The Rescue (39 page)

"I'm okay. Just thinking about Mitch. And Melissa."

"And Taylor?"

Despite the fact that it was over between them, she couldn't lie.

"Him too."

Two hours later the crowd was finally thinning. Most of the distant friends had come and gone; a few members of the family had flights to catch and had left as well.

Melissa was sitting with her immediate family in the living room; her boys had changed their clothes and had gone outside, to the front yard. Taylor was standing in Mitch's den alone when Denise approached him.

Taylor saw her, then returned his attention to the walls of the den. The shelves were filled with books, trophies the boys had won in soccer and Little League baseball, pictures of Mitch's family. In one corner was a rolltop desk, the cover pulled shut.

"Your words at the service were beautiful," Denise said. "I know Melissa was really touched by what you said."

Taylor simply nodded without responding. Denise ran her hand through her hair.

"I'm really sorry, Taylor. I just wanted you to know that if you need to talk, you know where I am."

"I don't need anyone," he whispered, his voice ragged. With that he turned from her and walked away.

What neither of them knew was that Judy had witnessed the whole thing.

Chapter
26

Taylor bolted upright in bed, his heart pounding, his mouth dry. For a moment he was inside the burning warehouse again, adrenaline surging through his system. He couldn't breathe, and his eyes stung with pain. Flames were everywhere, and though he tried to scream, no sounds escaped from his throat. He was suffocating on imaginary smoke.

Then, just as suddenly, he realized he was imagining it. He looked around the room and blinked hard as reality pressed in around him, making him ache in a different way, weighing heavily on his chest and limbs.

Mitch Johnson was dead.

It was Tuesday. Since the funeral he hadn't left his house, hadn't answered the phone. He vowed to change today. He had things to do: an ongoing job, small problems at the site that needed his attention. Checking the clock, he saw that it was already past nine. He should have been there an hour ago.

Instead of getting up, however, he simply lay back down, unable to summon the energy to rise.

On Wednesday, midmorning, Taylor sat in the kitchen, dressed only in a pair of jeans. He'd made scrambled eggs and bacon and had stared at the plate before finally rinsing the untouched food down the disposal. He hadn't eaten anything in two days. He couldn't sleep, nor did he want to. He refused to talk to anyone; instead he let his answering machine pick up his calls. He didn't deserve those things. Those things could provide pleasure, they could provide escape-they were for people who deserved them, not for him. He was exhausted. His mind and body were being drained of the things they needed to survive; if he wanted, he knew he could continue along this path forever. It would be easy, an escape of a different sort. Taylor shook his head. No, he couldn't go that far. He wasn't worthy of that, either.

Instead he forced down a piece of toast. His stomach still growled, but he refused to eat any more than necessary. It was his way of acknowledging the truth as he saw it. Each hunger pang would remind him of his guilt, his own self-loathing. Because of him, his friend had died.

Just like his father.

Last night, while sitting on the porch, he had tried to bring Mitch to life again, but strangely, Mitch's face was already frozen in time. He could remember the picture, he could see Mitch's face, but for the life of him he couldn't remember what Mitch looked like when he laughed or joked or slapped him on the back. Already his friend was leaving him. Soon his image would be gone forever.

Just like his father.

Inside, Taylor hadn't turned on any lights. It was dark on the porch, and Taylor sat in the blackness, feeling his insides turn to stone.

He made it into work on Thursday; he spoke with the owners and made a dozen decisions. Fortunately his workers were present when he spoke with the owners and knew enough to proceed on their own. An hour later Taylor remembered nothing about the conversation.

Early Saturday morning, awakened by nightmares once more, Taylor forced himself out of bed. He hooked up the trailer to his truck, then loaded his riding mower onto it, along with a weed whacker, edger, and trimmer. Ten minutes later he was parked in front of Melissa's house. She came out just as he finished unloading.

"I drove by and saw the lawn was getting a little high," he said without meeting her eyes. After a moment of awkward silence, he ventured, "How're you holding up?"

"Okay," she said without much emotion. Her eyes were rimmed with red. "How about you?"

Taylor shrugged, swallowing the lump in his throat.

He spent the next eight hours outside, working steadily, making her yard look as if a professional landscaper had come by. In the early afternoon a load of pine straw was delivered, and he placed it carefully around the trees, in the flower beds, along the house. As he worked he made mental lists of other things to do, and after loading the equipment back on the trailer, he donned his tool belt. He reattached a few broken planks in the fence, caulked around three of the windows, mended a screen that had been broken, changed the burned-out light bulbs in the outdoor lights. Focusing next on the pool, he added chlorine, emptied the baskets, cleared the water of debris, and backwashed the filter.

He didn't go inside to visit with Melissa until he was finally ready to leave, and even then he stayed only briefly.

"There are a few more things to do," he said on his way out the door. "I'll be by tomorrow to take care of them."

The next day he worked until nightfall, possessed.

Melissa's parents left the following week, and Taylor filled the void in their absence. As he'd done with Denise during the summer months, he began swinging by Melissa's home nearly every day. He brought dinner with him twice-pizza first, then fried chicken-and though he still felt vaguely uncomfortable around Melissa, he felt a sense of responsibility regarding the boys.

They needed a father figure.

He'd made the decision earlier in the week, after yet another sleepless night. The idea, however, had initially come to him while he was still in the hospital. He knew he couldn't take Mitch's place and didn't intend to. Nor would he hinder Melissa's life in any way. In time, if she met someone new, he would slip quietly from the picture. In the meantime he would be there for them, doing the things that Mitch had done. The lawn. Ball games and fishing trips with the boys. Odds and ends around the house. Whatever.

He knew what it was like to grow up without a father. He remembered longing for someone besides his mother to talk to. He remembered lying in his bed, listening to the quiet sounds of his mother's sobbing in the adjoining room, and how difficult it had been to talk to her in the year following his father's death. Thinking back, he saw clearly how his childhood had been stripped away.

For Mitch's sake, he wouldn't let that happen to the boys.

He was sure it was what Mitch would have wanted him to do. They were like brothers, and brothers watched out for each other. Besides, he was the godfather. It was his duty.

Melissa didn't seem to mind that he'd begun to come over. Nor had she asked the reason why, which meant that she too understood why it was important. The boys had always been at the forefront of her concerns, and now with Mitch gone, Taylor felt sure that those feelings had only increased.

The boys. They needed him now, no doubt about it.

In his mind, he didn't have a choice. The decision made, he began to eat again, and all at once the nightmares stopped. He knew what he had to do.

The following weekend, when Taylor arrived to take care of the lawn, he inhaled sharply when he pulled up to Mitch and Melissa's driveway. He blinked hard, to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving him, but when he looked again it hadn't moved at all.

A realty sign.

"For Sale."

The house was for sale.

He sat in his idling truck as Melissa emerged from the house. When she waved to him, Taylor finally turned the key and the engine sputtered to a halt. As he started toward her he could hear the boys in the yard out back, though he couldn't see them.

Melissa gave him a hug.

"How are you, Taylor?" she asked, searching his face. Taylor took a small step back, avoiding her gaze.

"All right, I guess," he answered, distracted. He nodded in the direction of the road.

"What's with the sign?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"You're selling the house?"

"Hopefully."

"Why?"

Melissa's whole body seemed to sag as she turned to face the house.

"I just can't live here anymore . . ." she finally answered, trailing off. "Too many memories."

She blinked back tears and stared wordlessly at the house. She suddenly looked so tired, so defeated, as if the burden of carrying on without Mitch were crushing the life force out of her. A ribbon of fear twisted inside him.

"You're not moving away, are you?" he asked in disbelief. "You're still going to live in Edenton, right?"

After a long moment, Melissa shook her head.

"Where're you going?"

"Rocky Mount," she answered.

"But why?" he asked, his voice straining. "You've lived here for a dozen years . . . you've got friends here . . . I'm here . . . Is it the house?" he asked quickly, searching. He didn't wait for a reply. "If the house is too much, there might be something I could do. I could build you a new one for cost, anywhere you want."

Melissa finally turned to face him.

"It's not the house-that has nothing to do with it. My family's in Rocky Mount, and I need them right now. So do the boys. All their cousins are there, and the school year just started. It won't be so hard for them to adjust."

"You're moving right away?" he asked, still struggling to make sense of this news.

Melissa nodded. "Next week," she said. "My parents have an older rental house they said I could use until I sell this place. It's right up the street from where they live. And if I do have to take a job, they can watch my boys for me."

"I could do that," Taylor said quickly. "I could give you a job doing all the billing and ordering if you need to earn some money, and you could do it right here from the house. You could do it on your own time."

She smiled sadly at him. "Why? Do you want to rescue me, too, Taylor?"

The words made him flinch. Melissa looked at him carefully before going on.

"That's what you're trying to do, isn't it? Coming over last weekend to take care of the yard, spending time with the boys, the offer for a house and a job . . . I appreciate what you're trying to do, but it's not what I need right now. I need to handle this my own way."

"I wasn't trying to rescue you," he protested, trying to hide how pained he felt. "I just know how hard it can be to lose someone, and I didn't want you to have to handle everything alone."

She slowly shook her head. "Oh, Taylor," she said in almost a motherly tone, "it's the same thing." She hesitated, her expression at once knowing and sad. "It's what you've been doing your whole life. You sense that someone needs help, and if you can, you give her exactly what she needs. And now, you're turning your sights on us."

"I'm not turning my sights on you," he denied.

Melissa wasn't dissuaded. Instead she reached for his hand.

"Yes, you are," she said calmly. "It's what you did with Valerie after her boyfriend left her, it's what you did with Lori when she felt so alone. It's what you did with Denise when you found out how hard her life was. Think of all the things you did for her, right from the very beginning." She paused, letting that sink in. "You feel the need to make things better, Taylor. You always have. You may not believe it, but everything in your life proves that over and over. Even your jobs. As a contractor, you fix things that are broken. As a fireman, you save people. Mitch never understood that about you, but to me, it was obvious. It's who you are."

To that, Taylor had no response. Instead he turned away, his mind reeling from her words. Melissa squeezed his hand.

"That's not a bad thing, Taylor. But it's not what I need. And in the long run, it's not what you need, either. In time, once you think I'm saved, you'd move on, looking for the next person to rescue. And I'd probably be thankful for everything you did, except for the fact that I would know the truth about why you did it."

She stopped there, waiting for Taylor to say something.

"What truth is that?" he rasped out finally.

"That even though you rescued me, you were trying to rescue yourself, because of what happened to your father. And no matter how hard I try, I'll never be able to do that for you. That's a conflict you're going to have to resolve on your own."

The words hit him with almost physical force. He felt breathless as he tried to focus on his feet, unable to feel his body, his mind a riot of warring thoughts. Random memories flashed through his mind in dizzying succession: Mitch's angry face at the bar; Denise's eyes filled with tears; the flames at the warehouse, licking at his arms and legs; his father turning in the sunlight as his mother snapped his picture . . .