“Sophie Turner,” called the red-haired nurse from the doorway. I loved her pink Skechers shoes.
Sophie pulled me to go back with them. I walked timidly alongside of them back to the examination room. The walls were cream and sterile, almost hurting my eyes if I stared long enough at them. I imagined how many germs resided in the corners of the speckled floor tiles. All I could focus on was the sound of the nurse’s sneakers suction cupping the floor as we traipsed through the hall. Knock on wood, it’d been a long time since Rose had been sick. And the pediatrician back home had lovely artwork on all the walls of whoever was hot on Cartoon Network at the moment—something that made the children feel at ease.
I stood against the wall as Sam took his place by the exam table with his daughter. The nurse took her vitals and the doctor looked inside the little girl’s ears and throat. I had a moment where I imagined Rose. And him. How in the beginning, I never thought for one second of not telling him about her because of his parenting skills or style. It was all because I didn’t want Rose anywhere near the toxic levels of Gennifer.
“Well,” the doctor said when he returned to the room. “I’m glad Mom suggested that urine sample. I think what we have here is the beginning of a kidney infection.”
Sam’s brow folded. “A kidney infection? Is that treatable? How in the world did she get a kidney infection?”
The doctor shook his head. “Could be various reasons. But, because we caught it before it became a problem, I’ll just prescribe an antibiotic. She’ll feel better in a day or so.”
“I’m concerned with how she got it. As far as I can remember, this is the first time.”
“It’s hard to say. Do you drink a lot, Sophie?” He looked at the little girl, hugging tight to Sam’s arm.
“Yeah.”
“Well, it could be that she was dehydrated, or maybe she isn’t going to the bathroom enough. I’m not sure, but the medicine will help. Just make sure you follow up with her doctor in a few days.”
“Thank you.” Sam shook the man’s hand.
“You’re welcome. And great call, Mom.” He held his hand out for me.
“I’m not…” My voice wavered, wondering whether or not to get into the logistics with a man we’d never see again. “Thanks. Have a great day,” I finally said, smiling.
Sam looked at me. I tugged at my neck and looked at the ground. What was God doing to me? That dumb, nosey neighbor, Mr. Pfizer. All I wanted was a quick glance…to see him walk into the door of this house. To confirm he was still living and breathing. To see he wasn’t a figment of my imagination. To peg him as my ex-husband and get on with my life. And now here I was—getting credit for being the mom to Sophie and warding off looks of Sam. Kill me now.
We picked up her prescription before we headed back home. There was a pharmacy right down from the clinic. I sat in the car, staring out the window, and began mentally preparing myself for the departure from this family I left so long ago. It wasn’t easy back then, but without Gennifer rearing her ugly head now, there was nothing really to run away from. I imagined the hug I’d give to Sophie and the handshake I’d give to Sam. No, maybe not a handshake. Then I’d just stare at my hand, feel his skin on mine, and be wistful the whole way home. No. Just a nod. A smile even. “Good-bye, Sam. It was one heck of a drink.” And then I’d pull out. Drive 80 mph to my hotel, running stoplights and stop signs, pack my overnight bag as if I were a fugitive, and wait at the airport until I got an empty seat to fly back home. And I’d never leave again. Maybe for extra retribution, I’d go over to Maggie’s house. Enough time had passed for her to hate me. I’d beg her forgiveness and then confess all my sins of Sam. It would get her mind off Michael for a couple of minutes. See that someone had a bigger problem than her. Yep, that was the plan.
The car jerked as we pulled into the driveway. My stomach clenched. I shouldn’t have eaten the sandwich on the plane ride home. What was I thinking? Oh yeah, that it bided time and afforded me not to say anything to Sam because I had bread in my mouth.
Sam turned off the car and looked at his watch. It was just after 4:00.
“Let’s get you inside so you can take your medicine, princess.”
I looked in the backseat. Sophie’s eyes were glassier than before. I reached out and felt her head. She was very warm. I sighed. What person could peel rubber at this point?
“Sarah, can you carry in Milton?” She handed me her whale.
“Um, sure.”
“I can take it,” Sam said.
“No, Daddy. I want Sarah to. And you can take my books.”
“Sweetie, Sarah is here to get her car. She’s not staying.”
Killer of all dreams and hopes. Just get it over with and call me as you see me, Sam Turner. I know he was trying to make it easy for me, but when I saw Sophie’s expression change, I couldn’t bear it. “Give me the whale. Come on, Soph. Let’s go inside.”
She gave a tiny smile and crawled out the back door, bent over slightly with a hollow look settled in her eyes. I looked at Sam and did that face when you don’t know what else to do. I couldn’t let down this little girl when she was in the grips of kidney pain. I’d rather make her feel better than rip her to shreds. Kill me again.
Sophie stayed close to me. There was no way this was going to be an easy getaway.
“Let me see.” I pulled the bottle of medicine from its packaging. “It says to take with food. What would you like to eat, sweetie?”
Her weak eyes enlarged and the beginning of a grin perched on her lips. “How about one of your pancakes? But you don’t have to make them into anything, just circles will be okay.”
Sam was piling her things by the stairs and turned around. “Princess, Sarah can’t—”
“Can’t remember where you keep the mixing bowls.” I flashed a look toward Sam. “Let me get cleaned up a little. You go lay down and rest, and I’ll whip you up a pancake.”
“Yay!”
Funny how young people can still muster up enthusiasm after a diagnosis.
I smiled at Sam and went to the sink to wash up and formulate Plan B—feed Sophie and then disappear into the night. Only it would help if it got dark. The summer hours made it light until about 9:00. By all accounts, this day would never end.
I was pulling out the skillet I’d just made Sam’s omelet in a day ago, when he came into the kitchen. I tried my best not to notice. I was on a mission—make a pancake, feed a girl, and leave without forming any more strings.
“Sarah, I know you wanted to leave. I can make her something.”
“No, really, I’ve got this.” I switched on the oven to keep everything warm. “It won’t take more than a couple of minutes.”
He walked to the fridge and pulled out the milk and eggs while I found the bowl and box of mix. I kept my eyes lowered to the counter and my mind to a low hum…trying to think of anything but the proximity of Sam at that moment and reminisce on his kiss from last night, hoping he wouldn’t ask again what was holding me back.
I bumped into him while reaching for the oil spray. I think he was hovering longer on purpose, grabbing a glass from a nearby cabinet. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s my fault.” I grabbed the can and walked back to the stove.
“I can’t say she isn’t going to bombard you with questions of why you aren’t staying.”
“I’ll explain to her. It’ll be fine.” Why wasn’t there any noise in this place? Seriously, wasn’t there a television anywhere that the volume can go up, or a parade of whoever who can march through the kitchen, banging cymbals and blowing horns?
“Did you need any help?” His smooth, unwavering voice broke my crazy thinking.
I shook my head and concentrated on the job at hand.
“I’ll pour her a glass of orange juice. I just hope we have some. I was going to go to the store before she came home—I just thought I had until Tuesday.”
I broke the egg, poured the milk, and stirred the mixture. All the while keepin
g my head down. “She could always drink water. It would help if she’s dehydrated.”
The buzzer on the oven went off. Finally, some noise. I turned around and sprayed the skillet. The batter was just the right consistency; it poured very evenly on the hot surface. I heard Sam behind me, clanking glasses, closing cabinets and the refrigerator door. I shut my eyes, waiting for the bubbles on the batter to pop so I could turn it over.
“Since you’re a counselor, maybe you could help out with a problem I’m having with Sophie.”
“Sure, what is it?” My posture straightened and I poked at the blob of batter.
“There’s this girl at school who seems to get her jollies out of ridiculing the way Sophie dresses. She was in tears one day when I came home. She said she wasn’t going to wear dresses anymore. I don’t know what the girl’s problem is. She needs a good ol’ fashion talking-to, if you know what I mean? Sophie’s a pretty girl, who now thinks she looks stupid when she wears anything other than pants.”
“The girl who is doing the tormenting is insecure about her own self and the way she dresses, or she’s just being a little jerk. I’d have to meet her to know which one was true.”
Holding the spatula with one hand, I opened the oven door and pulled out the plate. Only I didn’t realize it was too hot to hold without a hot pad. Immediately, I dropped the plate on the floor and watched it shatter into pieces. My other hand clutched the spatula.
Sam ran over to me, grabbing my burned hand, and rushed me over to the sink. He turned on the cold water and held it under the stream. His body pushed against mine—his skin was on my skin as he tenderly held my arm. I turned and looked at him. Slowly he tilted his head. I saw his eyes closing as he moved toward my lips. I was ready. Ready to give in to my foolish wants and kiss him. I’d spent all day watching him…his lips, his hands, remembering what it felt to feel each of them. He was almost to my face, his stubble coming into focus, when Sophie walked in.
“What was that, Daddy?”
Sam’s head jerked back. “A plate broke. Everything’s fine.”
I quickly pulled a towel from the edge of the sink and dried off my hand. I looked at the broken plate and walked over, kneeling to clean up the mess I’d made. Sam grabbed a plastic grocery bag from underneath the sink and held it for me to slip the broken pieces inside.
“Are they finished? Do we eat now?” Sophie persisted.
“Go ahead and grab a seat, sweetie. One is ready. I’ll get you the butter.”
I washed my hands and placed the finished pancake on a plate for Sophie, and went in search of the syrup. Sam came up behind me and opened a cabinet I hadn’t checked. His body brushed against mine and the warmth he radiated made my mind race.
“Here, I’ll fix it for her. You can finish up another one if you want.”
I turned to him, his face still comfortably close. “Did you want one? I have plenty of batter.”
“Are you eating?”
I thought a second. “Sure.”
“Then I’ll have one, too.”
I walked back to the stove and poured two circles of batter in the warm skillet, taking a deep breath as I watched their edges form. So many things were processing in my mind—Rose, Sam and how I felt, how I still felt about him, Sophie, my life as a single mom and how easy it would be to get caught up in this pretend life once again. This time with no fear of Gennifer. Well, at least a clear picture she existed, but unlikely she’d rear her head. It was all so much to think about.
I set a plate down in front of him. He looked in my eyes when I did. Something was obviously processing in his mind, too.
“Daddy, aren’t they great?”
“They are, and don’t forget to take your pill. Let me give you one now.” He opened the tan bottle and poured out a white tablet, sitting it next to her drink.
“I still can’t get over she can swallow a pill. You’ve gotten so big.” I smiled at her, watching as she took a drink and plopped the pill in her mouth. “Do you guys still go to the beach?”
“Sometimes,” Sophie said.
I sat down next to the little girl and poured syrup on my pancake. I cut into it, the sticky liquid stringing from the plate to my mouth as I took a bite. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I began eating. Sophie had finished hers already. I reached over and felt her head. She was warm, but not as warm as when I checked her in the car.
“Sam, I think you need to give her Tylenol, too.”
He got up from his stool and went to the cabinet where the medicine was stored. “One chewable coming up.” He poured out a pink pill and winked at his daughter. “Bottoms up.”
She giggled. “Daddy, why do you always say that?”
“I don’t know, silly girl. After you take it, I think you should go lay down. You’ve got some rest to catch up on.”
She swigged down the last of her drink and darted off, turning around before she got to the steps. “You are staying, aren’t you, Sarah? I made sure your room was okay. I even pulled back the covers just like you used to do for my bed, right before bedtime.”
“You remember that?”
“Yes, of course. Then we’d lay in it and you’d read me a book. We can do that, too.” Her dimples were on display when she smiled after saying it.
I looked at Sam. “I think you’re too old for those books, don’t you? You probably read chapter books before bed now. Ones without pictures.”
“Sometimes.” Her smile faded.
“I’ll see what I can do. You go on up.”
Sam turned on the music and cleaned up the eggs and milk. I sat, watching him. Wondering how I was going to manage to exit this walk down memory lane. It would be so easy to get tripped up here. Open myself for possibilities, sell myself some easy goods, and pretend Colorado didn’t exist. But I could never deny the fact Rose existed. And the fact that Sam didn’t know was exactly why nothing could ever come of my visit here.
I stood and took my dish to the sink for rinsing. After I turned off the water, Sam took my hand and began dancing with me around the kitchen. I laughed. “I see you’ve perfected the kitchen waltz.”
“I have. I’m glad you noticed.” His breath felt warm on my neck when he answered.
“Sam—”
He twirled me around just as I was going to say I had to go. Just as quickly, he pulled me back toward him. My body crashed into his and our eyes locked. I freed my hands and stepped aside.
“I’ve got to go and read that book now. I don’t want to keep her waiting.”
He bit his lip as his shoulders shrugged a bit. “Okay, sure.”
I rushed up the stairs and stopped before reaching her room, trying my best to collect myself. There was no denying the chemistry between me and Sam was still there. I had to figure out now what to do about it.
“Hey, girlie.” I peeked around the door.
She was lying on her bed, a pillow tucked behind her head. An open book rested in her hands, other paperbacks beside her.
I plopped down beside her, picking up a few, reading their titles. “Hmm, quite a collection here. Is this your to-be-read pile?”
“I’ve read most of them, but there’s parts I like to read again.”
“I see. Well, it’s sort of hard to read something to you that you know what’s going to happen.”
“Then tell me a story. You know, like before. Make one up.” She began to sit up taller.
I laughed. “I somehow think you’re a bit smarter now, and you’ll see that the big bad wolf is right around the corner. I’m afraid that’s as extensive as my imagination permits.”
“Then tell me about you. What have you been doing while you haven’t been here? Tell me all about it.”
I squeezed closer to her, taking her little hand and comparing it to mine. Her tiny fingernails had sparkly paint—some of it stained on her cuticles as well. “Let’s see. I moved to Colorado, where I was raised as a little girl. And I got a job in a school where I help young kids deal with all
sorts of things.” I took a deep breath, trying to think of something else. “Oh, and I have a fish. His name is Pork Chop. And one day Pork Chop wanted to climb out of his tank and see where I’d gone when the lights went out. You know, seeing as he only got to float around in the same bowl, twenty-four seven. So he did. He jumped out, fluttered down the hall, squeezed underneath my door, and…” I looked over at her, listening intently to my nutty story.
“And? What happened? What did he see?” Her eyes were large and her mouth was slightly parted.
“I was in my room, swimming in my own tank. You see, he didn’t realize it, but I was a fish, too. Only I became one at night.”
Her eyes were glued to me as I broke out in laughter. “Sophie, do you think that’s crazy?”
“No, no, I don’t. Do you become a person by morning?”
“Uh, huh. Now you tell me a story.”
“What kind? I don’t know any. I can’t make them up like you.”
“Tell me about school. Tell me who your friends are.”
“I don’t have many. Just Cara, Phillip, and Tasha. And Francine—she’s the one who just took me on vacation. We all eat lunch and talk about how the others are going to turn into zombies and attack the teachers.” She raised her hands like a werewolf ready to attack. “But we’ll be safe, because I know of the emergency hatch.” Her chest puffed out with an air of a know-it-all.
“You do now? And what about any bullies? Do you have those?”
“Nope, not really.”
“Okay.” I didn’t want to pry. “What about your dad? Does he have any bullies?”
She giggled. “Daddy? I don’t think so.”
I wanted to keep it light so she didn’t think my talk was planned. “Do you like who your daddy is dating?”
“Jo-Ann?”
“Yes. Is she fun?”
“Not like you. She just comes over…” She did an eye roll. “They eat dinner, which I always eat in my room on those nights, and then they talk for what seems all night. She doesn’t really hang out with me like you did.”
Pursuing Sarah (Sarah Series Book 2) Page 18
