Leaving Normal (21 page)

"Deal."

"Okay. Deal."

She walked him to the door. A curtain of cold air rolled in as he let himself outside. It was cloudy and overcast with a damp veil in the sky, a breeze moving the twiggy bushes and bare trees. The cozy urge to snuggle under a blanket assailed her.

Natalie swallowed the pill with water, then sat at the kitchen table when she felt light-headed. As soon as the fuzziness in her head subsided, she'd get up and eat the soup.

The phone rang and she rose to answer, then went right back to the table while saying, "Hello?"

"Mom?"

"Cassie, hi."

Her daughter's voice was a comfort, and the distance between them suddenly didn't seem so many miles away. Trying to erase the pain in her head, Natalie forced a smile while listening to Cassie. "I talked to Grandpa after your surgery. He said everything went okay. How are you feeling?"

"Good." The answer automatic, somewhat stock. It was very close to the truth. Aside from a headache that was blooming like a firecracker on the Fourth of July, and the slight ache at her incisions, she was doing all right. "I'll be back to work next week."

"Mom, don't push it."

"I won't." Natalie rubbed her temple trying to quell the steady and slow throb, her stomach now suffering with a case of nausea. "I can't let Aunt Sarah have all the fun. And God knows what she'll do with the new line of teddy bears. She'll probably dress them up in something silly."

Cassie laughed, a joyful sound—but also twinged with something else that Natalie couldn't quite define. Perhaps it was a change in the pitch, as if she'd gone from a young adult's laugh to that of a woman's.

"How are things going for you?" Natalie took in a deep breath. "Are you and Austin still an item?"

A long pause greeted her by way of a response, and Natalie thought maybe the two had broken up.

"We're fine. I really like him lots."

"I had a feeling you did."

"I want you to like him, too."

"I don't know him, Cassie. Just make sure he treats you the way you deserve to be treated."

If she hadn't felt so awful, she would have kept Cassie on the phone requesting a rundown on all the details. As it was, she managed, "I hope you're doing well in your classes, Cassie. That's what's important."

"I know, Mom." She exhaled softly. "I wish you would have let me come down and stay with you."

"No. We discussed that. A trip midweek would have interfered with your classes."

"I don't care."

"Well,
I
care." Natalie fought the intensifying pain and light-headed effect from the pill. "Honey, I don't mean to cut this short, but I'm tired." She hadn't wanted to say she felt sick. "I want to lie down."

"Okay. Call me later. Promise?"

"I will. Love you."

"Love you, too."

Disconnecting the call, Natalie laid the phone down and buried her face in her arms on the tabletop, willing the sickness in her stomach to go away. The thought of soup had no appeal to her now.

She didn't know how long she'd been sitting in the uncomfortable position; she might have even dozed off.

But the doorbell rang and gave her a start. Lifting her head, she gazed at the leaded-glass panel at the top of her front door.

A large silhouette of a man dressed in dark blue stood on the other side.

Rising on unsteady feet, Natalie went toward the door and could tell immediately who it was through the glass.

Tony Cruz.

Fighting off a renewed bout of nausea, she questioned opening the door. She felt like death warmed over, and was certain she looked like it. But she'd come this far, and if she could make out his blurred image, he could see that she was home and a hand's length away from the doorknob.

Sweeping the door inward, she willed the pitch in her stomach to go away. No luck.

"Uh, hi, Tony…it's not a good time. I don't—"

That's all she managed to get out when she turned around and ran for the downstairs bathroom to be sick.

She never heard him come in behind her. He hadn't been on her mind as she was throwing up that damn pill—or what was left of it. When she looked up from the sink moments later while running cold water over her face, he was there in the doorway.

"I came over to see how your surgery went. Are you all right?" His brown eyes were assessing and filled with a questioning warmth.

She talked to his reflection. "I think I am now…sort of.". Daring a glance at her face, she grimaced. Dark circles smudged beneath her eyes, and her face had a paleness to it. Her black pupils appeared dilated and her lips were dry.

"No cancer," she murmured, easing her way to standing.

Before she knew it, he was behind her, his solid chest pressed into her back to support her. "I'm glad to hear that. So what's wrong?"

"I took a Vicodan on an empty stomach."

"That'll make you sick."

"Will it?" She gave him a half smile, unable to glance at their paired reflection in the mirror.

He was so handsome, so strong and big. She knew she was frail right now, weak and feeling hideously wretched. She wanted to lie down, curl up on her side and be tucked under blankets. Intuitively, he must have sensed this because the next thing she knew, he swept her into his arms and was walking her through the house.

"Where's your bedroom? Upstairs?"

She nodded into the crook of his neck, thinking his skin smelled like fireplace smoke from outside, like wintertime; sun and snow mixed in one. His body was strong and hard, warm and comforting. She hooked her arm over his broad shoulder, rested her cheek against the heaviness of his Boise Fire Dept. sweatshirt as he climbed the stairs. Not for a second did she think he'd drop her. She felt safe and protected, and reveled in the feeling for as long as it would last.

Once at the landing, he paused.

"Left," she said, directing him to the master.

Inside the bedroom, he laid her down on the unmade bed. Thoughts of curling up on her side were forgotten when she remembered the pain of the incisions and knew she had to lie on her back.

She tried to plump up the pillows behind her head, but he moved her hand out of the way and did it for her. When the pillows fit snugly at her back and neck, she settled into them. He took her slippers off, sliding them from her bare feet, gave a lingering gaze to her reddish-pink toenail polish. Then he brought the covers up to her chin, tucked them in at her sides and sat on the edge of the bed.

His weight dipped the mattress in a way that hadn't been felt since Greg moved out of the house and out of this bedroom. Come to think of it, Tony was the first man who'd ever sat on her bed. She and Michael had never spent the night at each other's homes; they went out of town when they wanted to be together.

Lying down with her eyes on Tony, she thought it remarkably strange that he was here in her small space of the world.

"Thank you," she said in a soft tone.

"You need to eat something."

"I have soup on the stove."

"I'll get you a bowl."

"You don't have to," she said weakly.

"I know that."

He was gone, leaving her alone long enough to close her eyes, to remember the day she'd read the letter from St. Luke's. She'd told Tony what the results were, had been numb with shock, and the words had just come out. It had felt natural confiding in him. For reasons that were still undefined to her, she'd kept him updated about the ultrasound and then her surgery scheduled for this morning.

When he returned with a cup of soup and some salt crackers, she tried to quell the affection for him stirring . in her heart.

He cared.

He cared enough to come over and check on her. Cared about her welfare to bring up the soup…

Why did he have to be so nice? So wonderful? Why this man? Why not someone else who didn't offer complications?

Tony held the cup in front of her. "Can you hold on to it?"

"Yes."

"Where's a chair?" His face was chiseled, a day's growth of beard dusting his jaw and cheeks. The dark five-o'clock shadow made him look rugged, even daring and definitely more real-life man. She always saw him as bigger than most men, larger in body and proportion, and right here, right now, he was even larger in real life.

"Cassie's room, straight and to the right."

He was back with a chair before the first spoonful of soup had cooled enough for her to eat it. Propping the chair's back in front of him, he sat backward on it and faced her while she ate.

"How did everything go?" he asked, his eyes framed by dark lashes and eyebrows that were black slants, arched just slight enough to question.

She licked her lips, gazed at him and felt emotions building in her heart. It was curious how he'd melted into her life like an icicle slowly dripping and blending into the ground—her ground, her territory.

They had been building a friendship of sorts, a mutual admiration and a respect that she had never built upon as a foundation for a male-female association before. She liked that she could trust him in ways she found very comforting. Again, she wondered if it was because of what he did for his job—or was it more that he was a man who seemed open and honest and kind, someone who didn't play up attributes or traits he didn't have for the sake of looking good to others.

Tony Cruz, on many levels, mystified her. But he also intrigued her. She thought he was incredible. Too great for words.

Perhaps she did have a bit of a crush on him.

Frowning at that thought, she acknowledged she knew that she did. And it bothered her somewhat. There was no point in an infatuation; she was years older, he was newly divorced and he needed to adjust and make concessions to being on his own, finding out who he was without a woman in his life.

"Everything went fine. They removed the lumps." She took another sip of the soup, which did seem to help the uneasiness in her stomach. However, not enough of the pain pill remained in her to take the edge off the ache where her incisions were.

For some reason, she expected his gaze to drop to her breasts. Tony didn't look. His eyes remained fixed on hers. "You're going to be okay?"

She understood what he meant by "okay." Not okay in the sense of medically okay, but emotionally okay. That he could sense she needed to speak it aloud brought a rise of gooseflesh on her arms. She hadn't even realized that she had to make such a declaration.

"Yes. I am okay. Thanks…Tony."

The sound of his name on her lips caused her to smile briefly. She forgot about the horrid state of her appearance and took a large measure of peace and strength in his presence.

She finished her soup and he took the cup from her. Laying her head back on the pillow, she closed her eyes, then caught herself talking. "I fainted today. The first time I have ever fainted in my life."

When he didn't say anything, she went on, taking his cue of silence as one to continue.

"They put me in the mammogram machine and stuck a needle in my boob. Then they took a picture. It hurt so bad." She closed her eyes more tightly, tensing in remembrance. "He took a picture and made me wait in the damn thing with my boob smashed and then he came back. He didn't get the needle in the spot, so he had to take it out and try again. Took him three tries. It was the second needle that got to me. I think my body went into shock or something. He left the room and all I remember was saliva building in my mouth, my ears ringing, and I tried to get out of that X-ray machine but I couldn't. I woke up on a hospital bed with my feet elevated and a wet cloth on my forehead. I was hoping it was over. It wasn't. I had to go back in the X-ray machine and he had to get that second needle in. I have never in my life encountered such physical pain…"

The words trailed, she felt her body sigh. She swallowed. A hand came over her forehead, her hair was smoothed away from her face. She thought she was dreaming for a moment, then opened her eyes to view Tony's face. He smiled at her, softly and slightly.

"I can't go through something like that again," was all she managed to say. She knew deep in her heart that if it came down to it, she would have to do the same thing. But it was hard to think about. She prayed it would be done now. Over. She didn't want such a scare again. But she knew there were no guarantees about the future.

Nothing was certain in life. No matter how badly she wanted things to be neat and orderly, to eventually find and meet the right man, she had no real control over that particular fate.

"You will if you have to," Tony said, his warm hand smoothing the hair from her forehead, tucking a piece of it behind her ear. His deep voice was solicitous, his words empathetic. She felt warmth breathe into her heart, her very core. He could make a shudder heat her body and cool her skin at the same time. She'd never encountered someone like him before.

She fought off a wave of emotions so deep and so profound, they gave her a shiver.

"Tony…" She opened her eyes. "I thought about dying when they took me into the operating room. I've never had a thought like that before. Do you think about dying when you're at work?"

"I never really think about the danger or dying." His expression was dark, emotion-filled.

Maybe it was the lingering effects of the Vicodan making her talk of truths and worries. Maybe it was wanting to know the little details about him and watch the play of light come into his eyes. She wasn't sure why, didn't really care. But she had to ask, "What's your biggest fear?"

He didn't readily answer, perhaps struggling for the right response to give her—either an unbridled truth or a reply that painted him in a heroic light. At length, he said, "I have a fear that something will go bad in a fire. That another firefighter will need my help and I won't be able to carry him out of the building."

She stared thoughtfully, considering something about him. He must be at the gym a lot, lifting weights and developing muscle strength. "Is that why you're so big? I don't mean tall-big, but big like muscular-big?"

He nodded. "I've been in buildings on fire, pitch-black, with smoke and it feels like you're the only person on the planet. Only six guys have died in the hundred years the department has been around. I feel better knowing the Brothers will give me a really good funeral. So, no, I don't think about dying because I know it would be okay."