Fuckin’ A, man.
I rush outside, praying she hasn’t moved, which she has. She’s moved, alright. She’s pacing, awkwardly so, biting a piece of the towel as she shakes her hand. If she grabbed that cast iron with her hands, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s blistered.
“Oh, there you are. Is it okay in there? Do I need to call 911? The alarm stopped, though. Are you okay? Is there a fire?” She continues pacing, spitting out questions as if this were an interrogation. I step forward and clasp her arm.
“Still,” I whisper, and she does. “Everything is fine in there. Are you alright?”
“Yes,” she whispers, tears filling her eyes. “No,” she adds.
Um, don’t cry. I don’t know what to do if she cries.
“Everything is ruined. My foot and my hand hurt. There’s smoke everywhere, Lilly is going to kill me, and I ruined my dinner.”
“Do you have allergies?” I ask. The one thing I know I can fix right this second.
“What?”
“Do you have allergies?”
“No.”
“Can you, um, cover your butt for me?” I grunt. Cover your butt? Cover your butt?
There’s a question behind her eyes.
“I’m going to pick you up and take you to my cabin. I have clothes you can wear there, and I can take a look at your injuries. Your cabin is full of smoke, and I don’t think you should stay there, at least not for now.”
She nods, filling me with instant relief. She pulls her towel tighter around her and murmurs, “I can walk.”
I shake my head and point to her foot. I don’t need to say anything for her to know what I mean. She stares at the space between her cabin and mine, lets out a heavy sigh, and nods ever so slightly.
“I’m gonna pick you up now, okay?”
“Mm-hmm.”
I hold the hand that isn’t burned and lift her off the ground, the towel touching my arm instead of her bare ass like before. I’m so focused on not touching her anywhere inappropriate, I miss when her expression shifts from sad and worried to amused, but she’s smiling now.
“Something funny?” I ask, not daring to look at her again. Not because I don’t want to, but because I’m afraid I might get lost in those pretty blues of hers, or get caught staring at the single freckle adorning her cheek.
“Laugh not to cry, my dad would say, so I’m trying.”
I nod, stepping through my front door, past the small rocking chair in the foyer, and set her down on the worn, coffee-colored couch in the living room. I walk away, or try to, at least. “Wait!”
“Yes?” I turn to face her.
“Where are you going?” She looks frail and young. How did I not notice before how young she looks? Oh, because you were too preoccupied with noticing everything else about her, that’s why.
“To get you clothes.”
Her eyes drift downward, startled at the expanse of her bare skin, as if for the first time, she realizes she’s naked. A red heat begins at the base of her throat, climbing swiftly until it paints her cheeks. “Yeah, go ahead,” she adds.
I live here on my couch, the one I dragged with me from Florida, the only thing I kept from the house I built with the woman I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with. The woman I abandoned in the name of career ladder-climbing, who left me for a man who could give her all the things I couldn’t. She had everything she wanted, except the one thing she needed—me. So, whenthe divorce was finalized, and she wanted to keep the house, I just kept that couch. It was my parents’ first purchase when they moved to the States, and they gave it to me when I moved out. So, I kept it. If I’m not sleeping or working, I’m on it. I love it.
I hand her a pair of sweat pants and a shirt I’m sure she’ll swim in. “There’s a bath?—”
“Over there. I know. I grew up here, remember?”
I nod. I forgot who she is for a split second, and that’s something I can’t afford to do. She limps away from me, disappearing into the guest bathroom, and I get busy fixing her a plate. I wasn’t expecting company tonight, or any night for that matter, so I hope she likes sandwiches.
