Davenport laughs. “That’s like me telling you not to hit on a sexy woman you meet at a fire or an accident, and we both know that happens all the time.”
He’s speaking in general, not about me, specifically. And I can’t exactly argue, because, yeah, we had that conversation.
“I get it,” he says. “If she calls, she calls,” he says, brushing off my attempt to suppress his interest. “If she doesn’t, I won’t hunt her down, okay?”
“Dr. Davenport,” a nurse calls from the center station. “Radiology on line two.”
“Catch you later,” he tells me.
I turn and make my way into the lobby. I find Natalie staring out the window at a fountain in the courtyard, arms crossed, lost in thought.
I come up beside her and look at my watch. “It’s almost noon. We should get you something to eat.”
She turns to me with a blank stare. “Noon?”
“Trauma distorts time. Plus, you were on the phone and filling out paperwork.”
She nods. “I’m not hungry.”
“I am.” I swing my arm around her shoulders and turn her toward the elevators. “I’m thinking we get something in the cafeteria, then pitch a tent in the surgery waiting room. Sound like a plan?”
“We should talk about last night.”
“Later,” I tell her. “Right now, let’s focus on your mom.”
She sighs and nods. “I can’t take everything in. I feel like information is hitting me and bouncing off.”
“Shock,” I tell her. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”
The cafeteria is nice as far as cafeterias go. They have a sandwich bar, a salad bar, and a grill where you can get anything from a burger to a quesadilla. I’ve got a full plate while Natalie’s still glancing over the offerings with malaise.
I stop beside her. “You’re not getting out of here without something to eat.”
She plucks a small bag of chips from a stand and grabs a diet Coke from the cooler.
“Food of champions right there,” I tease her, pleased when I get a smile. I turn toward the register and swear.
“What?” she asks.
“My wallet is in my pants pocket.”
She glances at my turnouts and smirks. “I suppose you’re only wearing boxer briefs under there.”
“You might be right. I might have been in a deep sleep after a chaotic night when the call came in this morning and was too lazy or comatose to pull on pants.” When I get another smile, I decide to go for a hat trick. “Bet I can get this free if I play up the firefighter angle.”
She laughs, and the sound warms my heart. “No doubt, but you’re not going to.”
At the register, she pulls her phone from a thigh pocket in her leggings and pays before we wander toward the surgery suite. She seems to be coming down from the shock, her panic melting into fatigue. She stops in front of the gift shop’s front window, and I pause to wait for her.
I’m just about to ask if she wants to go in, when she says, “One minute” and disappears inside.
“Grab me some gummy things while you’re in there,” I call after her.
I lean back against a wall and shovel french fries into my mouth trying to gauge how this situation will affect her in the big picture. I hope they have good insurance. I gave the information to Deanna so she could check into it, but I don’t want to bring it up with Natalie. She doesn’t need any more stress at the moment.
Natalie comes out of the shop with a bag. “Did you get me gummy things?”
“Maybe,” she says, swinging the bag as we make our way to the elevators and up to the surgery suite.
There are a few different quiet spaces to wait, and we choose one that’s empty. Once we sit down, she hands me the bag. “You can thank me later.”
It’s good to see her mood lifting. I take the bag and open the handles. I see something plaid, black, and red. My gaze darts to hers, and I find her waiting with a smirk.
I reach in and grab the soft flannel fabric, draw it out, and shake it loose. Then stare at the pajama bottoms and laugh. “Not exactly my style.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers. We are in a hospital, not a shopping mall. After today, you can repurpose them into regular pajamas.”
I grin at her. “I don’t sleep in pajamas.”
“Entirely too much information.” She gestures toward the bag. “There’s more.”
I look in and pull out a white T-shirt and gray slippers. The slippers are felt with Velcro securing the heel and the side, and I can’t help but laugh.
“You can’t walk around in turnout boots or socks,” she says, “and I want you out of those turnouts as much as you want out of them.”
“Be still my heart.”
She blows a raspberry and shakes her head.
I look over the slippers again. “I want out of these turnouts. I’m just not sure if I want out this much.”
“You smell like turnouts and smoke. If you’re staying within five feet of me, you have to change. Everything goes.”
“All I hear is commando.”
Her face heats a dark pink, and she rolls her eyes. “Go on. Your candy is at the bottom of the bag.”
I look in again and find, what else, watermelon Sour Patch gummies. And the pants, tee, and slippers are all my size. There’s something crazy sweet about her knowing me so well.
“You don’t expect me to share the gummies, right?”
She pulls a small bag of the same kind from her own pocket. “Never.”
“One old man joke, and I’m outta here.”
When I get another smile, I head into the bathroom with my heart a little lighter.
Her mother is in surgery, they’re both facing a major, difficult life change in the immediate future, and she has the presence of mind to think about my comfort. And, yeah, okay, I do smell like smoke and turnouts, which is fine with me, but I get just how horrible it smells to her.
In the restroom, I use the hand soap and paper towels to get rid of the smell and dress in the clothes she picked up.
My phone rings, and I see Alan Hitchcock’s name pop up, the county fire investigator. I called him earlier to give him a heads-up and asked him to call me when he had any information. “Hey, Alan.”
“Hey.” His voice is deep and scratchy. “I’m really sorry about the café and Natalie’s mother. Please send my sympathies.”
“Will do,” I say.
“Unfortunately, the café is a total loss.”
I assumed as much, but was holding out hope. “Any idea what started it?”
“Looks like the origin is at the stove. There’s no faulty wiring, no accelerant, but there were remnants of some kind of cloth near the origin. Based on Betsy’s injuries, my opinion is that an oven mitt or towel caught fire. The grease allowed the fire to travel, and the old wood went up like kindling.”
“Pretty clear-cut, then?”
“I don’t see any reason why a fire insurance claim would be held up.”
“That’s good,” I tell him. “Thanks for the information.”
“Sure thing.”
I disconnect and return to the waiting room. Natalie’s eyes are closed, and her head rests against the back of the small sofa. I sit next to her, jostling the cushions, and she opens her eyes.