"You made pancakes. You're amazing. And do I smell bacon?"
I nodded. "Found it in the freezer. Hope that's okay."
He pulled a mug from the cupboard. "As long as you didn't add cinnamon to it, sure."
I stared at the pan.
"Oh," he said. "Look, I was—"
"Kidding? Yeah, me too."
We laughed, then he helped me dish out the food and we settled at the table.
My new awareness of him hadn't gone away, and at first I was uncomfortable. He, clearly, didn't see me any differently, and as we chatted about Steel and Magma I managed to push the rest of it aside. I had wanted this career since high school, and now nothing stood in my way but me. I would not sabotage myself.
When we'd finished our leisurely meal, I stood to clear the table and again had to grab its edge to keep myself upright.
He jumped up and caught my arm. "Sit down."
With his support, I eased into my chair, gasping at the pain, even stronger than usual.
"You said it happened occasionally."
I looked into his concerned eyes. "I know, but really it's whenever I've been sitting for too long. I don't know, maybe I hurt it on the flight from England."
"Did you trip and fall, or bump into something?"
I shook my head. "But we were waiting to take off for a good hour or two so it was pretty cramped. I probably gave it a kink or something."
"A kink's lasted a month?" He shook his head. "I need you to do something for me."
I blinked, confused at the change of topic. "Of course."
We hadn't changed topics. "Go to the doctor. Today. I don't think this is right."
"I can't, we have the tasting tonight and—"
"And the plans are set. You've made most of the food already, and all the cookies, right?"
Garlic chocolate chip cookies. Even Kegan had doubted me, but they'd been so good I'd had to make an extra batch after the staff descended on them. "Yes, but..."
The intensity of the concern in his eyes silenced me. "Mary, look. I have a bad feeling about this. Please, get it checked out. I'd come with you but I have that big meeting. But call me when you're done. Okay?"
The pain still hadn't subsided. "Okay."
Chapter Eight
I couldn't call him. I was crying too hard. So I sent a text.
You were right. I have a blood clot. I have to stay home for two weeks. I'm so sorry. Please don't fire me.
Writing the last part made me cry even harder, and the taxi driver stared at me via the rear-view mirror. "You okay?"
I nodded. What else could I do? Tell him the walk-in clinic's doctor had sent me to the hospital where I'd had a two-hour wait that left my leg so tender even the ultrasound thing sliding over it caused me pain? Then go on, to say how the technician had casually said she'd get the doctor to check me out? Explain how I'd mentally scolded myself and Kegan for making a fuss over nothing, then how shocked I'd been when the doctor asked, "How did you get in here?" and squeezed his eyes closed in horror when I'd said, bewildered, that I'd walked in?
The doctor's reaction had hit me like a tidal wave: I was truly in danger.
I couldn't tell a taxi driver that. I couldn't tell anyone else either.
Kegan? He was my boss. A smart one, apparently, since he'd somehow known my leg was worse than I thought, but still my boss. I couldn't dump all my personal stuff on him.
Unless there was money or attention in it for Brian, he wouldn't care. Another wave of tears hit: I'd have to listen to his job woes now since I was stuck in the apartment. I'd listen to his problems and he wouldn't give a damn about mine.
I had no friends in Toronto, and all my friends back home had been our friends, the wives and girlfriends of Charles's buddies. I'd contacted a few after I left but they'd clearly been uncomfortable with me and I hadn't tried again.
I could call my mother. I could also slam my fingers in the taxi's door. I didn't want to do either. They'd probably be equally helpful.
She would certainly want me to go home. She rarely called me "since I know you're so busy", but I felt guilty when I hadn't talked to her for too long. Our calls always ended the same way: "Why don't you come home? You don't even have to see poor Charles if you don't want to, but come home. It's better for you here." It wasn't. Not even close.
I certainly couldn't call Charles either. He'd either refuse my call entirely or he'd pull the "let Daddy take care of you" act I'd grown to hate over our years together. He'd never thought I was competent either.
Kegan did, though.
Bizarre. The closest thing I had to a friend was the boss I'd met not even two weeks ago.
The taxi pulled up to my building and I swiped the tears from my cheeks and paid the driver, tipping him extra because he'd had to listen to me cry, then walked gingerly up the stairs to my apartment wondering if one of these steps would be the one to jar the clot loose.
The hospital doctor had been clear: if I had shortness of breath or pain in my chest, a piece of the clot might have moved into my lung causing a pulmonary embolism and I'd need to get it checked right away. He'd also said that the heparin shot I'd been given along with the little pills of a drug whose name I'd already forgotten would begin to thin my blood to make that less likely to happen.
Begin. Less likely. The uncertainty didn't make me feel any better. I unlocked my door and collapsed onto the couch, elevating my leg as I'd been told to do whenever I could to stop the blood pooling in it, and burst into tears. I was sobbing so hard I couldn't hear anything else, but Saffron, on the floor next to me studying me with confusion, did, and his meow alerted me. I raised myself enough to see Brian standing nearby.
"I heard you through the door. What's wrong?"
I sat up a bit more. "I..." The tears choked me again.
"Oh, shit. You lost your job?"
Of course he'd think of that first. "No. Not yet, anyhow. I have a blood clot in my leg."
His eyebrows went up, and for the first time I saw actual concern for me in his face. "Are you okay?"
I scrubbed the tears from my face. "I don't know. I have to get shots every day for a week, at the hospital, and then take pills for at least six months. And I had to order these crazy expensive support stockings, and a MedicAlert bracelet, and if I get cut I'll bleed forever." I gave a choked laugh. "Other than that, I guess I'm fine."
He settled to the floor next to me. "I'm sorry. What a mess, huh?"
I nodded, then my cell phone beeped and we both jumped. I pulled it from my pocket.
You're too good to fire. Take all the time you need. I would come see you but I can't tonight. Can I send a taxi with some things for you?
Relief made my tears rise again. I hadn't really thought he'd fire me, but...
I took a deep breath to calm myself then sent a reply.
Of course you can't see me. You have to handle the tasting. Call me if you have questions. And you don't have to send anything. I'm okay.
I collapsed back against the couch. "He's not going to fire me."
"Glad to hear it." He paused, then said, "Um, about my job? The one I didn't get?"
I waited.
He at least had the decency to sound awkward. "Can we talk while you rest? I do need it."
Yeah, and I needed someone to tell me I'd be okay, maybe even give me a hug and let me cry. Clearly that someone wasn't going to be him. "Brian, I can't. I'm still freaking out."
"It might take your mind off it."
Maybe. But I still didn't want to. I wavered, though, and was about to give in when my phone rang.
"I wish I could come over. You shouldn't have to be alone."
Urgh. "I'm not."
"Ah," Kegan said. "The neighbor."
"Yeah."
There was a brief pause, then he said, "Okay. But how can I help?"
"How did you know it was probably a clot?"
He sighed. "God, I so wanted to be wrong. Mildred's daughter Tanisha had one back in Mar
ch after a long flight. Your symptoms matched what Mildred described."
I sighed too. "Well, I'm glad you told me to go. Who knows what would have..."
Tears rose again and a sob escaped me.
"Everything's going to be fine now." Kegan's voice, the certainty and sympathy in it, soothed me. I couldn't help comparing his concern and support to that of Brian, who was playing with his cell phone and didn't look up even when I started crying. "You were smart and you got it checked and you'll be okay."
"I can't work for two weeks," I whispered.
"Damn right you can't. If you show up here I'll send you home."
"But what will you do?"
"We'll follow your plans for tonight and tomorrow, and maybe I'll come see you early next week to talk about the weekend. If you think you're ready."
"I will be."
"If," he repeated. "Now, tell me the truth. What can I do to make this easier?"
I sighed. "I have enough food here for me and the cat so that's okay. I have the pills, and all I have to do is go to the hospital once a day until next Thursday for blood tests and heparin shots." He couldn't drive me there daily; I wouldn't even suggest it. "I'll be okay. I might get bored, but otherwise I'll be fine."
"Are you sure?"
It wasn't flippant; he was truly asking and truly ready to help me. Despite it all, I found myself smiling. "I am. Thank you so much."
"Take care, okay? And don't worry about the tastings. Your plans are foolproof. I'll be sending that taxi over in about an hour. Don't bother telling me not to, you know how I feel about that stuff."
Feeling warmed by his insistence on sending the taxi and curious about what he'd send, I thanked him again and we ended the call.
Brian finished whatever he was doing on his phone. "So, ready to talk?"
I so wasn't. I had no doubt he'd been an idiot at that interview, showing off the behavior that had lost him his last two jobs, and now he wanted me to help him pin the blame on everyone but himself. Kegan, on the other hand, had not only taken time during what I knew was an insanely busy day to call me but was buying me things to make my time at home better. Sure, Kegan had more money than Brian would ever see, but he also worked like a dog.
Brian worked more like Saffron.
I pushed myself to my feet and limped to the door. "No. You need to go."
"Mary, please."
"I said no."
But it didn't matter what I said. We went back and forth, and eventually I said, "Fine, but not today. I really need to rest. Come back tomorrow afternoon."
"If you can do it sooner, let me know. Anything I can do for you before I go?"
Since he already had one foot in the hallway, I doubted his sincerity. "Nope."
He bailed out, and I returned to the couch and cuddled Saffron, trying to get my head around what had happened, until someone buzzed up from the lobby.
"Mary? I'm Antonio. Got a delivery for you."
I let him in and he soon appeared at my door, lugging a clearly heavy cardboard box. He set it down on my hall floor and turned to go. "See you later, Mary."
I fumbled for my wallet. "Hang on a second."
He looked back. "Don't worry about it." He gave me a grin. "Kegan tipped me already."
I grinned back. Kegan had style, you had to give him that.
He also, apparently, had listened during our casual chats between work sessions: the box held cookbooks and other books along with CDs and DVDs, all perfectly suiting my interests. Only one cookbook was already in my collection, impressive given the size of said collection, and the music and movies were all new to me.
The last book came gift-wrapped, and I cried again when I removed the paper to reveal the one academy cookbook I didn't own, the one I hadn't been able to afford. I could afford it now, but I hadn't had time to go buy it. He'd remembered my mentioning it at my interview, despite Steel's devastation and his own stress. His sweetness overwhelmed me.
As if all of that weren't enough, he'd tucked two other things inside the book: a gift card to Amazon.ca, with a note saying I could buy anything else I wanted online and have it delivered, and ten taxi vouchers with another note informing me Antonio or one of his drivers would take me to the hospital or anywhere else I needed to go. "Except for work," he wrote. "He knows not to bring you here. Don't make me kick you out."
I laughed through my tears. He'd thought of everything. I'd have the best convalescence possible, thanks to him.
But it didn't quite turn out that way.
*****
At two o'clock on Wednesday I headed downstairs to meet Antonio feeling more excited than a hospital visit deserved. I hadn't spoken with anyone since he'd dropped me off the day before, and I knew he'd have more good stories or jokes for me.
Except he didn't, because he wasn't there.
I stopped like I'd run into a wall and stared.
Kegan grinned. "Long time no see."
Indeed it was, and it had seemed even longer, both when I'd been alone and when I'd had the company I'd been stupid enough to call. "Why are you here?" As the words left my mouth I realized how they might sound so went on with, "Not that I mind, of course."
He opened the car door for me. "I gave Antonio the afternoon off. I wanted to make sure you're all right." As I moved toward the car, he added, "Besides, I need menu ideas from you for Friday and Saturday," and winked at me.
I stumbled. I'd kind of forgotten how attractive he was. His frequent text messages and phone calls to check on me had made sure I remembered his kindness and compassion, but the visual made all the difference. The sparks that wink sent through me made my feet forget how to walk.
He caught my arm to keep me upright, and I said, "Thanks. The curb attacked me, I guess. I have menu plans upstairs."
"You've been working?"
It was that or kill my mother, I thought, and then decided to say it.
He laughed and helped me into the car. "Antonio told me she'd come to visit."
I rolled my eyes. "Like how bubonic plague comes to visit."
He closed the door then went around to his side. We pulled onto the road and he said, "Antonio said you weren't exactly getting along on Monday. Don't take this the wrong way, but after that call I overheard outside Steel I'm surprised you called her."
"Me too." I sighed. "A momentary weakness. I had a rough weekend."
He looked at me then refocused on the road. "I'm sorry to hear that. And you didn't call me because..."
Because I didn't want to drag my boss any further into my personal problems. "It's no big deal. I just wasn't very happy on Saturday." I cleared my throat. "Look, tell me how the tastings went. And how's everything else? Did you get the deal done for the Magma site?"
"Fine, fine, and I did. Why weren't you happy? Other than the obvious, I mean?"
I sighed. "The hospital was crazy busy and I had to wait for ages for my blood test and shot, so my leg hurt even more. Then I was at home all alone. Even the cat was asleep and didn't want to be bothered with me. I read and watched movies, thanks to you, but eventually I just needed to talk to someone. It was either my parents or Charles. My husband. Ex-husband."
Kegan nodded. "Your parents were probably a better choice."
True, but only just. "I thought so too, but my mother came to take care of me, and once she realized the clot wasn't going to kill me she went back to telling me how I've screwed up my life."
It had started out subtle, with suggestions that I'd be more comfortable at home with her and Dad, but had soon escalated to how lonely "poor Charles" was. She insisted he now understood I wanted a career too. "If you give him another chance everything will be different."
She didn't know that I had given him another chance.
We'd met in early February to talk about our marriage, and he'd opened the discussion by saying he'd thought about it and I could go to culinary school. Shocked, I'd said, "How can we afford it? The academy costs—", and he'd jumped in with, "Oh, not ther
e. It's way too expensive. But we can find something else. So, will you come home?"
We used my savings to pay for his expensive education and now he wanted to fob me off with a cheap school? I didn't jump at this offer, needless to say, and in fact I ended our discussion right there. Our only contact since had been my email to say I'd be starting the divorce process. We would never get back together.
I hadn't told my mother any of that, because it was none of her business. But she kept pushing me, and on Monday night, driven to the edge, I'd snapped, "And if I go 'home' and nothing's changed, I'm trapped all over again," and she'd snapped back that Charles hadn't trapped me, I'd trapped myself by thinking I could have everything I wanted in life. When I said, "I can, if he's not around," she stormed out with one final crack at me.
I didn't dump all that on Kegan; instead I said, "She thinks she knows best, and I disagree, and eventually she said, 'You'll outgrow all this and come back to Charles someday, if you're lucky enough that he'll take you back' and stomped off to the train station."
Kegan shook his head. "Ah, the old 'you'll regret it and won't be able to go back' ploy. Must be in the parental handbook because mine love it too. Anyhow, I'm sorry she gave you a hard time, especially now. You need to rest and let your leg heal. Is the neighbor any help?"
"Not so much." He'd arrived on Saturday before Mom showed up, ready to talk at me, but instead we'd immediately argued over the box Kegan had sent. Brian insisted he was trying to force me to work, but I knew Kegan knew me well enough already to know I would be working and he'd sent me things to make it easier. I'd finally said, "Well, he's not making me listen to all his problems so I prefer him to you at this point," and Brian stalked away.
I'd felt bad, though, and on Monday after Mom left I'd been so desperate to be told I wasn't an evil person for driving both my mom and Brian away that I'd actually picked up the phone to call Charles. I'd only dialed two digits, though, before realizing how much I'd regret making the call. Instead, I'd curled up in a ball, a lopsided ball since I kept my poor leg elevated on the back of the couch, and cried myself to sleep.
We stopped for a red light and Kegan turned to face me. "Well, I'm sorry you've been alone so much. Things have been crazy at work with the arrangements for Magma, but if you don't have plans, I'd love to hang out with you."
Toronto Collection Volume 1 (Toronto Series #1-5) Page 82