Her body landed in The Pit with a sickening thud. Her head smacked against the concrete and she was unconscious.

  One of the rags spontaneously combusted and set the others on fire. Blue smoke filled the garage.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Gasping for air, Tom bolted upright on the sofa.

  His chest ached.

  His lungs burned, screaming for air.

  He took a deep gulp and doubled over in a coughing fit, falling to his hands and knees on the living room floor.

  Smoke.

  Something groaned.

  The floor creaked.

  An indistinct grumble filled the room seconds before his bed vanished. A loud crash echoed in his tiny apartment when his bed landed on the metal lift below. A large plume of white flames shot through the hole in the floor, setting his curtains on fire. He scrambled away.

  His eyes stung.

  His head pounded.

  He couldn’t breathe.

  The deafening blare of his fire alarm sent sharp spikes of pain through his head.

  He covered his ears.

  Disoriented and blind, he crawled away from the scorching heat of his bedroom wall. The floor seemed to stretch in front of him. The door to safety seemed miles away.

  His body trembled.

  I’m going to die here.

  He curled into a ball, hugging his knees.

  A scream built in his chest.

  The metal curtain rod sizzled.

  The scream erupted.

  “Anjali!”

  Wheezing, he crawled along the floor, keeping his head as low as possible. His hands pressed against the wall, desperately seeking the door knob.

  Window. Air. Need air.

  He smashed through the glass. Flames raced toward him, setting his shirt on fire. He leaped out of the window, gasping for air as he fell.

  Rough concrete dug into his skin, scratching his palms as he landed and slid forward. His back tingled and itched. He managed to roll on his back and extinguish the flames. He lay on his back, gulping large mouthfuls of air.

  “Anjali” he whispered.

  He closed his eyes.

  “Over here!” someone called. “Medic!”

  Warm fingers pried open his lids and a bright light blinded him.

  “What’s your name, Buddy?”

  He wheezed.

  “Anybody else inside?”

  He shook his head.

  Someone lifted his head and slipped a plastic cup over his face. Cool air filled his lungs, making him lightheaded. When his erratic breathing slowed to a normal pace, one of the medics helped him sit up.

  “Your back has some minor burns. We had better get you to the hospital.”

  He walked to the ambulance and climbed in.

  Firefighters were busy hosing down the building.

  A small explosion shattered the east wall. Chunks of bricks went flying.

  Firefighters hunkered down.

  A large hunk of brick landed on the ambulance roof.

  A Firefighter screamed at his men.

  The roof crashed down with a loud roar. Bright white flames flared up, devouring the remaining wood floor.

  The complete destruction of his business left him gasping for air. The medics strapped him down and adjusted the oxygen flow. The ambulance siren wailed as they raced toward the hospital.

  ***

  Last night, when she was in Bon, Anjali had admired their intimate tables for two. She had imagined herself and Tom at one of those tables. Tonight, half her wish had been granted. She was sitting at a romantic table.

  With Sanjay.

  She sighed and sank into her Queen Anne chair.

  Why do they assume two people who come to a nice restaurant are a couple?

  “Something wrong with the food?” Sanjay asked.

  Anjali gave him a wan smile.

  “The food is fabulous. I’m just not very hungry.”

  She pushed her plate away, tired of pretending.

  “You’re upset about him.”

  She took a sip of wine. Once again she was having dinner in Bon.

  Without Tom.

  Better get used to it, Anjali. He’s out of your life for good. You made damn sure of that tonight. Well done.

  Everything had gone as planned. So why was her belly in a hard knot?

  “What’s the deal with Tom? He was furious when he left tonight. Didn’t you tell him we were just friends?”

  She took another sip of wine.

  “Or are you trying to make him jealous?”

  “Of course not,” she denied. “I don’t manipulate people.”

  Only, she had manipulated him. But it was for his own good.

  “Then why was he so angry? He could have joined us—”

  “No. I made him break up with me,” she confessed.

  Sanjay leaned back in his chair, studying her face.

  “It’s obvious you care about him. Why would you do that?”

  “Because he has a drea
m, Sanjay. I’m not going to stand in his way.”

  “How are you standing in his way?”

  “I still want a baby. I can’t afford to wait for years until his business is a success.”

  “You don’t want him to choose between you and his business.”

  She nodded.

  “So you made the choice for him,” Sanjay said.

  She shifted in her seat.

  “Instead of talking to him about it.”

  Her stomach churned.

  “There will always be a valid reason for him to postpone having a family. I don’t want to put my life on hold waiting for that magical moment when he’s finally ready. It might be too late for me by then.”

  “Why didn’t—”

  “I’m not going to guilt trip him, Sanjay. He already knows why I want a baby sooner rather than later. I don’t want him to agree because of guilt.”

  If he felt the same way I do, he wouldn’t have given up so easily tonight. He obviously doesn’t care—

  Sanjay reached for her hand and squeezed it gently.

  “If Tom isn’t up to the task—once again—I offer my services,” he said quietly.

  She blushed, glancing around furtively, hoping no one overheard him.

  “Thanks, but no.”

  The only man she wanted in her bed was Tom.

  Sanjay must have realized she wanted to go home and wallow in self pity because halfway through his meal, he requested the bill. After he paid, he drove her home.

  “Thanks for dinner, Sanjay.”

  He nodded as she shut the door.

  Shoulders sagging, she returned to her living room. A dozen red roses lay wilting on her coffee table. She picked them up and rushed into the kitchen.

  Maybe it’s not too late to save them.

  She found a vase, filled it with water and mixed in the packet. She ran the faucet and trimmed the roses, adding each one to the vase.

  Did I do the right thing?

  She picked up the phone and dialed his number. It rang out.

  Why doesn’t he answer his phone?

  She gripped the phone, her muscles tense.

  Is he with someone else? Is that why he didn’t show up last night? Did he decide that Cherry was worth his time?

  Her stomach burned.

  She hung up the phone, setting it down hard on the countertop. Restless, she paced her living room.

  I need something mindless to distract me.

  She picked up the remote and turned on the TV.

  A news anchor stood in front of the remains of a burned building. Firefighters and policemen walked behind the news reporter.

  Her legs gave out when she recognized the building.

  Tommy’s shop. It can’t be. Must be a similar build—

  ‘Everett’s auto shop on fire’ scrolled on the bottom of the screen.

  “—sources tell us that a body has been found inside the shop’s Pit. Burned beyond recognition, firefighters believe it belongs to the owner-” The reporter glanced down at her notebook.

  She gripped the cushions, eyes glued to the screen.

  “—Thomas Keller—Mr. Keller recently—”

  Her hand clicked on the remote. The TV and its horrible message was finally silent.

  She curled up on the couch, in fetal position. Her skin tingled and she struggled to breathe. A scream built inside her chest but she was afraid to let it out. Afraid that once she started screaming, she’d never be able to stop.

  Tears streamed down her face, soaking the cushion.

  This is all my fault. If only I hadn’t been so selfish. We would have gone out to dinner. We’d probably be in bed by now. Making love. Instead—

  She hiccuped.

  Instead he’s—

  She buried her face in her arms, unwilling to face the horrible truth.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Time moved slowly.

  Tom sat on a bed, staring at the gray curtain that separated him from the rest of the hospital.

  A gurney squeaked by. There was a flurry of activity as footsteps rushed to the patient. Someone cried hysterically.

  His lids were heavy and it took some effort to blink.

  A disembodied hand gripped the curtain. An ER doctor checked his vitals then examined his back. The odor of bleach surrounded him, covering the scent of his burned skin. ‘Bronchodilator’ and ‘burn cream’ filtered through his foggy brain before the doctor disappeared. He put the oxygen mask back on and breathed deeply.

  A nurse appeared with a syringe. She cleaned his arm then gave him an injection. Before the biohazard container’s lid slammed shut, she was gone.

  The second hand ticked by slowly.

  Another nurse came and took a blood sample for an ABG test. She explained it would show how well his lungs were working. He simply stared at her, too numb to say anything.

  He followed the red hand on its never ending path.

  Another nurse appeared. He shrugged off the remnants of his shirt and lay on his stomach while she applied burn cream to his back. The cool cream intensified the heat along his tender skin and he tensed. When she was finished applying the cream, he sat up. She wrapped his torso with wide strips of bandages.

  He stared out the window.

  Pitch black darkness gradually eased into soft morning light.

  Metal curtain rings scraped against the rod. Latex covered hands held his as she examined his palm. With tweezers, she removed each bit of gravel embedded in his palm. When she dug into his skin, the pain barely registered as a dull ache. She cleaned his hands with alcohol and carefully wrapped a bandage around each hand. She cleaned off the dried blood from his arm and checked for shards of glass. Then she wrapped a bandage around his arm.

  “The doctor is still waiting for the results of the ABG test.”

  Tick tock. Tick tock.

  “Mr. Keller, your ABG is a little high, but given the amount of smoke you inhaled, everything looks good,” the doctor said.

  He shut off a valve and removed the oxygen mask.

  “I’m going to listen to your lungs now.”

  The cold metal circle of the stethoscope pressed against his chest.

  “Breathe deeply.”

  The soft rattle grated on his nerves.

  “You’ll be fine without an oxygen tank. Just take slow, deep breaths and take it easy until your back heals.”

  The doctor slung his stethoscope around his neck and picked up the file.

  “Follow up with your primary care in three days. Do you have any questions?”

  He shook his head.

  The doctor scribbled something on his chart.

  “I’ll get your discharge papers started. I’m also giving you a prescription for burn cream. Apply it twice a day.” He paused. “Do you have someone who can apply the cream to your back?”

  He clenched his jaw, pushing away the unbidden image of Anjali.

  “My brother,” he rasped.

  “Excellent. I’ll let you know once the papers are ready.”

  Birds chirped happily as an orange sun slowly appeared over the horizon.

  His mouth tasted sour and his stomach began a silent protest.

  “Tommy! You’re alive!” Mikey cried.

  Mikey shoved his hand to his mouth to keep from breaking down. Jack appeared behind Mikey and pulled him into his arms. Mikey relaxed against his chest, gathering himself.

  “We learned about the fire on the news this morning. Why didn’t you call us?” Jack demanded.

  He shrugged.

  Dull pains raced across his back.

  Jack frowned.

  “You all right, Tom?”

  “I’m fine,” he rasped.

  “Oh, you sound terrible. And your eyes! Bloodshot.”

  Mikey stepped closer.

  “You reek. Were you drinking last night?”

  “A little.”

  Mikey looked around.

  “Where’s Anjali?”

  His jaw clenche
d and he shrugged.

  “That explains the drinking,” Jack stated.

  “I’ll call her—” Mikey said, pulling out his cell phone.

  “Don’t!” he croaked.

  “Tommy—”

  “Mr. Keller, I have your discharge papers.”

  The nurse glanced at Mikey before addressing him.

  “Should I come back?”

  “No.”

  He signed the discharge papers and handed Mikey the prescription.

  Jack unbuttoned his shirt and handed it to him.

  “Wear this.”

  “Thanks.”

  Mikey helped him dress then they drove home.

  He sank into the soft floral couch while Mikey fussed over him.

  “Gatorade will help hydrate you,” Mikey said.

  He took a few sips.

  “I’ll make you some toast. It will help settle your stomach.”

  Jack returned from his bedroom, buttoning up his shirt.

  “You’re welcome to stay with us until you figure things out.”

  “Thanks, Jack. I appreciate it,” he rasped.

  Mikey returned with his toast and kissed Jack good-bye. A twang of jealousy squeezed his heart. To distract himself, he bit down on dry toast, chewing mechanically. Ignoring the cardboard taste, he finished one slice then set his plate on the coffee table.

  “What happened between you and Anjali?”

  “Mikey, I really don’t want to talk about it.”

  He reached for his Gatorade.

  “Any fool can see you’re miserable without her.”

  He took a sip, hoping to stall.

  “I’m guessing your plan to change her mind didn’t work?”

  He stared at his bandaged hands.

  Mikey sat next to him.

  “I’ve got all day, Tommy,” Mikey said, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “She wants kids.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “I can’t afford to have kids right now, Mikey.”

  “Then you do want children.”

  Mikey clapped his hands together.

  “I can’t wait to be an unc-”

  “How am I going to support them? Every cent I have is sunk into my business.”

  “Doesn’t she have a job?”

  “She’s an author. She works from home.”

  He took another sip.

  “I’m still not seeing where there’s a problem.”

  The bandages on his fingers created an odd sensation when he ran his fingers through his hair.