Serious Fun

by Jessie Gussman

  Harris probably wasn’t expecting to see about half of the pieces of a 1945 Studebaker sitting on plastic in his living room.

  TURBO DIDN’T MENTION the car parts. He didn’t mention much of anything before they separated and drove their own vehicles to the hospital.

  He shouldn’t care what she thought. It shouldn’t matter because as much as her smile thrilled him to the very depths of his soul, and as much as he wanted to make her happy like he’d never wanted to make anyone happy before, the studious, serious librarian would never take a second look at the likes of him. He knew it in high school, and life hadn’t suddenly changed in the last decade or so.

  He pulled into the gas station at the bottom of Hospital Hill. She followed him into the parking lot and pulled her little car beside his pickup. He jogged over to her window, and she slid it down. “I’m gonna run in and grab a couple slices of pizza, just to keep a certain person from feeling like they need to turn my kitchen into a five-star restaurant.” He grinned, and his heart thrilled when the edges of her lips turned up. “Want anything?”

  “A water, please.”

  “Okay.”

  The store wasn’t busy. He had the clerk just hand him the pizza, and he shoved a water in his back pocket for him and carried hers.

  “Here you go.” He handed her the ice-cold bottle and took a big bite of pizza.

  She looked at the pizza in his hand, her eyes wide open and her mouth hanging down. “That looks like it’s about six days old.”

  He chewed, trying to look thoughtfully at the pizza in his hand. How could she tell? He swallowed. “That’s a bad thing, right?”

  “Doesn’t it taste like cardboard?”

  “Not really. Cardboard is actually surprisingly good. If you put salt on it, it’s really not bad. Some of that green stuff, like oregano or basil or something, actually makes it taste pretty good.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You’re kidding, right?” She shook her head. “That pizza is dry and hard, and I can’t believe you’re eating it.”

  He lifted a shoulder, unsure what it was about her that made him want to spill his guts. His smile was gone, and he said in a low tone, “When I was a kid, we didn’t have a lot, and food was something...when you’re hungry, anything tastes good. I learned not to care.”

  “Not to care about what you ate, or not to care whether you were hungry?” she asked softly, no pity in her eyes but a thoughtful consideration.

  “Both.” Man, enough of that sappy stuff. He slapped the side of her car. “I park around back of the hospital along the street. Keeps my truck out of the parking garage. It’s also free. It’s a little longer walk, though.”

  “You come to the hospital?”

  “Yeah.” He didn’t go into the details of the grant-a-wish foundation he was a part of that periodically had him here, giving rides in his rig to anyone—kids or adults—who wanted them.

  “I’ll follow you.”

  He shoved the last bite in his mouth—now that she mentioned it, it was hard and dry—strode around, and got in his pickup.

  He led her to where he usually parked, and they walked in together. Her heels were high and pointy, but if they hurt her feet, she never said. She rambled all the way about how the play they were doing was going to benefit the children’s library and all the big plans she had for it. He didn’t really see the need to have a play or the connection between the play and the library, but if she insisted there was a need and a connection, he’d agree, just because he loved seeing her more animated than he’d ever seen her before. Her eyes glowed, and she practically shone as she talked about the kids being able to read and providing books for them so they didn’t fall behind and all her other plans.

  He nodded and tried to shut his brain down, because he really wanted to focus on how he could get the elevator to stop so he was stuck on it with Harris. It wouldn’t be hard, he’d just...

  “Are you listening?”

  “Huh?” Heat crept up his cheeks. “I was, but I did space out there, once we stepped into the elevator.”

  “Oh.”

  “You were saying that they’ve given you rooms...” he prompted, hoping that was close.

  “Oh, yes.” And she picked up where she’d left off, her eyes shining, her movements quick and alive, her vibrant hair sparkling. It looked soft and inviting. He shoved his hand into his pocket to keep from thinking about touching it.

  They walked along the corridor, nodding to a couple of orderlies. As they neared the new children’s wing, a middle-aged nurse in happy pink and blue scrubs rounded a corner. He recognized her but couldn’t remember her name.

  “Oh, hi.” She looked from Harris to him and back and kind of laughed. “You guys are like the odd couple. You must be partnering for some good cause.”

  Harris’s eyes grew wide. “Rachel, you know Turbo?”

  “Sure.” She nodded. “If anyone can make a child laugh, it’s Turbo. He’s here more in the winter, usually, and mainly when we have big days, like What’s Your Wish Day, or the Christmas Festival. Every year, he volunteers to escort a girl to the Valentine’s Day banquet.” She tapped Turbo’s arm. “It’s a guaranteed good time if Turbo is there.”

  Turbo shoved his hand deeper in his pocket. He wanted Harris to think well of him, and he thought all this might help, but he didn’t go around bragging about this stuff and wasn’t used to being talked about. Everyone thought he was a jokester, and that kept him from having to spill his guts about his secret. It also gave him an out if someone needed him to read something; he could always make up a joke and end up getting them to read it to him. It worked almost every time.

  “Wow.” Harris narrowed her eyes at him. “You didn’t say anything.”

  “You didn’t ask. You were too busy complaining that I didn’t have any food in my house.” His joke fell flat. He hated it when that happened.

  Harris nodded in acknowledgment.

  Rachel touched Harris’s arm. “You’ve told him about your library?”

  “Yes. We’re here so I can show him. He’s going to be in Annie which we’re putting on to raise money to buy books.”

  “Turbo’s going to be in Annie? What, as Punjab? I thought you had Dr. Dennis doing Punjab?”

  “Yes, Dr. Dennis is still Punjab. I lost Daddy Warbucks.”

  “You lost him?” Rachel asked with a raised brow.

  “Ha. No, he got a better offer off-Broadway and had to leave right away.”

  “He and Miss Hannigan were the two that you had hired, right?”

  “Yes, most of the other characters, aside from Grace Farrell, are being played by people from the hospital. The kids are especially excited.”

  “I know. I hear about it every day.” She adjusted the stethoscope around her neck. “They’re also excited for the library. School just started, and some of the kids here are anxious about what they’re missing. Having that library stocked would be a huge blessing.”

  They said goodbye and parted. Harris was quiet, and Turbo hoped she hadn’t gotten mad at him again. Seemed like that happened to him a lot. People got mad, and he wasn’t even sure why.

  “Why didn’t you tell me that you already spent time here?” Harris finally asked, as they walked the last few feet to the door marked “library.” The hall was deserted, blocked by big double doors that led into the new wing.

  “I haven’t been here all summer. I don’t come on my own. They usually call me if they have a kid who wants a ride or like for the Valentine’s Day banquet, if they need more escorts. I guess I take a good picture and I make people laugh. I’m not a famous football player or anything.”

  She looked up at him, her green eyes deepening to emerald. “It still takes time.”

  He stood close beside her, breathing in her scent that he couldn’t name but made him think of intelligence mixed with sass and a touch of flirt. The sounds of monitors beeping and occasional shouts and laughter were muffled by the double doors.

  Her eyes
pulled him, trapped him, and he couldn’t look away. Time seemed to slow, and he was hyperaware of her breath mingling with his, the glow of her skin, her glistening lips.

  “Harris, I...” he whispered, unsure what he was even going to say, just wanting to be closer. His hand came up, and he touched the soft hair he’d been admiring all day. Her eyes widened. His heart beat fast and strong. His breath was shallow. “I...” want to kiss you.

  What was he thinking? This was Harris, the librarian. The two of them would never work. It was only a matter of time, probably tonight, when she would find out his deepest, darkest secret. His pride wouldn’t let him get close to her, not when she was going to feel sorry for him.

  But for some reason, he suddenly wanted, needed, to know what her lips felt like against his. Wanted to feel the curve of her waist and the softness of her skin.

  She swallowed, and her eyes closed even more. One hand came up and landed on his chest, curving and sliding until it ran down his abs, slipping around his waist. He wanted to close his eyes, but he couldn’t. Didn’t want to miss a second of whatever was happening. Harris touched him, and his whole body burned.

  His hand moved to her cheek, cupping it, feeling the softness. He ran his thumb over her skin, resting it at the corner of her lips.

  He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t kiss her when she would be repulsed tonight. It wasn’t honest. Like false pretenses. Until she knew, he had to stay away.

  Gathering up all the willpower he didn’t know he had, he took a deep breath and reached up above the door. Yanking down the lonely piece of greenery that hung there, he held it up, stepping back. “Looks like someone missed a Christmas decoration. It’s dangerous to let mistletoe just hang around anywhere.”

  Harris blinked. Man, he wanted to step into her and pull her close. Hold her while the dreamy look returned to her face. But it slid away, and she threw a smile on her face as she opened the door. “Humph. Is that what was going on? And here I thought there were some paint fumes or something that were making you dizzy.”

  Chapter 7

  IT DIDN’T TAKE LONG for Harris to show Turbo the rooms. Two patient rooms and a waiting room had been converted to a large room with study nooks on one side. The shelves were almost done, waiting for the books she would purchase with the money they made from the play they were putting on in three weeks.

  Her legs had stopped shaking, and she could breathe again by the time they left the library area and walked into the ward for a quick visit with the kids. Most of them were in their rooms, but a few hung out in the big social area. A couple of kids recognized her, and a few more yelled when they saw Turbo. They grabbed his hand, and before she knew it, he was on the floor using the toy trucks and tractors to make up a story about a lost truck driver and the little boy who saved him.

  He lay on his side, one arm propping his head up, his long legs in clean, dark jeans stretched out. His scuffed but newish driving boots were crossed at the ankle. He’d put on a button-down shirt and tucked it in. The green shirt contrasted nicely with his brown belt. Not many men wore belt buckles in central PA, but Turbo pulled it off, looking natural and relaxed. Had he dressed up for her?

  She watched him with new eyes. The humming attraction that she’d always felt for him had burst into song, amazing, loud, expansive song, out in the hallway just a few minutes ago. She had wanted, expected him to kiss her. He hadn’t. He’d made a joke instead. Which shouldn’t surprise her, but it hurt. She felt like the stereotypical desperate, love-starved, spinster librarian. Why would a man as handsome and charismatic as Turbo want to kiss her?

  No. She shoved that thought aside. Why would she want to kiss Turbo? He was...she stopped again. Everything that she had thought about Turbo was actually kind of wrong. He was nice. And, yeah, he goofed off a lot, but he worked hard and spent a lot of time helping people. He’d had a rough childhood himself and had been working, without fanfare or putting on a big show, to make other kids’ lives better.

  Harris walked over and sat down beside Quincy, who had a notebook and a pen and was watching the younger children play on the floor with Turbo.

  “Hey, Quincy. What’re you writing?”

  Quincy gave her a shy smile. “A book.”

  “Oh, wow. What kind of book?”

  “Well, my heroine is in the hospital, and she’s my age.” Harris nodded. Quincy was one of the kids who would really benefit from the library she had planned. At fifteen, she was too old for the childish things provided to all the kids in the children’s wing.

  “So, what’s your heroine’s problem?” Harris prompted.

  Narrow shoulders shrugged. “I don’t know. Other than she might die.”

  Harris was silent for a moment. Quincy was writing what she knew, which was what the authors who came to the library to give lectures always suggested.

  Turbo looked over his shoulder, one hand still pushing a truck down an imaginary road. “You’re funny, Quincy. You should write a book that would make other kids laugh.”

  Quincy’s cheeks grew pink. Harris hid a smile. Turbo had that effect on her, too.

  “You really think I’m funny?”

  “Sure. You read me that story you wrote last winter. The one about that teapot that wanted to be a truck. I couldn’t stop laughing.”

  “Most of the ideas in that one were yours.”

  “But you put the words together in a way that made them beautiful and...what was the word that Nurse Kelsey said?” Turbo grabbed another truck and lined it up beside the first.

  “Ironic.”

  “Yeah. It was really good, and all the teens who come through here love it.”

  Quincy tapped her lip with her pen. “I guess I could make this funny.”

  Turbo pushed off the ground. The kids protested around his legs. He looked right at Quincy. “I know you could.”

  The boys chorused together, begging Turbo not to leave.

  “I have to go. Miss Winsted needs to be at the library soon.”

  “Do a magic trick,” one little boy begged, before a whole chorus broke out begging for a trick.

  Turbo grinned. Harris should have figured he’d do magic, too. “I just happen to have his old rag here.” He whipped a bright, multicolored silk rag out of his pocket and shook it out. “I suppose I could maybe turn this into a puppy.” He lifted a brow at Harris, while the kids yelled their assent.

  Harris shook her head. He wouldn’t really do that, would he? Just in case, she said, “No live animals in the hospital.”

  His grin told her she’d made the correct statement. Where was he going to get a puppy anyway?

  “Miss Winsted says no.”

  “You could turn it into the Empire State Building,” one little boy called.

  “You could make it unhook this from my arm,” another one said, pointing to the IV taped to his slender, white wrist.

  A shadow flickered over Turbo’s eyes, but he gave the boy a grin and a shake of the head.

  “Make it disappear,” Quincy called out.

  “Ah, boys. The young lady said to make it disappear.” He took a step and stopped in front of Quincy. “Hold it,” he commanded.

  She complied.

  “Is it a real rag?”

  She grinned. “Yep.”

  He balled it up, shoved it into his fist, twisted his hand, then opened it with a flourish. The cloth was gone.

  Harris, sitting with her face less than a foot from his hand, stared with mouth agape. It really had seemed to disappear.

  “Make it come back,” the boys shouted.

  A couple of nurses and parents stood by the side of the room, watching with grins on their faces. Harris figured they were probably pretty relieved about the lack of a puppy.

  “I didn’t actually make it disappear,” Turbo said. “Miss Winsted has it.”

  “I most certainly do not,” Harris protested. That was one thing she was absolutely sure of.

  “Really?” Turbo said with a lifted brow, his mout
h tilted up.

  “Really,” she said firmly.

  “Hmm. So, if you actually do have the cloth, if I find it somewhere on your person, you’ll...?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. He was not getting her to agree to anything crazy.

  “We’ll figure something out,” he said with a twinkle in his eye as his hand came up. He opened it wide and flipped it back and forth, showing there was nothing in it. He moved closer, keeping eye contact with her, and touched behind her ear. She felt a whisper of a touch, then his hand pulled away with the colorful cloth dangling from it.

  His dark eyes danced. The kids yelled and hollered.

  Harris wanted to cry.

  It was the same side he’d touched earlier when they’d been standing in the hall outside the library door. He’d been planning this all along and had planted the cloth on her then, she was sure. He might have even made up the part about the mistletoe, too. She didn’t know anything about magic, but she’d seen his empty hand. It’s what had to have happened, and she felt like a fool. Her stomach twisted, and the back of her throat ached.

  As much as she fought to keep her face straight, her expression must have given something away, because Turbo’s smile slipped and his brows crinkled.

  She ripped her gaze away and stood, forcing Turbo to move to give her room. “You have my number, Quincy. Text me if you want my help with your story.”

  “Okay,” Quincy said. “But Turbo is the one who makes it funny.”

  “You text Miss Winsted if you need me, and she’ll let me know.”

  “Just give me your number,” Quincy said, getting her phone out.

  A fleeting look of panic shifted across Turbo’s face. Harris thought she understood the issue.

  Harris stepped in. “I don’t think your parents would think it’s a great idea for you to be texting a single man. We don’t want them to worry about you more than they already do.”