by Chris Chegri
***
“Good morning, Pearson.” Steve toned down his enthusiasm the minute he saw her. She didn’t appear too chipper, and he didn’t want her to hate him for being the morning cheerleader type. “I thought you two could use some breakfast.” He scrutinized her long and hard, one eyebrow raised in appraisal. “Hope you feel better than you look. The bug spray got to you, didn’t it?”
Kelly nodded.
“Should have come home with me last night.”
She shot him a look, which said, You didn’t just tell me I told you so, and he wished he’d kept his mouth shut.
“I’m not going to say a thing.” He held his hands up in front of him, a criminal about to get handcuffed.
He gave her a sheepish grin, stood up and held out two white bags with yellow arches on them. “Over sixteen billion sold. Hope you like Egg McMuffins. There’s coffee for you and orange juice for Lacy.”
She moved a hand to her throat and waved him inside.
He stepped into the living room. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine. Now you…you’re a regular meals on wheels,” she said in a scratchy voice.
Steve gave a shrug. “Someone has to feed the disabled.”
“I’ll give you one thing. Your timing is perfect.”
He handed her another bag and she peeked in, her face lighting with pleasure. She set the bag down, just inside the door, and pulled out the contents—towels, a bar of soap, hotel size shampoo and rinse, and fresh grapefruit, the leaves still clinging to the fruit. She picked up a grapefruit and inhaled.
“Mmm. You’re too perfect, McCarthy.” She had adopted his last name habit. “Thanks for being so thoughtful. You think of everything.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
Kelly nodded. “No, I’m sick and miserable, and my throat is killing me. It hurts to open my mouth, and I know you’re dying to rub it in.”
He winced then grinned. “Not my style. I’m not a mean guy.”
Always bringing bags of food. “I love grapefruit, but my entire head will pucker and explode if I eat one right now.” She stuck out her lower lip in a pout, displaying her disappointment.
“Keep them till later when you feel better.” He sniffed the air. “The insecticide still smells pretty strong in there.”
Kelly carried the bags into the kitchen. “I hope you’ve come to shoot me.”
Steve followed, tiptoeing past Lacy. “I should shoot you for being so stubborn last night. Is she okay?” He nodded at the slumbering child.
“I don’t know. You woke me up.” She deposited the bags on the counter. “I haven’t checked her yet, but—” She stopped, surprised by the way he looked at her—was it concern, pity, or something else? She couldn’t put her finger on it.
She fussed at the wrinkles in her jeans. She looked even worse than she felt and wished he would leave, hating him for seeing her this way. He never dropped by when she was dressed to kill, ready for an important interview or press meeting. Probably because she hadn’t done any important interviews yet, she reminded herself, other than her unexpected trip to the space center. Even then, she’d been in casual attire—but at least not wrinkled.
Robby had been neat to the point of driving her mad. Once she’d bet him twenty dollars he couldn’t be messy for two days. He won, of course, but only because he had inherited the same stubborn streak she had. She eyed Steve, wondering if he was stubborn and guessed he could be, too. He’d demonstrated some tenacity with his unannounced visits. If he weren’t such a nice guy, she’d throw him out on his ear. But he was a nice guy—a painful fact to admit.
“I’d better check on her. I’m sure she’s all right.” Kelly bent down next to Lacy and rolled her daughter onto her back. Lacy sputtered then wheezed, her breathing labored.
Steve knelt down beside her. “She doesn’t sound good.” His brows knit together in concern.
Aware of him at her side, Kelly rocked her daughter to wake her up. Lacy’s head lolled off the corner of the pillow, and Steve’s hand shot out, catching her before her head hit the floor. Lacy wheezed with each exhale.
“No, she doesn’t,” Kelly whispered.
Steve wore the expression of a man holding a newborn infant for the first time—scared, helpless, and uncertain.
“She has asthma. I should kick myself for letting her sleep on this floor last night, but it’s been three and a half years since she had an attack.” She nudged Lacy again. “Come on, honey. Wake up.”
***
Lacy stirred, big blue eyes shifting back and forth between Steve and Kelly. Bewilderment fading, she sat up and snuggled against her mother.
Steve looked around, wondering what he could do to help. Her breathing scared him. “Can I do anything?”
He hadn’t spent much time around children, although he’d planned on having some of his own eventually. Actually, parenting had been the major issue leading to his divorce. Julie, his ex-wife, had wanted no part of motherhood, leaving the two of them distant with nothing in common. Nine years later, he remained single and childless, something he hadn’t counted on at the time he and Julie had separated. He’d pictured himself with four kids by now, one hanging from each limb. He’d overlooked one major detail—it wasn’t easy finding someone he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.
“Is it serious?” he asked Kelly. “Do we need to get her to a doctor?”
***
We? Kelly concealed her reaction. His possessiveness didn’t anger her, but it did surprise her. She knew he meant well, but his attitude of involvement left her with some mixed emotions. She would have given her right arm for Ken to have shown as much interest in Lacy’s well being. Why couldn’t he have been more like Steve?
She bit the inside of her lip. “No. I don’t think she needs a doctor. She doesn’t usually take medicine, but I carry some just in case. I’ll give her a dose and a warm shower, and she should be fine.”
Steve stood up, his eyes dark with worry. He scanned the cluttered room. “Will you be able to find her medicine?”
“It’s in my purse, over there somewhere.” She pointed across the living room. “Would you please grab it for me?”
“Yeah, sure.” He found the purse and retrieved it. “I’d leave these windows open all day. Air this place out. If you two aren’t feeling a whole lot better by tonight, last night’s offer still stands, furniture or not.”
Kelly didn’t look up, her attention devoted to her daughter. “I’m sure we’ll both be fine. These things are always worse in the morning and at night.”
Their eyes met. Steve’s gaze lowered to her chest and lingered. Glancing down, Kelly noticed the reason and blushed. In her rush to answer the door, she had buttoned her blouse wrong, and now the fabric gaped open over the swell of her breasts.
Steve looked away. “Is the rat okay? I don’t think these fumes are good for small animals.”
Kelly fumbled to re-button her blouse. “Probably not.”
Clearing his throat, he moved to the window, allowing her a discrete moment. He cranked open all the jalousies.
“I’ll take a look at him.” He zigzagged through the boxes to Skunk’s tank and peered in.
While Steve studied the rat, Kelly scanned the room for her bra and spotted it dangling over the top of an unpacked box. God, I hope he doesn’t think I’m advertising! This could only happen to her. Jill would love it.
She stole a glance at him. Squatted in front of the tank, he talked to Skunk through the glass. This man did everything right. He was too good to be true. Gorgeous, and so kind and thoughtful. With a rush of goose bumps, her head filled with an image of their brief kiss. Her lips burned from the memory.
She shook her head, snapping back to reality. What was wrong with her? Thank God, Steve exhibited some control, because she was losing it.
“The rat looks fine.” Steve stood up and informed her over his shoulder. “The little guy is lucky there’s glass between him and the fumes.
How ‘bout I move him to the kitchen table, in front of the open window just to be safe?”
“Good idea. Thanks.” With one less thing to worry about, Kelly tucked her bra into the nearest box and tried to appear unruffled. She hoped the color had faded from her cheeks.
“I better give Lacy her medication and get moving.” She was going to be late for work. “We know how my boss feels about tardiness.” She tried to laugh, but somehow nothing was funny, so she kept talking, hoping to douse the effect he had on her. “The last thing I need is Willis climbing down my throat this morning. There isn’t room for him and my swollen tonsils.” God, she sounded like an idiot. “The way my luck is going, he’ll sign my pink slip five minutes before the movers pull up.”
***
Kelly’s tension was palpable and Steve thought he might have to claw his way to the door. “Okay. Right. Hope you both are feeling better. I’ll stop by around six to help. I’ll bring dinner. Chinese?”
“Really. You’ve done enough. I’m sure you have a thousand things you need to do. I’m not dead on my feet yet, and the movers will do most of the work anyway.”
Steve knew better. They would no doubt dump her things in the middle of each room, and she’d be up all night sorting through the mess just to find sheets.
He wasn’t sure why she’d changed her mind about him helping. Maybe she was embarrassed about her blouse and wanted him gone. “Okay, but feel free to call me if you need me.” He knew when to back off. Besides, it was pretty obvious she had positioned herself so the roomful of boxes separated them. He could take a hint.
She was the most stubborn woman he’d ever met. He sensed she had some positive feelings for him rumbling around inside of her. Otherwise, he would have walked out by now and never looked back. But he’d seen a hint of passion in her eyes the night he’d kissed her, and if she had looked a bit closer, she would have seen it in his eyes, too.
Despite her mood swings, he respected her independence, even admired it. Still, he was smart enough to know she wasn’t the kind of woman a man could rush. He wasn’t thickheaded. He could take a hint as well as the next guy.
Oh well… He gave a mental shrug. He could use a day or two to distance himself anyway, or the next time he might not be so patient. She would cool off—actually, in her case, warm up—and call him when she changed her mind again, or if she ran into trouble. If she did, he’d be there for her.
“You still have the quarters I gave you last night?”
“Yep, and I promise I’ll use them if I need your help.” No smile, no warmth.
Steve forced a smile and left.
Winter shrouded Mt. McKinley again.
Chapter Sixteen
Kelly stood in the middle of the living room, pondering Steve’s motives and her own feelings. Get a grip, girl, she warned herself. Steve was thoughtful, unpretentious, concerned, and good-looking enough to turn stone to butter. A bronzed welcome wagon. His sudden appearance again this morning had annoyed her at first, but who could resist fresh towels and grapefruit? The challenge was resisting Steve.
Kelly swept Lacy into her arms and carried her to the bathroom, where she turned on the hot water then dug through her purse for the asthma medicine. Lacy pulled her usual gag-and-whine routine before Kelly stripped them both naked and climbed into the tub. She adjusted the water temperature, sat down and pulled Lacy down between her legs. She let the water run over her feet, wondering if a cold shower wasn’t in order after her reaction to Steve. She opted for hot and steamy instead and flipped on the shower, adjusting it until it was hot enough to steam up the bathroom and improve Lacy’s breathing. It might even help her throat.
The hot water poured down on them, pummeling her tense, achy muscles and, Kelly hoped, easing her daughter’s breathing. She closed her eyes, imaging the skilled fingers of a master masseuse, washing away the unpleasant insecticide odor clinging to their skin. She leaned back, holding Lacy against her as the water continued to stream down over their chests and knees, down their naked limbs, doing its magic on both of them.
At last, Lacy’s wheezing abated and along with it, Kelly’s worry. The child perked up, and when she started singing and playing in the water, Kelly turned off the shower and hoisted Lacy from the tub. They dried and dressed in clean, but wrinkled, clothing pulled from the bottoms of their suitcases and gobbled down their Egg McMuffins before piling into the car and heading toward Daytona.
Kelly pushed thoughts of Steve to the far corners of her mind and planned her day. She figured the pain in her throat would improve after several cups of hot tea and minimal talking today. If she survived her day, she planned—after the movers left—to sleep on the mattresses. She was desperate for a good night’s sleep, and the rest of the mess—the bed frames, boxes, suitcases and furniture—would just have to wait.
Kelly called the moving company when she arrived at work.
“What do you mean not until Thursday?” Kelly squawked into the phone, her throat and head throbbing.
“Lady, I’ll try to find out where your stuff is,” the manager of the moving company’s local branch said in a clumsy attempt to appease her.
She was running low on patience and stamina. “Don’t ‘lady’ me.” She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. “You promised me my things would be here yesterday.” Despite her efforts at calm, she lost it. “You guys didn’t move this stuff for free!”
She was mad and sick besides. She’d spent a small fortune to hire professional movers rather than risk breaking everything trying to get it cross-country herself.
“I want my stuff today! Do you understand?”
The local manager rambled in her ear, making excuses she didn’t want to hear. “I’m doing the best I can here. I’ll try and find out what’s holding up your things, but I’m not God, Lady, and I can’t part water and move heaven and earth.”
Kelly slammed her cell phone shut. “I should have rented a U-Haul. Lord, help me out a little, will you?” She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and beyond.
Chapter Seventeen
So far, the only positive thing about the day was Lacy’s improvement. One follow-up dose of medication had done the trick, and the school had called to say she was in the clear.
“Cup of coffee?”
Kelly wheeled around in her chair. “Oh. Hey, Waldo. A stiff drink might help, but I’ll settle for coffee, thanks. It’s been another rotten day in the life of a journalist. Another day like this, and I'll either go down with the ship or get used to the storm.”
“Look on the bright side. Maybe you’ll learn to swim.” He leaned over and dug through his trash basket. Head still in the trash, he added, “Sounds like you need more than one drink.”
“Very perceptive.”
The guy was strange. Tall, lanky and bespectacled with long brown hair curling around his ears, Kelly had pegged him for a nerd the minute she’d laid eyes on him. “Waldo, what on earth are you looking for?”
He straightened up, smoothing a crumpled wad of notepaper. “I need this.” He studied the paper for a moment, before tossing it in the center of his cluttered desk. “So there’s this neighborhood grill—”
Kelly’s insides tightened. “I can’t today, but thanks, Waldo. I will, however, take the coffee, with cream and sugar, please.” Kelly flashed him an open grin, not wanting to offend him. Making enemies on a new job would be a grave mistake. “Maybe next week we can do the grill. Tonight may end up worse than today. My furniture has been delayed for two more days, my kid is sick from inhaling insecticide all night long—” She moved her hand to her neck. “—and my throat feels like someone lit a brush fire between my tonsils. I’m hoping it’s not strep throat. I’ve got to figure out what on earth I’m going to do until my things arrive. If they ever arrive.”
“Sucks to be you.” Waldo got up and headed for the break room, returning a few minutes later carrying two cups of steaming coffee. He handed one to Kelly.
“Thanks, you’re
the bright side of a dark day.”
He sat back down and rocked back in his chair, studying her. “What sign are you?”
“What?”
“You know. Astrological.” One side of his thin lips curled up in a crooked grin.
Kelly glanced around the newsroom, hoping no one had overheard him. Lucky for her, it was five-thirty and the pressroom was empty except for her, Waldo, and Tina Aikins—the Dear Abby of Daytona Beach.
“Sign?” She was convinced Waldo was a genuine weirdo. Nobody believed in astrology anymore, not since the eighties and Nancy Reagan. She logged off her computer.
“Your sign?” he persisted.
“Scorpio,” she said with the same reluctance she would have had he forced her to reveal her bra size.
“I knew it!”
Kelly fought to keep from laughing.
He took an old Miami Dolphins football schedule from his drawer. “Now, according to my table,” he said, analyzing the data before him, “your sun collided with Amy Winehouse’s moon—not a good thing—right after the Dolphins kicked the Dallas Cowboys’ boots off. You do watch football, don’t you?” His eyes gleamed with amused insanity, pupils magnified to twice their size by the half-inch lenses of his horn-rimmed glasses.
“So!” He popped up from his chair, spreading his arms wide, reminding her of the beginning movements of an orchestra conductor.
She expected someone to jump out of the copier and yell “surprise!” before pulling a white rabbit from a black top hat.
“Chaos theory at work. It explains your problems perfectly! You have to understand the bigger picture— and keep in mind negative energy thrives on negative thinking.”
He was spoofing her. Relieved to know he wasn’t serious about astrology, Kelly wadded up a piece of scratch paper and threw it at him, hitting him in the nose, the largest, most prominent target on his face.