Reserved for You

by Brenda Margriet

  Paul stiffened. Fenella narrowed her eyes.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen.” Calynn turned to Sappho. “You are in danger of going home this week, but you will have one chance to change the mind of our Chef d’Amour. You will be going on the date with Paul.” Gracefully she changed her position to face Fenella. “But don’t worry, your outstanding cooking will be rewarded. You will be safe from elimination this week, and as an added reward, you will receive a day of pampering at a luxurious spa.”

  Once more facing the camera, and speaking to the viewers at home, she continued, “Unfortunately, someone must be sent home. So, our remaining contestants,” she gestured at the three women standing off to the side, “will perform a second Kitchen Challenge. Paul will then choose to send home either the woman whose second dish pleases him least, or Sappho. Join us on our next episode, to find out what happens!”

  The floor director gave the all clear. Silence held for a few beats.

  Then a firestorm erupted.

  Five women demanding explanations stormed Calynn. She held up her hands. “Hey, ladies, I just read what they give me. You’ll have to take this up with Lawrence and Benedict. This was their brain child.”

  Fenella and the three women who would have to survive a second Kitchen Challenge stormed off to find the executive producer. Larrey might have expected the three middle rankers, but not Fenella. He probably thought she’d be ecstatic she was safe. Paul knew better. Fenella would be pissed she wouldn’t be getting her airtime this week. While he enjoyed his dates with her enough to keep her on the show, he hadn’t failed to notice how, after the first week on the whale-watching tour, she’d been careful to make the most of her performance in front of the camera.

  Sappho approached him diffidently. “I’m looking forward to our date.” Heavy dark eyebrows framed black eyes, and plump lips curved up. “I’m sorry you didn’t like my chili.”

  Paul smiled. “It’s not that I didn’t like it. Everyone remaining is a great cook. You have nothing to be ashamed of. But I have to pick someone.”

  “I’d kill it if they ever had a challenge on baklava. See you tomorrow.” She waved and headed off.

  The lights on set snapped off one by one. Crew members bustled by Paul as he lounged deep in the leather chair he thought of as his. No one paid him any attention. It was rather soothing.

  The lazy commands and sharp clicks and subdued rustles faded away. A flare of light flashed across the set as the door to the hallway opened and closed behind the last technician.

  He had never been in the studio alone. A sense of anticipation lingered, a remnant of the energy that filled the set while production was in progress. Faucets and range hoods reflected the gleam of the security lights, and the smell of heat from the cooling overheads stung his nostrils.

  His thoughts drifted to earlier in the evening.

  He’d almost told Jemma he loved her. That would have been a mistake of monumental proportions. She was paranoid about losing her job, and he didn’t completely understand why. She was bright, had energy to burn, and didn’t take crap from anyone. She could find another one, couldn’t she? One that would let them be together?

  He had to change her mind, convince her he wasn’t a threat to her, or Miriam. He rose from the chair with renewed determination and headed for his car.

  Wonder of wonders, there was a spot open right outside Jemma’s apartment building. He pulled to the curb, and hesitated. Was he being too pushy? This afternoon, in his dressing room, her confusion, her turbulence, had been obvious. Maybe he should give her a couple days to settle down.

  The door of the building crashed open. Jemma raced out, down the brick path, onto the sidewalk. She screeched to a halt, poised on her toes, her head swiveling right to left and back again.

  He shot out of his car. “Jemma! What’s wrong?”

  She didn’t acknowledge him. Her eyes darted desperately, her body twisting as she tried to see everywhere at once.

  He gripped her shoulders and spun her toward him. Dampness seeped through the thin material of her black t-shirt and droplets of water flicked off the tips of her hair, scattered on his hands, his cheeks. She looked at him without recognition. White surrounded the unearthly blue of her irises. Tremors shook her body as she drew painful, gulping breaths.

  “Dammit! What’s wrong?” He gave her a gentle shake and her gaze came into focus.

  “Miriam.” She grabbed the lapels of his jacket tightly, lifting up on her toes. “She’s gone.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Jemma’s tongue felt too big for her mouth. “I came home from work. Shannon was here. All I did—”

  “Who’s Shannon?”

  “Miriam’s caretaker. She left. She always leaves after I get home. All I did was take a shower. I came out, was going to get dressed in my room, and she was gone. The apartment door was open.”

  “She can’t be far. We’ll find her.” Paul’s voice was composed, confident.

  She had no idea why he was here, but she didn’t question it. His hands on her shoulders were warm and solid and her panic eased.

  “Where would she have gone?”

  She licked lips dry with dread. “I don’t know. She hasn’t left the house by herself for weeks. Should we call the police?”

  “Let’s go around the block first.” His hand slid down her arm and grasped hers. They headed toward the major thoroughfare at the end of the street.

  She wanted to run, wanted to scream Miriam’s name. Her fear must have infected Paul, because despite his outward calm, she had to trot to keep up with his rapid strides.

  “You should call for her,” he said. “If I do, it might scare her away.”

  She took a deep breath. “Gramma? Gramma? It’s Jemma. It’s time to come home.”

  Nothing.

  Agitation seethed in her chest and tightened her throat. She shouted again, coaxing, pleading.

  Several of the nearby buildings had courtyards. They examined each one, but reached the end of the street without a sign of Miriam. Dusk had fallen in earnest, and lamps flickered on, illuminating the heavier traffic on the cross street.

  Vehicles flashed past. Bile rose in her throat as she imagined Miriam attempting to cross.

  Paul echoed her thought. “Surely she didn’t go any further than this.”

  Jemma checked the time on her phone. “It’s less than thirty minutes since I stepped out of the shower. Should we split up? We can circle around the streets on either side and up again.”

  He nodded. “Give me that.” They exchanged phones. “Put your number in.” He tapped quickly while she did the same. They swapped back. “Whoever finds her calls the other.”

  “What if—”

  Paul didn’t give her a chance to utter the frightening words. “We’ll meet at the entrance to your building. Go.”

  Jemma bolted off. The night seemed darker, meaner, without Paul at her side.

  She willed her phone to ring as she strained her eyes peering into every cranny. By the time she returned to the apartment entrance she was hyperventilating with anxiety. She paced up and down. A few minutes later Paul appeared around the far corner on the opposite side of the street.

  Alone.

  She’d known he would be, or he would have called her, but she’d clung to a thin thread of hope. A fresh rush of fear shivered through her.

  She shuffled her feet, shifting her weight, unable to stand still. He approached slowly, searching as he came. Finally he stood before her.

  “Call the police,” he said.

  Miriam’s medical history kick-started an immediate search. Despite his worry, Paul had been certain they would find her right away. She couldn’t have traveled far in the short period of time she’d been missing.

  He’d been proved wrong during the last two hours and forty-two minutes. He stood at the large window in Jemma’s living room. The brightly lit space behind him reflected on the night outside. Two uniformed police officers sa
t at the minuscule dinette table. The harsh, indistinguishable-to-him rattle of a hand-held radio had one of the officers responding in quiet tones, while the other made a mark on the map spread before her.

  Jemma sat in Miriam’s chair, feet on the seat, her grandmother’s favourite throw over her legs, her arms wrapped around her bent knees. The pink tips of her bangs threw a garish slash across her wan cheeks, her black brows dark shadows over glassy eyes.

  His wicked fairy held on through the fierceness of willpower alone.

  He turned to face the room, leaning against the low windowsill. Jemma had been so distraught she had difficulty giving the officers details of Miriam’s clothing, with suggesting places she might have gone. Her hands had fluttered awkwardly and her eyes darted to the door constantly, as if expecting Miriam to return at any moment. As the minutes passed, turned into hours, she sank into a calm that worried Paul more than the near frenzy.

  He crossed the room and crouched before her. “They’re going to find her.” It wasn’t the first time he’d said so, and the consolation was losing what little power it had held. Frustration tightened the muscles in his neck. “They will, you know.”

  She dragged her gaze from the middle distance over his shoulder and nodded, once, jerkily. To his utter surprise, she brushed her fingers through his hair, cupped his jaw with her cold hand. “Thank you. For being here. For staying.”

  He turned his head and pressed his lips to her palm. Another burst squawked out of the officer’s radio. Jemma’s fingers tightened, but she had long ago stopped jumping up in unrewarded hope whenever a transmission clattered.

  Paul didn’t catch a word, but the officers did.

  The female officer grabbed her receiver. “Where are you?” A new tone in her voice had Jemma surging out of her chair. Paul rose and folded her into his arms from behind. She held herself rigid, vibrating with intensity. He rested his chin on the top of her head.

  This time Paul was able to decipher the response. “Laura Secord Elementary. Disoriented but stable. Ambulance on its way.”

  Jemma’s legs buckled. He caught her and dropped into Miriam’s chair, cuddling her on his lap as sobs ripped from her throat. He rocked back and forth, caressing her hair, the back of her neck. Behind him the official conversation continued, but for now his attention was solely on the woman in his arms.

  It didn’t take her long to recover her composure. He hadn’t expected it to. She was tough, his Jemma. After a minute she sat up and wiped her wet cheeks with shaking hands. He kept his arms around her waist, supporting her.

  The female officer stood before them. “She’ll be okay. She’s cold and frightened, but otherwise unharmed. They’re taking her to Vancouver General to make sure.”

  “I need to see her.”

  Paul lifted her off his lap, placed her on her feet. “Let’s go.”

  The sooty hollows under her eyes emphasized their brilliant blueness. “It’s past midnight. You should go home. I’ll drive myself.”

  He didn’t bother to argue. He passed her her jacket, waited for the officers to gather their paraphernalia, and locked the door behind them. It was a measure of her exhaustion that she didn’t protest again.

  Jemma spent the trip through the quiet midnight streets with her eyes closed, breathing deeply through her nose. She was glad Paul had insisted he drive. She was shaky with stress, and needed this time to prepare, to settle herself before seeing Miriam.

  She shot out of the car as soon as he parked. The night was raw and damp, raising gooseflesh on her neck and shoulders. Miriam had been wearing a light blouse and nylon slacks when she’d wandered out. She must have been freezing by the time they found her.

  Her boots thudded on the pavement as she hurried up the brightly lit drive and through the automatic doors, Paul right behind her. The plaintive wail of a toddler cut through the dreary, energy-sapping atmosphere. She got her bearings, then waded through the full waiting room to an admitting desk. The nurse, wearing candy pink scrubs and a weary expression, looked up from her computer monitor. “Can I help you?”

  “My grandmother, Miriam Hedge, was brought in. By ambulance.” Without conscious thought she gripped Paul’s hand. His warm fingers wrapped around her chilly ones.

  The nurse tapped her keyboard. “She’s in Bay Nine.” She pointed down the hall. “I’ll buzz you in those doors on the right. She’s on the left-hand side.”

  In the Emergency ward, curtained off beds surrounded a circular station. Doctors and nurses moved with purpose but not urgency. The air was tainted with the scents of fever, disinfectant, and fear.

  “This way.” Paul drew her forward. The curtains around Bay Nine were drawn tight. As she approached, she could hear Miriam’s voice, quivering and querulous.

  “I want to go home. I don’t know who you are, and I want to go home.”

  Jemma flexed her hand and Paul released her. She cautiously parted the curtains and stepped inside.

  “You’ll go home sooner if you quit taking this off.” A nurse was doing her best to clip on a finger monitor, but Miriam kept yanking her hand away. “Come on, now, Mrs. Hedge, help me out here.”

  Miriam was hidden under layers of dark blue blankets, her face chalky grey, a shade darker than the white pillow on which she rested. An oxygen tube draped over her ears and under her nose.

  Jemma wanted to climb into the bed and hug her. Instead she said cheerfully, “Gramma, do what you’re told, okay? You gave us a scare, now you have to behave.”

  Miriam tilted her head toward Jemma. Her eyes were cloudy, and deep lines scored the fine, fragile skin under her eyes. “I do not, young lady.” She twitched peevishly out of the nurse’s hold. “Who are you to call me Gramma? I don’t have any grandchildren.”

  Jemma flinched. She tried to laugh. “Gramma, it’s me, Jemma.”

  “Don’t know any Jemma.” The nurse managed to attach the finger monitor. Miriam tapped it fretfully on the blanket. “I want to go home. Please call Henry to pick me up. He’ll be so mad I don’t have his dinner ready.”

  Jemma swallowed hard and hitched a hip onto Miriam’s bed. “Henry won’t be mad,” she said softly. “But he can’t come get you right now. You have to stay here a while longer. When it’s time, I’ll take you home.”

  “You’ll take me home?” Miriam blinked and yawned.

  “I promise.”

  The nurse murmured, “We gave her a sedative. It must be kicking in.”

  “Is it okay if I sit here with her, for a bit? Until she’s asleep?”

  The nurse nodded and slipped between the curtains. Paul leaned against the wall near the head of the bed. He’d barely spoken since they left the apartment, yet simply having him near was a balm.

  Miriam’s eyes closed. Her chest rose and fell in a reassuring rhythm, and her colour had already improved.

  Jemma stroked one finger over Miriam’s hand, ridged with veins and tendons. Her skin was cool to the touch, but warmth bloomed underneath.

  “She didn’t know who I was.” The hurt of it ripped at her heart.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She raised her eyes from Miriam’s face. Paul’s tone was sincere and understanding. Accepting. She hoped she could be the same.

  Two hours later, Jemma and Paul left Emergency. A light rain fell, and the air smelled fresh and clean especially after the hospital’s stuffiness.

  Miriam had been admitted for the night, and possibly longer.

  “We will do a full work up, ensure she has not suffered any ill-effects from tonight.” The ER doctor spoke with a thick East Indian accent, and Jemma had to concentrate in order to understand him. “I have also requested a consult from a geriatric specialist. Hopefully he will be able to see her in the morning. We will take it from there.”

  Paul beeped the locks, the sound echoing up the empty street. Jemma sank into the seat, hugging her elbows and shivering. He turned the heat on high as he started off.

  “I’m not cold,” she said. “No
t on the outside.”

  “You’re tired and stressed. And you missed dinner.”

  Tired wasn’t the right word. Exhaustion clamoured in her bones, as if she’d run a marathon. She couldn’t work up the energy to be hungry. She closed her eyes, soothed by the motion of the car.

  She woke with a start when the vehicle came to a stop. “Sorry,” she said, dazed. “I guess I fell asleep.” Gritty shadows thrown by coverless bulbs slashed the pavement, streaked down heavy pillars holding up a low cement roof. “Where are we?”

  “Underground parking. My apartment.” Paul got out of the SUV, circled around, and opened her door. “You’re not spending the night alone.”

  “I can’t stay here.” She resisted his hand on her elbow. “I don’t have anything with me.” Even to her own ears her protest sounded weak.

  “You can borrow one of my t-shirts. And I have a spare toothbrush.” He tugged and she allowed him to lead her to a grey metal elevator. “We’re ten minutes from the hospital. It makes way more sense for you to stay here than go all the way home only to come back in a few hours.”

  They rode in silence to the fourteenth floor. The hall was thickly carpeted and painted in more shades of grey. He unlocked a door and gestured her forward.

  She stepped into an open, airy space with white walls and grey hardwood floors. It wasn’t large, but the ceiling was high, the scale emphasized by the expanse of glass that formed the outer wall. Outside, visible through a narrow canyon formed by tall buildings, slender skyscrapers spiked above downtown Vancouver. Thousands of lights pierced the inky blackness, including the glow from Grouse Mountain’s ski runs floating in the obsidian sky.

  A glossy, high-tech kitchen filled the space to her right. An island with white woodwork and gleaming countertop overlooked a living area with a cream-coloured couch and medium-sized flat screen television.