Just A Little Romance

by Mary Jane Russell

  Sam covered the tiny gnarled hand with her own. “I’m honored to try this. I have complete faith in you. I didn’t even sneak a peanut butter and jelly sandwich before coming over.”

  Ava smiled. She munched on cheese and her favorite stone ground wheat crackers. “I’m so thankful that my sense of taste has not diminished.” She closed her eyes. “This takes me back to a trip to Holland after the war.”

  “As in World War II?”

  “Of course. I know, before your time.” Ava glanced toward the kitchen.

  Sam followed Ava’s look. “May I be of any help?” The antique butcher’s block centered in the half of the kitchen closest to the dining room was covered with chafing dishes and warmers with tiny flames dancing.

  “It’s staged.” Ava smiled. “It took me all day, but we have a first course of Maine crab cakes with remoulade sauce, an entrée of salmon roulade on mashed potatoes, a salad of greens with pears and candied walnuts, and a dessert of Belgian chocolate brownies.”

  “My Lord.” Sam was genuinely overwhelmed. “We should set you up with a restaurant.”

  Ava shook her head. “I’m too much an academic by nature. I’d allow something to burn to a crisp while I reread a passage in a book. Gourmet cooking is a full-time, fine art that takes a singular passion.” She finished her wine and held out her arm. “I will ask your help in rising from the sofa. My back is a little tired from being on my feet so long today.”

  “Mine aches in sympathy just from thinking of all the work involved with this meal.” Sam stood and gently pulled Ava to her feet.

  Ava stood for a moment as her balance stabilized. She led the way through the kitchen. “We’ll use the dining room tonight. I have my wedding china, crystal, and silver on the table. I haven’t had place settings out in years. Not a single piece broken in services for eight. It took me as long yesterday to clear half of the table as to do the cooking today—I found projects long forgotten about.” Ava chuckled. “More to do.”

  Sam stopped in the wide-cased opening and held her breath. Half of the table was worthy of Better Homes and Gardens.

  “Can you believe I crocheted the place mats myself to match the pink in the china?” Ava beamed at her efforts.

  Sam chuckled. “It’s beautiful, and the projects teetering on the opposite end of the table just make the room homey.”

  As Sam started into the dining room, Ava reached across the butcher’s block for the first course serving dish. The long sleeve of her dress caught on the handle of the adjacent chafing dish. Rather than reach to free herself, Ava jerked her arm and toppled the dish off the stand, exposing her arm to the flame of the warming gel. Before Ava was able to react, the sleeve of her dress caught fire. Ava raised and lowered her arm, inadvertently fanning the flame. She stutter-stepped between butcher block and sink, not processing what to do.

  Sam grabbed a linen napkin from the table setting and cornered Ava against the cabinets. She wrapped the flames, encapsulating the lower sleeve of Ava’s dress as she pulled Ava away from the butcher’s block. Sam quickly guided Ava to the nearest chair at the dining table. She knelt on the floor and raised the linen napkin to look at Ava’s wrist. The blue silk was blackened in an elliptical shape about the diameter of a dessert plate and adhered to Ava’s skin.

  Tears ran down Ava’s face. “I’ve ruined dinner and my dress.”

  “Sweetheart, I don’t give a flip about the food, and you possess more formal dresses than I do sneakers. I’m concerned about your arm.” Sam returned to the kitchen and used the wall phone to dial 911. Sam glanced at the neat row of prescription bottles on the kitchen counter and knew not to take a chance with an injury to someone’s Ava age. She gave the address, pertinent information about Ava, and a description of the wound to the dispatcher as she stretched the phone cord to the dining room. “The ambulance will be here in five minutes or less,” she repeated, thanking the dispatcher. “We’re lucky to be so close to a fire station.” Sam returned to Ava’s side. “Is it very bad?”

  “I think my pride is hurt worse than my arm.” Ava motioned for a tissue. “It happened so quickly. Can’t we just rinse it in the sink? I’ll go to my GP tomorrow if I need to.”

  Sam shook her head. “No, let’s have this checked now. You’d try to tough it out and end up making it worse. It’s too big and appears to be blistered beneath the fabric.”

  Ava nodded. “Do we have to call Donnie?”

  Sam watched the woman and understood the thought process. “Let’s wait and see what the ER doc says. You can decide about telling Don later.”

  Ava was satisfied with Sam’s logic since it would save a trip to the doctor the next day and not involve her son now. They heard the heavy vibration of the ambulance idling on the street.

  Sam opened the front door and was amazed by the size of the truck that had been dispatched; close behind was a firetruck. She couldn’t fault the county for its protocol when she was the one who stated a kitchen fire had caused injury.

  Sam was unable to keep track of all the names as paramedics checked Ava and firefighters inspected the kitchen.

  “The newer warmers that are like burner units are much safer,” the last fireman said as he went out the front door.

  Sam bit back her response. She went to Ava as the tiny woman was being tucked into an upright stretcher carried by two of the men—no chance of wheeling the usual gurney through the cluttered house. “I’ll lock your door and follow in my car.”

  Ava nodded, supervising the gathering of her medications in a ziplock bag.

  Sam considered changing clothes but didn’t want to chance losing sight of Ava. She wanted to be on the truck’s bumper as they drove to the hospital. The strobe light had already drawn a crowd in the neighborhood. Sam waved to Haley. “I’ll call you later. Ava burned her arm, but she’s okay.”

  “We’ll keep an eye on your houses,” Haley called back so that the crowd gathered in the street heard her. KD gave the bystanders a look that scattered them faster than anything the county employees said.

  Sam stared along the corridor as she followed Ava toward a cubicle, not believing that she was once again seeing the blond hair with black roots. “Why me, Lord?” Sam said to herself.

  “What, dear?” Ava asked.

  “Nothing.” Sam ducked her head while wondering how a six-foot-tall redhead in a teal evening dress might look inconspicuous.

  “A bit overdressed, aren’t you?” Lisa asked. She motioned to an empty cubicle for the nursing assistant to take Ava into. She knelt down and looked Ava in the eyes. “I’m Lisa Ramey, as some of you already know. She didn’t burn you, did she?”

  “Heavens, no. She saved me from being burned any worse after I had an accident in the kitchen.” Ava was flustered by the animosity toward Sam.

  “Do you just have a gift for being around when people have accidents or are you into pain?” Lisa stood and looked at Sam. “That dress really is the wrong color for your hair and eyes unless you’re going for the Madea-does-dinner look.”

  “As if your opinion matters to me,” Sam said.

  Lisa carefully unwrapped Ava’s arm. “That’s not bad at all. It looks to be a partial thickness burn—second degree with blistering.” Lisa held up the plastic bag filled with prescriptions. “I’ll bring these back as soon as I log the contents on your record.” She hustled out of the cubicle.

  “Do you two know each other?” Ava asked Sam.

  “Only from here. She thinks I hit Haley, then there was the hiking accident.” Sam balked at telling Ava about the cheerleader incident.

  Ava chuckled. “So she has you pegged as some sort of Boston Strangler?”

  Sam nodded.

  They were silent when the resident came in to assess the wound. He carefully removed the silk from the blistered area. “Not bad, but you were right to let us take care of this just because of the size of the burned area. Lisa will dress this for you.”

  “We can’t wait,” Sam said under her b
reath as Ava thanked the doctor.

  Lisa returned with a tray of supplies. “We’ll leave the blister, make sure to clean around it, and put an Adaptic dressing over it.” She placed the plastic bag of pill bottles beside Ava and talked while she worked. “Did the same doc prescribe all of these?”

  “No, I have a general practitioner, a rheumatologist, and an endocrinologist.” Ava pronounced the specialties without faltering.

  “You need to let all of them know everything you’re taking.” Lisa looked at Sam. “Can you make sure she does?”

  “I think I can manage that.” Each word she spoke was clipped with anger. Sam was still upset about the comment concerning her dress.

  Lisa sighed. “Been having these mood swings long?”

  “Am I going to have to separate you two?” Ava asked. “Sam, you should be ashamed for rising to the bait of someone stressed out and overworked. You, my dear, shouldn’t be so quick to jump to conclusions. Sam is always helping someone, and my guess is so are you.” Ava spoke first to one woman, then the other as though petulant children.

  They each looked duly chastised.

  “Kiss and make up,” Ava said. She pointed to her cheek and stared at Sam. “Give her a kiss.”

  “Only for you, Ava.” Sam kissed Lisa’s cheek. “Don’t get any ideas. She made me.”

  Lisa returned the gesture. “What are you—five?”

  “Four-and-a-half,” Sam said.

  Lisa’s expression softened. “So you really didn’t clock the little brunette.”

  “No way. I only pick on people my own size.” She struck a bodybuilder’s pose for Lisa and almost fell over. “Haley is in a very bad relationship. Her girlfriend is the hitter.”

  Lisa nodded. “Sorry. Hang on.” She returned and handed Sam a brochure from the local women’s shelter. “Good people work there. They know how to help your friend. Don’t let it go on too long, thinking you can manage the situation.” She inspected Ava’s bandage. “You, my dear, may go home, but let your GP know what happened tonight and all the meds you’re taking. Insist that he cross-checks everything.”

  Ava nodded. “I understand and will do so.”

  Lisa looked Sam up and down. “I lied. The dress looks great on you, but I don’t want to see you back here any time soon. Okay?”

  Sam nodded. “Okay.” She watched Lisa walk away.

  “She likes you,” Ava said.

  “Yeah, right, like she likes a flu outbreak,” Sam said forlornly.

  “You’re a little slow on the uptake sometimes, dear.” Ava clucked her tongue. “She’s interested, and she’s a good woman.”

  “Can you get her number for me?” Sam said.

  “This young lady already gave it to me.” Ava patted the hand of the nursing assistant who helped her into a wheelchair to leave the hospital.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Sam had learned her lesson. She buttoned her raincoat over her fuchsia pajamas and carried a duffel bag packed with clothes for the next morning. She didn’t care that she was only a block from her house. She approached Paul’s door and almost turned around and went home—loud voices emanated through the walls of the brick ranch. “Deliver me from more drama.” Sam knocked instead of letting herself in unannounced as usual.

  Paul held the door open. He wore what used to be called gentleman’s pajamas—baby blue tailored pajamas with navy piping at the collar, cuffs, pocket, and hems.

  Angela Selz, Paul’s twenty-three-year-old daughter, stood in the corner of the living room blocking the television with her hands on her hips, back rigid, and cheeks flushed.

  “Anyone for Survivor?” Sam asked as she looked from father to daughter. She shed her coat and knew that the simple evening of watching television was not going to happen.

  “Oh, great, it’s Lucy and Desi reunited.” Angela threw up her hands. “There’s no talking to you now that your sidekick is here.” She glared at her father.

  Sam walked to the sofa that was positioned diagonally in the center of the room and flopped. “This is what I’ve been looking forward to all week.” Sam smiled at Angela. “What has your knickers in a knot?”

  Angela did a double take but wouldn’t ask Sam what knickers were. “He won’t rent an apartment for me so that I can get away from Mom.” Angela made the accusation with all the flair of announcing the end of days.

  Sam gasped. “No!”

  Angela bit back a retort.

  “Tell her the rest.” Paul sat on the arm of the sofa closest to Sam.

  Angela brushed her brown, salon-streaked blond hair out of her eyes. She jammed her hands in the pockets of her deliberately torn jeans. “I need to stay in school. I’ve been accepted into the master’s program for my other major.”

  “Which declaration is this?” Sam asked.

  “European Studies,” Angela said with barely contained fury.

  Sam looked at Paul, then back to Angela. “And you already have a master in?”

  “Financial Engineering.”

  “To do what?”

  “I want to work in Europe for one of the major oil industries. At least they’re innovative since all their plants were wiped out way back in the 1940s,” Angela said.

  Sam nodded. “I’m guessing the key word here is ‘work’?” She looked to Paul.

  He closed his eyes to collect his thoughts. “Angie, it’s been a stretch for me to pay your college costs. I have a second mortgage instead of equity in my home and carry way too much debt on credit cards. I can’t swing an apartment and pay your mother’s alimony.”

  Angela huffed. “You could if you would take a real job instead of spending so much time writing.”

  Sam recoiled at the vindictive tone of Angela’s voice.

  “How much of this does your mother know?” Paul asked.

  Angela’s lips tightened into a narrow line.

  “That’s what I thought. You always come to me first and try your usual guilt trip because dad’s gay.” Paul stood and went to the countertop set in the arch cut in the wall between the living room and kitchen. He poured two glasses of wine, took a long drink from one, and handed the other to Sam.

  Angela cleared her throat and held up empty hands.

  “I’m not serving alcohol to someone who’s going to be driving in a few minutes,” Paul said as he sat beside Sam.

  “Gee, Dad, that’s subtle. Are you telling me to leave?”

  “I do have plans.” Paul tapped the remote and pointed to the big-screen television in the corner of the room. “This conversation is going nowhere. I suggest you talk to your mother. Her alimony would cover the rent on an apartment. She makes more than I do now anyway.” He stared at his daughter. “There’s no way in hell I’ll give up my writing. It’s the only thing in my life that keeps me sane.”

  Sam cleared her throat.

  “Besides my best bud.” Paul reached for Sam’s hand.

  “Fine.” Angela stomped out of the house, slamming the door behind her.

  Sam sipped the Pinot Grigio. “How many bottles of this do you have?”

  “Three chilled and that many more in the pantry.” Paul leaned back and let his head rest on the thick cushion of the sofa.

  Sam went to the counter and brought the bottle to the coffee table. “Thought I’d save us having to get up and down so often.”

  Paul chuckled. “She’s never going to earn her own living. There’s something else going on with her staying in school, and I don’t think I want to know what it is.”

  “You guys spoiled her, and I would’ve done the same. I never realized how fortunate I was to have two parents who made me follow a routine and do chores for an allowance.” Sam felt as though inhaling the wine.

  “I know. Divorce created our own special monster, but how do I fix her now?” Paul expected no solution.

  “Tough love?” Sam asked.

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Jane will kill you for the alimony suggestion,” Sam said. She shuddered at the t
hought of Paul’s bitter ex-wife.

  “You know it.” He sighed. “Let’s take a vacation.”

  “Spend more money to avoid a money problem? You’re catching on to the banking business.” Sam raised her glass.

  “Savannah, New Orleans, or Key West?” Paul tried to tempt her.

  “P-town in October.” Sam nodded, closing her eyes to envision all those women.

  “Leaf peeping on the way. We’ll drive to save plane fare.” Paul touched glasses.

  “I wish.”

  Paul changed channels. “Too busy at work?”

  Sam nodded. “I have three new startup businesses coming in at the first of the month and one that it breaks my heart to have to serve notice on to leave because of being in arrears for six months.”

  “I’ll take crunching numbers for a large company any day rather than being in business for myself.” Paul set his glass down. “That’s what worries me about Angie—she places no value on work and has no concept of starting at the bottom and clawing her way up the corporate ladder. She expects to walk into a corner office and a six-figure salary.”

  “Reality is that she’ll be lucky to have a cubicle she can’t see over and make enough for rent and groceries.” Sam savored the wine.

  “God, I’m so glad you came over to cheer me up.” Paul covered his face with a throw pillow.

  “Feed me.” Sam elbowed him.

  Paul went to the kitchen and returned with two dinner plates piled high with crepes and freshly sliced peaches.

  “I think I just came.” Sam accepted the dish, her mouth salivating.

  “Easy, girl, there’s more food in the kitchen. You’ll be sated tonight with no pressure from a date.”

  “And I get to sleep over?” Sam asked.

  Paul nodded. “And you get to sleep over. I put fresh sheets on the bed this morning—six hundred count.”

  Sam sighed. “I’m in heaven.”

  Neither Sam nor Paul thought it strange that at least once a month they spent a platonic night together, enjoying not having an empty bed for a change.

  Paul’s cell phone jangled a 1920s ringtone. “That’ll be Scott.”