Leaving Normal (37 page)

Tony let her go, and she didn't realize until afterward that she'd been holding on to him. She staggered a little, caught herself.

"If you want to leave, then you can leave."

His words jolted her, surprised her.

"Do you want me to?"

"You know I don't."

Natalie stared at him, saw he was giving her a dare. He didn't want her to leave any more than she did, but it was her decision. She was the one who was conflicted. She looked for the easy out, the noncommittal goodbye and go on her merry way…back home to an empty house and an empty feeling inside.

It wasn't a good way to live. Risking heartache suddenly seemed like a good plan. Maybe. If she could just let herself not over think things. When they were together, she saw colors in every shade, like the flowers in her cooler. But she still knew that a future for them was just too gray.

Tony turned, went down a hallway. She knew where he was going without having ever been there before.

His bedroom.

She stood in the entry way, poised with a bottle of unopened wine she could take back home across the street, or drink here after…

…after she went down that hallway and followed a man who could make her forget all logic.

Flickering doubts vanished. She accepted his unspoken invitation so easily, caught herself moving.

Once in the bedroom, she set the wine on the bureau.

His room was richly painted, dark and masculine. The bedcovers were in tones of burgundy and gold, the furnishing black lacquer. It was a very detailed room, too. He'd decorated with black-framed photos of still life on the wall. Ivory vases were filled with greenery, a very little hint of bright color. Wall sconces were gold, the shades an ivory tone to match the vases.

Tony stood at the foot of the large bed. The frame was a heavy wood, its king-size dimensions dominating the room. The bed almost needed a step to get up into.

Without words, she went to him and kissed his mouth. That's all he needed to have. He locked her in his hold, lifted her off her feet and took her to the bed with him. She skimmed her hands up his warm neck, held his mouth close to hers. She could feel ripples of muscle on his back; the play of powerful sinew and masculinity was something she found intriguing.

Hands explored, mouths tasted, tongues met. Everything heated at one time in a sensory pool that tingled in every pore of her body.

Need swallowed her and she grew impatient.

Clothing was discarded. He sheathed himself with protection and her body yielded to his. Gooseflesh rose as she felt him sink into her slick internal heat. The friction and tempo that followed drove her to the edge, pleasure streaking mindlessly through her head.

She didn't let emotions get in the way this time. She simply accepted the physical pleasure. The purest of joys and fulfillment. Her body tremored as she cried her release. She wrapped herself around him, feeling him let go then uttering a low groan from the back of his throat.

In the ensuing seconds while their breathing caught and mingled as mouths touched softly and intimately, she knew what was different about making love with him this time.

This time, she gave him her trust.

The call came in and Tony knew it was going to be bad. Sometimes he could sense it, like a premonition.

That buzzer didn't go off because someone was having a great day. It always meant crisis, whether it was an obese woman who couldn't cook her own dinner and was calling for help, to an electrical spark coming off a dryer connection. The fire department responded to public problems.

Captain Palladino was in the engine before anyone else—which was saying a lot. He'd been dead to the world, sleeping in a recliner while a rerun of
Seinfeld
played on the tube. As soon as the PA announced the call to Station 13, adrenaline went in to full throttle and propelled everyone into action.

Tony drove, every muscle in him tense and stretched to the breaking point. Hoseman Walcroft sat in the back. After the mobile data terminal was engaged as "en route," and an address was located on a map, a lot of easygoing exchange transpired through the headsets as if they had to keep things light for as long as they could.

Laying on the horn through the lit intersections, Tony gassed the big engine through a red light. The hula girl om the dashboard danced with a smile on her face, her fringy grass skirt swaying when the wheels of the big truck hit bumps in the road.

The powerful truck moved at a decent speed, turning the corner and pulling into a residential neighborhood.

Tony steered the engine down the street to the address the captain directed him to. A dark cul-de-sac came into view under the headlights. Somewhere in the end was the address, but it was too dark to make out with limited light from the streetlights. Tony had to put on the brakes and stop.

"First on scene," Captain Palladino said and they all knew what that meant.

A female dispatch voice came over the radio. "Engine 13, stand by. Staged for code four from P.D."

Frustration knotted in Tony's shoulders, his hands gripping the big steering wheel, the engine idling beneath him. The three of them waited, a helpless feeling creating a deathly silence in the cab. When the police had to go in first, it was for the firefighters' safety because the subjects involved could be armed and dangerous.

After what seemed endless minutes, finally the flash of police-vehicle lights came into view. They pulled up to the semidark home.

Tony's foot itched to hit the accelerator, but they still had to wait until the police declared the scene safe to enter.

"Code four. Engine 13, proceed."

Sweat had popped out on Tony's forehead and he engaged the engine in a jolt forward.

They were in the house less than a minute later.

A dynamic charge of raised voices from a grandmother and mother, police interrogation, a teenage girl's hysterical crying echoed off the living-room walls while the firemen and arriving paramedics team tried to calm the sixteen-year-old down by taking her to one of the tiny bedrooms.

She was distraught, her long black-and-pink hair hanging in her face. Her pale complexion looked like milk. Her hands were wrapped in towels, blood seeping through. One of the female paramedics was able to . get her vitals, calm her down, while a line was started on her.

The mirror over the girl's bedroom bureau was broken, shattered. Much like the girl herself. Her eyes were haunted, a shade of blue that Tony wouldn't soon for-get. She gazed at him once, briefly, and her look made him feel as if a hand had closed around his throat.

She didn't want help.

She had given up.

If they came out a next time, the scene would be different.

An hour later, Captain Palladino called dispatch to say Engine 13 was back in quarters.

Tony went to his room, taking a minute to compartmentalize the varying emotions that ran through him so he could deal with the reality.

He sat on the bed, picked up his cell and dialed a number without a glance at the clock. On the third ring Natalie picked up.

It was 12:05 a.m.

"Hullo?"

"God, I'm sorry. I didn't realize it was so late."

"Tony? Is everything all right?"

He laid back on his bed, stared up at the white grid ceiling. "We just got back from a call."

He could hear as she shifted the phone from one ear to the other. She must have been lying in bed asleep. A place where he wanted to be right now. Next to her. "What happened?"

"A sixteen-year-old girl tried to kill herself. She cut her wrists with a piece of mirror."

"Oh, that's terrible, Tony."

"I hate to see something like this. You'd think after so many years, I'd be immune to it, but every now and then sometimes a call happens and it affects me in a way I'm not really ready for."

"I can only imagine."

Tony pressed fingers to the bridge of his nose. "It made me think about your daughter. From what you tell me, she seems like a good kid, even if she isn't coming home for Easter."

Natalie's voice softened with fondness. "She is a good daughter. I get frustrated with her every now and then, but that's bound to happen."

"I know it's none of my business, but I hope you tell her you love her a lot."

"Of course, yes. I do. Tony, is there anything I can help you with?"

"No. I just don't like to see someone so young think they'd be better off dead. Sometimes the call is just for help, but in this case, I saw a look in her eyes. She really tried to do it."

"That's so sad. Can't she get help?"

"They'll take her to Intermountain Psyche and put a watch on her. She needs some therapy, but it's not always mandated. There's red tape. You can only hope for the best."

"And you know that you did your best when you went out there to help her, Tony."

"Yeah." The tightness in his chest began to subside, his lungs didn't feel so closed off. It felt very natural to have called Natalie. He had never called Kim at night. With a particularly bad scene, he always called Rocky if he needed to air his thoughts.

Natalie grew quiet a long moment, then she said, "Do you still have to work a half shift on Easter?"

"Yep."

He could hear her breathing, a soft exhale. "Would you like to come over to my house for dinner when you're done?" Before he could give her an answer, she hastily went on, "Tony, my family will ask questions about us. It could get uncomfortable."

"I can handle it."

"I don't know if I can," she laughed without humor. "Natalie, you can handle anything." She reflected on his words a moment, then tenderly said, "Thanks, Tony. That means a lot to me."

Leaving Normal

The aromas wafting through Natalie's house were savory, making her hungry. The rich scents of ham, brown sugar-baked beans and onion-cheese scalloped potatoes drifted through the house. In the fridge was a bowl of cabbage-pea salad, homemade applesauce and fresh fruit. She had a cookie sheet of butter rolls that she would put into the oven in a few minutes.

Each room in the house had a freshly cut floral arrangement—even the downstairs bathroom. The sweet smells of flowers mingled with the Easter meal cooking in the kitchen creating a warm, homey atmosphere.

Natalie had taken great pains to make this day as perfect as possible.

Sarah and her family had been the first to arrive; Steve had parked himself on the sofa watching sports, while Sarah and Natalie stood in the kitchen with wineglasses in hand. BreeAnn and Sydney were upstairs in Natalie's room with MTV on the television.

"I can't wait to meet Dad's girlfriend," Sarah said enthusiastically after popping a green olive into her mouth. She selected another and ate it. "I wonder what she'll be like? I picture him with a very elegant lady, someone who wears her hair short and styled in a beehive bubble."

"Nobody calls hair a beehive bubble anymore," Natalie responded, a twinge of butterflies hitting her as she thought about the soon-to-arrive guests. But she vowed to herself not to show her sister she was a little bit unhinged. "I think Mrs. Price was the last teacher I had in elementary school who did her hair in a helmetlike sprayed bouffant. I don't think Dad would date a woman who had an old-fashioned hairdo."