Coming in from the Cold (14 page)

“I’m Bill,” the first EMT said. “How are we doing?” He was a guy about Willow’s age. His partner was a woman with a Mohawk and a piercing through the middle of her nose.

“Well,” Willow began, “my friend here had knee surgery at the hospital a few days ago. And now I think he has a high fever. I called the hospital, and the doctor is worried about an infection. I’d drive him in but…” she opened the door.

“…but he’s an enormous motherfucker,” Bill said, striding over to the bed.

“Language,” warned the woman.

Bill tapped Dane gently on the hand. “I’m Bill,” he said. Dane didn’t move. Bill put his wrist on Dane’s cheek. “Winner. That’s a big fever all right.” He held Dane’s wrist, clocking his pulse.

“So I’m not crazy?” Willow asked.

“Not about that,” Bill agreed. “Besides the surgery, any other medical issues?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Willow answered.

“We’ll get the stretcher.”

* * *

Willow got out of the way when they wheeled the stretcher inside. “His right knee is broken,” she said.

“We’ll take care,” the woman said. “Let’s have a look.” She peeled the sheets off a Dane.

His eyes flew open. “Finn?”

“I’m Rhonda,” she said. “I’m just going to take a look at your knee. You’re going to be fine.”

“Finn?” he asked again, his voice panicky. Willow’s heart splintered at the sound of his plea for his brother. She did not know what to say. “Coach?” Dane tried.

“He’s on his way,” Willow said. “You’ll see him soon.”

He craned his neck at the sound of her voice. His eyes were frighteningly unfocused.

Bill had maneuvered a board underneath Dane. “On three,” he said. “One, two…” He and Rhonda lifted ends of the board, transferring Dane to the stretcher. Moving quickly, Bill clicked straps across Dane’s chest and hips.

Dane didn’t like it. He tried lifting his head off the stretcher.

“Easy,” Bill said. “This is just for the ride.”

But Dane was having none of it. He shook his torso from side to side, and the stretcher rocked.

“Hey now,” Rhonda warned. She flicked a glance at Willow. “A little help here?”

Willow stepped up to the stretcher and looked down at him. “Dane,” she said. His eyes swam onto her. “You’re a little sick, and you have to see a doctor.”

“Not the nursing home,” he said.

“Nursing home?” Willow shook her head. “Of course not. And Coach will meet you at the…doctor’s.”

Dane’s hand flapped. It was held in by his side by a strap at his wrist. He was trying to reach for her. So Willow took his hand. “You feel good,” he said.

“We can’t allow you to ride in the bus,” Rhonda said. “But you can follow us.”

Willow considered this idea. She could easily climb into her truck and follow them. But Dane, when conscious, didn’t want a thing to do with her. And because she wasn’t family, the hospital would make her wait in the waiting room. If she went, it would mean sitting on a plastic chair all night, for someone who did not love her and never would.

The awful thing was, she was quite willing to do it.

That’s really pathetic
, she told herself. Even as Dane tightened his grip on her hand, she knew what she had to do. She would let that ambulance roll down her driveway, and then she would go back inside the house and stay there. It was for the best.

* * *

Dane held tight to the angel’s hand, even as the bed began to move. She tried to let go, but he held on tight.

“No,” he said.

“Can’t fit you
and
her through the door, sport,” said a voice. A pair of hands separated his from the angel’s, and he didn’t like it. So he let them know. By yelling. But the bed beneath him moved anyway. He yelled louder.

“Jesus, hold his fucking hand already,” the voice said. The angel’s hand slipped back into his.

The air was now colder, which felt good on his face. There was winter light, which made everything better. But the ride was bumpier, and he felt spears of pain in his knee. “Fuck,” he said. The angel’s hand squeezed his.

“Almost there,” the voice promised. Then he felt himself being lifted. “Shoulda had my Wheaties cereal this morning,” the voice complained.

He lost the angel’s hand.

Christ.

It wasn’t really lunchtime yet, but Willow had ducked away from her desk at the insurance agency. Shrugging on her coat, her plan was to grab a bagel from the little market on the corner. It had been such an awful, nauseated morning. She had already thrown up once in the agency bathroom, flushing the toilet to cover the sound of her retching. She hadn’t got the hang of morning sickness yet. But carbs seemed to help tame the dragon in her gut.

Also, the cool outdoor air seemed to help. So Willow took her time walking toward the deli, peeking into the windows of the ski shops that lined the street. There was a delivery truck pulled up next to Rupert’s Bar and Grill. A metal conveyor slide stretched onto the sidewalk, and one burly guy in a knit cap hustled cases of beer down the ramp, while another grabbed them off, stacking them onto a hand truck.

Willow paused, considering her options for navigating around them. But even as she did so, the smell of stale beer mixed with the urine that some late-night customer had aimed into the gutter stabbed her nostrils. All at once, Willow felt the telltale signs of another bout of morning sickness—too much saliva in her mouth, the rising panic in her throat.

Her path blocked, Willow veered into the door of Rupert’s, which was propped open for the delivery. Inside, she ran straight past a startled Travis and into the empty ladies’ room. There, she leaned over the toilet and gagged violently. Her body managed to throw up only a pathetic amount of…she didn’t like to think what. But at least she would feel slightly better now.

Willow took her time wiping her mouth, flushing away the evidence and then washing her hands. She rinsed her mouth repeatedly, blinked her watering eyes and checked her reflection in the mirror. It was startling to see that the Willow looking back looked almost normal. Sure, there was a pallor there, but it was late January. And her eyes were a bit red. But given the way she felt inside, she ought to have seen a many-headed mythological beast looking back in the mirror. It was time to sneak out of here and get back to work.

“Willow, are you okay?” Travis was waiting for her right outside the door, a concerned expression on his face.
Damn
.

She stood up a little straighter, throwing her shoulders back. “Sure, Travis, I’m fine. Just a little…” She cleared her throat. “Emergency. Sorry.”

He folded his arms, leaning against the wall. “You sure? You look pale.”

“Sure, I’m sure.” If only it were true. She could still feel her mouth watering uncomfortably. What she needed was to get away from here and buy a bagel. That would settle everything down. She would have never believed that eating food could cure nausea. But morning sickness was a different beast than any other stomach upset she’d ever experienced.

“Okay,” he said, still watching her. “I’ve been thinking about you.”

That got her attention. Willow’s eyes snapped to his, and what she found there was startling. Her friend’s green eyes were soft, like an open question. The corners of his mouth tugged upward in a handsome smile.

“Would you have dinner with me, Willow?”

She hesitated. “I don’t know, Travis, I’m kind of…” she swallowed. Her empty stomach turned over on itself, and she steeled herself against the sensation. If she didn’t do something soon, she’d be dry heaving in the ladies’ room again shortly. “Travis, I…” she put a hand to her mouth, trying to get control.

His expression changed to a quizzical one, and then flickered with trouble. “Come with me, Willow,” he said, turning around. He walked straight towards an open doorway.

Willow drew in the deepest breath she could muster and followed him. By the time she walked into the big commercial kitchen, Travis had already grabbed something out of an open crock by the soup station. He cracked the cellophane on a little packet and held it out to her on his palm.

She took the packet of saltines, broke one and popped it into her mouth before the surprise set in. And then Willow felt her face begin to redden. She ate the other half of the cracker and began to feel a little steadier. She looked up into Travis’s eyes again, not knowing what she’d find there. It was bad enough that she had yet to make the decision of a lifetime. But now all her troubles were laid bare for him to see.

But when she met his gaze, it was steady. “I guess my timing is pretty horrible, right? Trying to ask you out on a date while you’re trying not to puke.”

“How did you know?” she asked.

He leaned back against the stainless-steel prep counter. “I pay attention to you, Willow.” His eyes dipped to the floor for a moment, but then they came back steady. “Also, I’ve seen it before. It was pretty soon after my girlfriend started throwing up every morning that I ended up married to a woman who didn’t love me. Hopefully that won’t happen to you.”

Willow’s eyes felt hot. Whenever she thought of the terrible conversation she’d had with Dane about her pregnancy, her face burned with shame, as if she’d actually done the things he’d accused her of doing. It didn’t make any sense at all. But the sting of his rejection was fierce. “I wouldn’t worry about that,” she told Travis, her voice unsteady. “Marriage is really low on the list of probable outcomes,” she said, attempting a smile.

Travis blew out a breath. “You don’t sound at all happy. If it’s anyone I know…if someone’s being a jerk about it…I’m happy to try to talk some sense into him.”

She shook her head. “I’m not ready. I can’t talk about it. Because I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Okay,” he said slowly. “I won’t say another word. No—that’s not true. I have to say one more thing, and it’s this: it can happen to
anyone
. You know that, right?” His green eyes searched her face.

Willow nodded, but her eyes filled with tears anyway. Because that truth was that she wasn’t at all sure that it could happen to anyone. It seemed like something that only happened to fuckups like her.

“Aw, Willow,” Travis sighed. “And we
are
going to have dinner. If only because you look like you could really use a friend.” He stepped forward to wrap his arms around her. “I’m sorry for your troubles.”

She returned the hug. “I appreciate it. I really do. You have no idea.”

The phone company truck spent all morning in Willow’s driveway. Following Dane’s infection scare, it seemed Coach wasn’t taking any more chances. After the truck finally departed, another one rolled up the gravel, this one from UPS.

Willow signed for a box addressed to Dane. But then she hesitated. There was no green Jeep in the driveway, which meant that Coach wasn’t home. Willow stood there in the driveway, considering her options. She couldn’t leave the box in the snow; that would be rude. The shipping label was from a medical facility in New Hampshire, so there was every likelihood that Willow was holding Dane’s brother’s personal effects.

With a sigh, she walked up to the door. Maybe Coach and Dane had left together for a doctor’s appointment? She could just slip the box inside the door.

* * *

Unfortunately, Dane was napping when Willow came in. The sound of the door opening stirred him from a pleasant dream. So for the first few seconds after he opened his eyes, he didn’t remember the ugly truth. All he saw was her pretty face, her graceful shape as she closed the door of the apartment against the cold. He might even have begun to smile.

But when she turned her face toward him, there was fear on it. And then he was awake, and arranging his own expression into an unrevealing mask.

“Hi,” she said cautiously. “This just came for you.”

He saw her hesitate with the box, wondering where to put it. She looked like she was on the verge of dropping it and running for the door. So he blurted out his question. “Willow, did you have an abortion?”

Her mouth fell open. “You did
not
just ask me that.”

Dane swallowed. “I’m not trying to torture you, I just need to know.”

Standing in front of him, she took a deep, shaky breath. “I’m not discussing it with you.”

“That’s a mistake,” he said quietly. “Anyone who has a child of mine will live to regret it.”

He watched her inhale carefully. “You made that point already,” she said, swallowing. “And even so, I honestly believed that after the shock wore off, you’d be more civilized. But since that’s not possible. I’m leaving now.”

It gutted him. Willow stood before him, shaking with unhappiness. And yet she never backed down. A lesser woman would throw the first heavy object she could find right at his head. But she just stared him down, vulnerable but real.

It was all he could do to keep from reaching for her as she put the box down a few feet away from him. Then she turned toward the door.

“Wait.” His voice was thick. “You said your friend is a doctor. What’s her specialty?”

Willow’s eyes darted around to his face, disbelief shining in them. “Internal medicine.”

“Can I have her number, please?”

“God,
why
?”

“I’m not sure I have the right specialist, and I want her opinion.”

Willow sucked in air. He could see her trying to hold herself together. It hurt to watch. It hurt to have her so close and hating him. She scraped her phone from her pocket and looked up the number. With shaking hands she jotted it down on the edge of the newspaper on the coffee table. Then she threw it on his chest. “Her name is Callie Anders,” she said. “But I doubt she’ll talk to you.”

Willow stormed out and slammed the door.

Dane listened to the sound of her footsteps retreating. Then he took the brand-new phone in his hand. He’d managed to put this off his entire adult life. But no more.

He dialed Callie’s office, but of course, she didn’t answer. A perky receptionist took the call. And when he asked for Callie, he was told she was with a patient. “Would you like to leave a message?”

“I would,” he said. “My name is Dane, and I’m calling with regard to Willow Reade. Dr. Anders will want to speak with me. It’s urgent.”