Fools Rush In

Page 38

“Here you go. You have an orthopedist, right? Reardon? Call him tomorrow and make sure you get an appointment. I’ll let him know you need to be seen. Danny can bring the scrip down to CVS in Orleans if you need it, but try the Motrin first, six to eight hundred milligrams every six hours. Do not use the arm. Use ice for the first forty-eight hours, heat after that. Any questions?”
He just looked at me. “No.”
We went outside and I started to lock up.
“You forgot your dog, Millie,” Sam said quietly.
“Right.” I went back in and got Digger, apologized and let the faithful beast into the back seat.
“Need help?” I asked as Sam opened the car door with his left hand.
“No, thanks.”
I got in and started up the car, studiously not looking at Sam. After a minute, he tried again.
“Millie, can we talk about what happened there? Please?”
I took a deep breath, but instead of steadying my nerves, it came out as almost a sob. “Not right now, okay?” I squeaked.
Sam looked at me another long minute. “Okay. But I’m sor—”
“Don’t apologize! Just forget it.”
“I think we need to talk about it, Millie.”
“Not now! Not right now! Okay, Sam? Not now.” Digger, sensing my distress, poked his head between the seats and licked my ear.
Sam didn’t say anything else until we pulled into his driveway. Danny, obviously having been contacted by Ethel, came leaping down the stairs.
“Look,” I commented. “It’s Danny. Your son. My nephew.”
“Oh, Millie,” Sam said softly.
“Dad! Dad! Are you okay?” Danny ripped the passenger door open, and Sam got out, turning to his son.
“I’m fine, Dan. Just a bruise.”
“Oh, Dad…” Danny wrapped his arms gingerly around his father and grimaced as he tried not to cry. I rested my forehead on the steering wheel, hot tears flooding my eyes.
“Aunt Mil, will he be okay?” Danny asked, his voice breaking a little. I wiped my eyes, opened the door and got out, but I didn’t step away from the car.
“He’s going to be fine, honey,” I said, my voice sounding normal for the first time all night. “He got hit in the shoulder with a tire iron. He can tell you all about it. Call me if you need anything, okay? But right now, just get him inside, give him four Motrin and put an ice pack on his shoulder.”
“Come on, Dad,” Danny said. Sam glanced at me but let his son lead him inside.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“MILLIE, I’M SORRY. I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t mean to kiss you, and I’ll never do it again.”
“Millie, clearly that was a huge mistake. Can we forget it ever happened?”
“Millie, I’m sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry.”
I said the above phrases out loud into my bathroom mirror all the next day, trying to thicken my skin for when the shoe dropped.
How could my life go from ridiculous to idiotic to just plain awful so fast? The man I loved had kissed me, but that clearly wasn’t a good thing, not when he was so sorry, sorry, freaking sorry. Now I would have to pretend that it didn’t matter, that I had forgotten all about that little whoopsy-daisy, and that Sam was just the father of my nephew. We wouldn’t be friends. We would be awkward and horrible together, and I would miss him for the rest of my life.
“Crap,” I whispered tearfully, banging my head against the mirror. I wandered around my house, muttering to myself. Most of what I could make out was “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” Over and over, I revisited the stricken look on Sam’s face. How many times had he apologized? At least six, as I recalled. He was sorry. And so was I.
Oh, the kiss had been unbelievable. That was the problem. The best kiss of my life, from the man I loved from my bone marrow on out, and he was sorry it had happened.
The phone rang at nine. I stood tensely next to the machine, eyes burning, fists clenched, heart thudding dully in my ears.
“Hi, this is Millie. Leave me a message and I’ll call you as soon as I can!”
My chirpy voice sounded idiotic. No wonder Sam was sorry. Beep!
“Millie, it’s Sam. Pick up the phone.”
“No,” I said to the machine. Sam sighed as if he could hear me.
“Millie, please call me. I’m home all day, except at two, when I’m going to see Dr. Reardon. I should be back by three. Okay? Call me.”
Ten minutes later, the phone rang again.
“Hi, this is Millie. Leave me a message and I’ll call you as soon as I can!”
“Aunt Millie, it’s Danny—”
I snatched up the phone. “Hi, honey. How’s your dad?”
“He’s okay. I don’t think he slept much last night.”
“Uh-huh.” No mystery there. “How’s his shoulder?”
“He says it’s okay, pretty sore, though. Want to talk to him?”
“No!” I yelped. “I mean, no,” I continued more calmly. “I’m just running out. Let me know what Dr. Reardon says, okay?”
“Okay, Aunt Mil. Bye.”
Sam called again, around four. “Hey, Millie. It’s Sam.” He paused for a second. “Millie, we can’t…listen, I really, really want to talk to you. Please call me. Thank you.”
I didn’t call. I just couldn’t listen to him tell me what a mistake he’d made, how sorry he was, how we should forget it, put it past us, blah, blah, blah. Nor did I want to talk to anyone, not Katie, not Curtis or Mitch. It was one thing to have this big, aching love. It was another to tell people that you’d been rejected.
Danny called again later and filled me in on the doctor’s visit, which had confirmed the diagnosis of bone bruise. Sam had taken a Vicodin and gone to bed. Sadness and sympathy flared at the idea of Sam sleeping uncomfortably in his big bed. Danny told me the sling could come off in another day or so, and I told him that I thought that would be fine, too.
“Is everything okay, Aunt Millie?” my nephew asked in a low voice.
“Sure, Danny. Everything’s fine. I just…I’m just distracted. We closed the clinic yesterday, and I start my new job in a couple of weeks….” My voice trailed off. I didn’t want to lie to Danny.
Sam called the next day, but only once. “It’s Sam,” he said. He stayed on the line for a minute, waiting. “Okay, Millie,” he said quietly. Click.
I cleaned my already immaculate house. I baked cookies, then brought them to the senior center. I went for a run. I showered, e-mailed, organized my closet, polished my shoes, but the day refused to end. My skin felt stretched too tight, trying desperately to hold my secret in. Finally, I grabbed my keys and drove into Orleans, heading for the Barnacle. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be too busy and Katie could take a break. I needed my best friend.
I burst into the restaurant and then lurched to a stop. For the first time in my life, I hadn’t noticed Joe Carpenter’s truck in the parking lot. He was sitting next to Katie at the bar, some papers in front of him, their heads close together. The bar was quiet, only a few tables taken now that the tourism season was finished for the year.
Walking up to the bar, I cleared my throat. “Hi, guys,” I said.
Katie looked up. “Hey, Millie!” she smiled. “Guess what? Joe’s getting Tripod certified as a therapy dog!”
Joe looked up. “Hi, Millie,” he said, his voice neutral.
“Hi, Joe,” I said. There was an awkward pause. “That’s great.”
Joe looked down. “Yeah, well, he’s a good dog. You know.”
“And if Tripod does well, then Joe can adopt a puppy and train it to be a therapy dog, too,” Katie announced, beaming like a proud parent.
“That’s great, Joe,” I said.
“Katie’s helping me with the application.”
“Great.” I glanced at Katie.
“Ask her,” Katie whispered, nudging Joe’s arm.
Joe took a deep breath. “Would you give me a reference, Millie?”
My mouth fell open. “Sure! Of course, Joe. You’re great with dogs. Tripod is so well-behaved.”
“Thanks.” He smiled then, a little shyly, and I found myself smiling back. “I heard Sam got hurt by some punk,” Joe said, taking a swig of beer. “How’s he doing?”
“He’s fine.” My ears burned at the mention of Sam’s name. “Thanks for asking. Um, he just got hit pretty hard, but he’s good.” Again, I glanced at Katie.
“Listen, Joe, you finish filling that out, okay?” she said. “I have to talk to Millie for a sec.” Katie and I went to a table in the corner and sat down.
“So what’s up?” she asked.
Suddenly feeling uncomfortable, I stalled. “What are you doing with Joe?”
She laughed and pulled her hair over one shoulder. “Oh, he just needs a little…guidance. I don’t know. Remember I told him off at Nauset High that day?”
“Sure.” The Wrath of Katie was not easy to forget.
“Well, he came in last week and asked for some advice, can you believe that? On what I thought he should do to get himself on track. Whatever. So I told him to volunteer for some worthy cause, and he showed up tonight with all the paperwork and stuff.” Katie smiled, clearly pleased. “Anyway. What’s going on with you? You look whipped.”
I took a deep breath and launched into the whole story, ending with Sam’s endless apologies.
“Huh,” said my best friend. “Hmm.”
“Can you do better than that?” I asked, more caustically than I intended, glancing at Joe, who was still immersed in his paperwork.
Katie grimaced. “Gee, Millie, this is a toughie. I guess you’re just going to have to talk to him and get it straightened out. But still, he did kiss you, so he must have some feelings there.”
“Which he’s sorry for! You should have seen his face!”
“Oh, sweetie, I don’t know.” She squeezed my shoulder. “And you’re not going to know until you talk to him.” Chris called Katie’s name and she looked up. “I’m sorry, Millie, I need to get back to work. Just talk to Sam. Sorry I can’t help more. Call me tomorrow. I’m home all day.”
So much for the advice of a best friend. Nonplussed, I rose to leave. Joe jumped up. “Millie!” I stopped. “Hey, Millie,” Joe said, coming closer. “Listen, it was…” He paused. “It’s good to see you, Mil.” He gave a small smile, and tears pricked my eyes.
He was forgiving me.
“It’s good to see you, too, Joe,” I whispered.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
THE NEXT DAY, THE BEEPING of a storm warning scrolled across the bottom of the television screen. Huh. A tropical depression was rolling up the coast. Could grow into a hurricane. Well, that would be fun. Storms were fantastic on the Cape. Lots of drama, lots of wind. I didn’t have anywhere to go.
At some point the night before, I had resolved to call Sam. I couldn’t just lie around drooling anymore. He deserved to hear from me, and I had been acting like an ass, avoiding him. I would let him say his piece, assure him that I’d be fine and pretend to have no feelings for him for the rest of my life.
Thus steadfastly determined, I decided to procrastinate just a little bit longer. I dragged the porch furniture into the cellar in case the wind got too rough later on, taped the living-room picture window and made a pot of soup. Glancing at the scudding gray clouds outside, I decided to take advantage of the fact that it wasn’t raining yet and go for a run. Digger stood stock-still as I put on my running shoes, breathlessly hopeful that his dream might come true.
“Let’s go, pal,” I said, and he leaped joyfully for the door.
The wind was growing stronger, and the smell of rain was in the air. Every once in a while a gust would shove at Digger and me, or I’d have to run around a small branch in the road. The wind was cold, and occasionally I could hear a rumble of thunder as the front came closer. It was getting darker by the minute. Perhaps this had been a mistake.
It was. Just as I reached the halfway mark, stinging rain began to pelt down from the black clouds. I had no choice but to run faster. I rounded the turn onto Ocean View Drive, hearing the waves well before I saw them. Sand blew across the road, slicing into my skin, and I opened my stride as much as I could.
By the time I was finished, I was exhausted. My legs ached, my ears burned and I was completely drenched by rain and salt spray. Even Digger was subdued, fur soaked through.
As I plodded up the driveway, I saw Sam sitting in his pickup. He got out, bent to pat my wet dog, then straightened and looked at me, shielding his eyes from the rain. “Hi.”
“Hi, Sam.” I managed to smile a little. “Believe it or not, I was going to call you the minute I got home.”
“Uh-huh.” He didn’t smile back.
“Um, how’s your shoulder?”
“It’s fine.” He waited until I sighed. It was time.
“Come on in,” I said, opening the back door. Turning on some lights, I grabbed a towel. Drying off Digger meant that I didn’t have to look at Sam. Digger moaned joyfully at the brisk rubdown. When I released him, he immediately went to Sam’s leg for a little romance.
“No, Digger.” Sam bent to remove Digger’s front legs from his shin. “Millie—”
“Is it okay if I just grab a quick shower? I’m not trying to stall, I’m just afraid the power’s going to go out.”