by Brandy Bruce
She cared. She cared enough to fight with him.
He couldn’t even remember the last time that he’d had someone in his life who cared that much—besides Company 51.
And she was right. He’d taken on too much. He couldn’t heal if he couldn’t rest.
The problem was…neither could she.
Ethan stepped outside through the back door for a quick breath of fresh air. He leaned against the building and talked to the only family member he had who cared about every detail of his life.
Father, I’m in pain. What do I do now? I’ve put off the MRI because every day I’m busy here at the café. But I can’t keep doing that. I need help. It’s just so important to me that this café is a success. I’m responsible for it. There’s no one else. I’ve poured almost everything I have into it.
And what do I do about Isabella? I can see how she’d think that her opinion doesn’t really matter to me based on my decisions, but that’s not true. I want to know her opinion on everything. And it does matter to me.
Maybe it’s just bad timing for the two of us. Maybe when things slow down…
“Hey, Chef. Orders are picking up,” Mark said, sticking his head out the door.
“I’ll be right in,” Ethan told him.
Lunch picked up and the café had a steady flow of customers, but still Ethan was worried. Once the doors were closed and he had time alone in his office to go over the books, the numbers worried him. Mick had told him that some months would be better than others. He’d invested so much, he couldn’t stop the anxiety that hung over him like a cloud. What if the café didn’t make enough money? What if he couldn’t go back to Company 51? What then?
There was a knock at the door and Jenny poked her head in.
“The dining room is clean, Ethan. I’m leaving.” She walked in and set a bowl on his desk. “You never stopped to eat. I set aside some stew for you before the kitchen was cleaned.”
“Thanks, Jenny!” Ethan took the bowl in his hands.
“No problem,” she said before ducking out. Ethan sat back, wishing he could somehow eradicate the pain in his back, and breathed in the scent of the stew before taking a generous bite. He savored the taste, thinking of his mother. Along with the physical pain he felt, a sense of sorrow at the thought of his mother came over him.
I will never leave you.
The words from Scripture entered his mind again. A comforting and unwavering promise.
Chapter 14
Thursday afternoon Isabella waited impatiently for the elevator doors to open. Once they finally did, she rushed through and turned the corner, heading for the NICU. Pushing through the double doors, she jogged up the corridor to where she saw Maggie standing with the doctor. Maggie’s face filled with relief at the sight of her.
“Hey,” Isabella said as she came to a stop. “What’s going on?”
“Bianca’s running a fever. We were slated to be released today, but if her fever doesn’t break, we probably won’t be taking her home.”
Isa nodded. “It’s more important that she’s healthy and ready, Mags. She’ll be home before you know it.”
Maggie took a deep breath and closed her eyes. After a moment, she opened them. “You’re right, Isa. Of course. I just wish—”
Isa touched her friend’s arm, her heart full of understanding for the mixed feelings she was probably experiencing. The doctor spoke to the two of them for a few more minutes and then left them alone with Bianca.
“Is José working?” Isa asked. Maggie nodded.
“He’s working all the time. The medical bills, the regular bills—it’s a lot, Isa. I keep thinking maybe I should go back to work to help out once my maternity leave is up. But then I see Bianca and I feel so strongly that my place is by her right now….”
“Mags,” Isa said firmly. “Bianca’s your daughter. Of course you feel like your place is by her. It’s going to be okay. God will provide.”
Isa bit her lip, praying for the faith to believe her own words. You will, won’t You, Father? You won’t forsake them, right? You know their every need. I know You do. Please help them.
Whether she wanted it to or not, her every thought seemed to turn into a prayer these days. By midnight that night Isa was rolling her shoulders and taking an aspirin for her stiff neck. The E.R. had been moderately busy, enough to keep her from feeling the exhaustion, but she couldn’t quite shake the achiness coming over her. She leaned against the counter as she filled out paperwork. She sniffed, annoyed that her nose seemed to be running.
I’m just tired of being on my feet. A hot shower and a few hours of sleep and I’ll feel better.
As Isa walked to her car after her shift, she made the immediate decision to head home instead of over to her parents’ house. The ache had spread to her shoulders and she felt sure she needed sleep. Eight hours later she woke up, sat up in bed, then fell back onto her pillow.
“Tell me I’m not sick,” she complained out loud.
What is this? Who gets a late-summer cold? The weather hasn’t even started to turn chilly! I have way too much going on in my life to catch a cold in August!
Isa took her temperature. A hundred and one. Achiness touched every part of her body and her head was pounding. Her nose ran like a waterspout. She wrapped her robe around her and checked the clock. It was a little after four o’clock.
Thank goodness it’s Friday and I’m not on the rotation at work tonight. There’s no way I could go in feeling like this.
She took some over-the-counter medicine she had in her cabinet and then climbed back into bed, pulling her comforter up to her nose as she shivered with chills. She called her mother just to be able to tell someone she felt sick, to hear her mother fuss over her and offer sympathy.
Then she fell back asleep and woke up around six, her throat now sore and her energy level lower than ever.
I miss Ethan.
Isa wanted to call him. She wanted him to come over with something delicious that he’d made, ready to take care of her. She tried to steer clear of the depressing notion that if she had a husband, she’d have a constant companion, someone to be with her through sickness and health. Someone to care for her. Again Isa thought about how different she’d expected her life to be by this point. She hated being alone.
Why hasn’t he called? What’s he waiting for? Isa couldn’t understand it. She’d thought for sure Ethan would have called by now. He’d pursued her so intently—now one argument and he disappeared on her for two weeks? It was disappointing. She needed someone who could fight with her if necessary and who would always fight for her.
And she’d thought Ethan was that man.
A knock at the door caused her to jump. Isa carried a box of tissues with her to the front door.
“Mom!” she said with a surprised sniffle. Her mother walked in and set a paper bag on the counter.
“Isabella,” she said, pulling Isa into a warm hug before holding her at arm’s length to inspect her. “Have you taken medicine?”
“Yes, Mom,” Isa answered. “You didn’t have to come all the way over here.”
Her mother immediately moved to begin washing the few dirty dishes in Isa’s kitchen sink. “I wanted to. You need to eat. Look in the sack. I brought vegetable soup,” she said over her shoulder. “There’s a loaf of Italian bread to go with it.”
Isa set out a plastic container of soup and the loaf of bread. Then she reached down and pulled out a leather-bound journal.
“Mom, what’s this?” she asked.
“Oh, I was cleaning out the closet in the guest room, your old room, and I found that. It belongs to you.”
“My journal from high school!” Isa said, clutching it. Her mom looked back at her and grinned.
“Don’t worry. I didn’t read it.”
“Have you heard from Ethan?” her mother asked cautiously as she set the tray on the coffee table. Isa shook her head, reaching for the bowl and swallowing a spoonful of vegetable soup.
“This is delicious, Mom. Thank you.”
“Are you going to call him?” her mother asked, folding her arms.
Isa nibbled on the chunk of bread from the tray and shrugged.
“Maybe. I mean, it’s possible I might one day.”
Her mother smiled, satisfied with the answer. “I wish I could stay longer, but your father needs me at home.”
“How’s Dad today?” Isa asked with interest. “Tell him I’m sorry I couldn’t stop by.”
“Isabella! You don’t have to apologize. We know you have a life outside of us. We want you to. You don’t have to come over so often.”
“I don’t mind. I want to,” Isa insisted. “You’re my family. If I’m not there for you, what good is family? Look at me. I’m sick and here you are, Mom. Helping me. That’s how you raised me to be.”
Her mother’s face softened and she stepped closer, kissing the top of Isa’s head. “Thank you for saying that. Well, your father is doing better.”
“He really is, isn’t he?” Isa echoed. Her mom perched on the arm of the easy chair.
“The surgery was successful. He’s still showing a few of the symptoms, but still, the progress from how he was is remarkable. The best part has been how encouraged he seems. I’ve been afraid—afraid that maybe this is just a dream and any minute he’ll be worse again.” Her mother’s voice was fraught with emotion.
“Mom,” Isa said softly. “It’s normal to feel that way. But he’s doing better. We can all see it. He’s talking easier, he’s moving around easier, he’s not shaking as badly.”
“Yes, I’m grateful,” her mother said even as her eyes were glossy with tears.
“I’m grateful, too,” Isa said with a tug at her heart.
Later, after her mother had left and Isa had finished her soup, she made her way back to bed. Not quite drowsy enough for sleep but without much energy to do more than lie down, she took her old journal to bed with her and started to read. Most entries were typical high school drama—crushes, hurt feelings from girlfriends, annoyance with teachers and her parents, frustration with her appearance. But every now and then she’d find an entry that held more depth, that revealed more of Isa’s teenage heart. About halfway through the journal, Isa heard a ping-pong noise come from her laptop on the nightstand, telling her she’d received a message.
She grabbed the laptop and settled back into her pillows. She opened the message through her social-networking page.
Hey. Do you miss me yet?
The smile on her face was instant. Ethan Carter.
Who are you again? she replied.
Firefighter/cook. Stubborn guy who buys restaurants on a whim when he’s been badly injured.
Isa laughed out loud.
It’s coming back to me now. How are you?
I’m okay. I keep thinking about this girl I know.
Isa sighed. A strong sense of relief coursed through her, along with the emotional flutters that Ethan always seemed to stir in her.
I was too hard on you. I’m sorry.
The apology came easy for her and Isa realized how badly she’d missed Ethan.
No, you were right. How are you?
Sick.
Sick over our fight?
She giggled as she typed.
You wish. I caught a silly summer cold. I’m home in bed with a fever and a box of tissues.
Can I come over?
She bit her lip.
Reread my line above. I AM SICK.
I’ll risk it. I promise to bring chocolate.
No. I don’t want you to get sick. So…why has it taken so long for you to call me?
She held her breath, waiting for his answer.
Will you be mad if I say it’s because I’ve been working too much?
Yes.
Well, I ran into some issues at the restaurant.
If I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard that one…
Okay, okay. One of my waitresses got a better job offer and she subsequently quit. So we’ve been shorthanded and I’ve been scrambling to find a replacement. But I hired someone yesterday.
Isa didn’t respond for a moment.
Isa? I also thought we needed some space.
Her heart hurt at that comment. Was he right? Had they needed space?
She didn’t want space. Space made her nervous. In the past, “space” had always meant “time to reevaluate whether we’re a good match” or “time to look for someone else.”
Isa? You’re making me nervous. Say something.
She took a deep breath. Maybe it was the cold medicine or just the fact that she felt crummy and weak. But she suddenly didn’t feel able to keep being witty. To keep playing along. She needed something real. She started typing before she could talk herself out of it.
I was worried. I missed you, Ethan.
Isa counted the seconds while she waited for Ethan to respond.
I missed you first.
Chapter 15
Ethan looked through bleary eyes at the clock above his fireplace. Ten-oh-eight. He and Isa had messaged back and forth for just an hour before she’d needed to take more medicine and try to get some sleep. He’d fallen asleep on his sofa. He struggled to sit up, grumbling at the tightness in his back. Falling asleep on the sofa never did him any favors when it came to dealing with back pain. Feeling instantly guilty that he still hadn’t gone in for an MRI, he forced himself to do a few of the stretches that Keira was always encouraging him to do and then ambled into the kitchen. After pouring a bowl of cereal, Ethan took it with him onto the tiny terrace of his apartment. He sat in the one chair that fit on the balcony and looked out at the night sky.
Chatting online with Isabella had told him several things. While he often appreciated space when feeling frustrated with people, Isabella did not. He thought back to her silence after his comment about needing space and he knew without words that space wasn’t what she wanted.
He wondered if she needed it, though—time to think through her feelings and come to a conclusion.
And chatting with her had let him know something else: she’d missed him just as much as he’d missed her. Without saying a word directly about it, she’d somehow communicated to him that she wanted him to invade her space, not give her more of it. Ethan would file that away for the next time they had an argument. And with Isabella Romano, Ethan had no doubt there’d be a next time.
Why did I wait so long to contact her? he wondered. The truth was that he’d missed her from the moment she’d stormed out of his apartment. When it came to being flirty and persistent with Isa, Ethan didn’t have a problem. Isabella always responded positively to his persistence. They were similar in that fashion. They both liked to tease and joke around. But when it came to feeling hurt and annoyed, Ethan tended to withdraw. He could see now that Isa needed the opposite kind of reaction from him. She wanted him to stick around when things were uncomfortable, not pull back.
Suddenly Mandy’s words reverberated through his mind and made much more sense to him.
She’ll need proof.
Ethan stared at the stars, quietly eating his cereal.
After he finished, he put the empty bowl in the sink and then went to bed, setting his alarm for 4:30 a.m. Breakfast came early at the caf�
� and he had a stop to make before work.
At six-thirty the next morning, Ethan stood at Isa’s door, trying to text her while holding bags of food and flowers he’d managed to buy at the grocery store at six in the morning. He figured if she didn’t respond, he’d just leave everything on her doorstep rather than wake her. But she texted back almost immediately.
I’m awake. What’s up?
Come to your door. Do not fix your hair, he replied. Ten minutes later the door cracked open. Ethan sighed.
“I told you not to fix your hair, Isa.”
“You don’t know what I look like when I roll out of bed, Ethan Carter. I rival Medusa. So yes, I tied my hair in a knot. For goodness’ sake, I’m still in pajamas.”
They just stood there for a moment, Ethan with his arms full of stuff, Isa watching him. She hadn’t been kidding when she’d said she was sick. Ethan took in her bloodshot eyes, red nose and pale skin.
“You’re going to get sick. I’m still running a slight fever,” she warned.
“Let me in,” he said as he rolled his eyes.
She smiled at that and stepped back, pushing open the door.
“Lucky for you, my mom washed my dishes last night. So the place isn’t a total wreck.”
“Like I’d care, Isa,” Ethan retorted, dropping the bags on the counter and handing her the flowers.
She accepted them graciously. “Are these I’m-sorry-I-took-so-long-to-call flowers or get-well flowers?” she asked as she found a vase in one of the cabinets.
