Page 83 of The Fire Captain's Unexpected Baby
“Oh, you know, causing the same trouble,” Mrs. Oakley replies, with the sigh of a long-suffering wife. “Won’t take his medicine, thinks he’ll survive on willpower and stubbornness alone.”
Paige laughs brightly. “Hey, I’ve seen it happen. But you make sure and tell him that Nurse Reed will have to start making house calls if he doesn’t behave.”
“I’ll try.” Mrs. Oakley smiles fondly at us, as if seeing us in a bygone past, the high school girls we once were. “Anyway, I’ll get out of your hair. Thank you for the photograph; Angela will be thrilled!”
As the older woman departs, Paige slides into the seat opposite, peels off at least three layers though it’s only in the mid-thirties outside, and calls out to the woman at the counter for one of what I’m having, with a side of apple cake to share. I consider protesting, but I’ve been eyeing the cakes since I sat down.
“What am I doing?” Paige jumps up again and holds out her arms.
Chuckling, I get up and walk into the fierce sort of hug that I’ve desperately needed. It’s not quite the same with my parents; their hugs come with a hearty helping of concern, my momsurreptitiously feeling my spine to make sure I haven’t lost any weight, my dad sighing the sigh of a father who’s spent too many sleepless nights worrying about his daughter.
“God, it’s good to see you,” Paige says, giving me an extra squeeze.
I squeeze her back. “Same to you.”
“Let me get a good look at you.” Paige steps out of the embrace and assesses me with her warm, brown eyes. “How is it possible that you get better with age, while the rest of us are doomed to become old hags?”
“Bullshit,” I laugh. “You’rethe one aging like fine wine, while I’m like apple juice you’ve had open for a couple of weeks: probably still okay but a little funky.”
Paige always has been and always will be one of the most beautiful women in Crown Hill, standing literally head and shoulders above the rest. Tall and slim, with thick red hair that I’ve envied since we met at thirteen, she’s gained some curves that her scrubs refuse to hide. It suits her, though I can tell she’s self-conscious as she pulls her light cardigan over her stomach.
“Not a chance. I’ve aged about a decade in six months,” she tells me, sitting back down as the coffee and cake arrive. “No one tells you when you have a kid that they’ll literally suck the life out of you, and you’ll be too tired and too hopelessly in love to mind.”
Those hornets are back, stinging at my chest. “How is he?”
“Adorable, allergic to sleep, changing so fast it makes my head spin,” she replies with a glimmer in her eyes.
I’m not the only one who’s had a bad year, but hers has been considerably worse than mine. I’ve been there for her after her husband died and her son, Noah, was born—as much as I could be with her in Arizona and me in New York, but I know I could’ve visited more.Shouldhave visited more. Once wasn’t close to enough.
“You’ll have to come by and meet him properly,” Paige says with a pointed look. “He was just a little smush when you saw him last, and I wasn’t in any state to have visitors. Mom will be pleased to see you. She hasn’t stopped talking about your grand return.”
I grimace. “Nothing grand about getting kicked to the curb.” I gesture to the Gazette with a wry smile. “But I see Foxy’s Fun Factory is hiring, so things are looking up. Who knows, maybe they’ll let me wear the mascot suit, really cement my fall from grace.”
“There’s a few positions going at the hospital,” she tells me. “Could put in a good word for you? Doesn’t pay much, though. We can’t even afford new equipment without having to throw a fundraiser, much less actual staff.”
I shrug. “Couldn’t hurt. I don’t have anything else lined up.”
“What happened, huh?” Paige sits back and sips her coffee, eyeing me with the scrutiny of a best friend who’s deciding whether to dish out some tough love. “You used to write non-stop. I’ve known you to churn out thousands of words in one sitting. How is it possible that, in three years, you wrote nothing?”
I’ve already filled her in on the details of my eviction from New York, but this is the first time we’ve discussed it in person. I sort of wish we were texting instead; it’s easier to form my thoughts into words when I don’t have to answer immediately.
“I wrotesomestuff, it was just god-awful,” I reply. “And I figured that if I couldn’t bear to read it, my readers wouldn’t either.”
“But you’ve kept writing through, like, the darkest friggin’ days of your life,” she continues. “What happened that you just suddenly couldn’t anymore? It doesn’t make sense to me.”
I shake my head and give her an imploring look. “Let’s not talk about it right now. I’ve only got you for half an hour; I want to hear about Noah. I want to hear about you.”
She frowns, takes a thoughtful sip of her coffee, then slides me a fork and replies, “Well then, where do I start?”
* * *
Exactly half an hour later, Paige brushes cake crumbs off her mouth, slides back out of her seat, and smiles. “I’ll see you at the fundraiser?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I reply, feeling a little lighter, a little calmer. Paige has that effect; I just wish she didn’t have to rush back to work.
“I know it’s not what you planned, but itisgood to have you back for a while,” she says, pausing. “It won’t be forever, I know it won’t, so I’m going to make the most of it.” She leans in to hug me, and I hug her back, clinging onto these last seconds of companionship.
Then, she’s gone, out the door with a chirpy “see you later,” and I’m alone again with an empty coffee cup and a job to find.
