Page 12 of Holiday Hideaway
“Well, this is incredibly embarrassing,” George said, trying to adjust the hospital gown to cover his bare extremities.
“I found some pajama pants in your room upstairs,” she volunteered. “They’re in the bathroom.”
“Thank God for small favors,” he said, hobbling in that direction.
“Holler if you need me,” Tilly called, trying not to giggle at the sight of his naked butt.
Later, she fed him oatmeal and hot tea and gave him his meds. He slept some more. She wandered the house at will, poking around in the small paneled library full of boring-lookingmusty volumes of tax codes until she found a worn and well-loved copy ofThe Night Before Christmas. She curled up in her armchair and found herself fantasizing what it might be like if it were just the two of them, cozy and snowbound, with herself in her kerchief and George in his cap, settled in for a long winter’s nap.
Smoosh whimpered and pawed at the back door, so she took him outside, and they stomped around in the snow, which hadn’t let up. Everything in the yard was coated in it, and it reminded Tilly of a scene from a Christmas card.
When she got back inside to check on the patient, he was sitting up, looking around at the parlor like he’d just discovered it.
“You don’t really have to stay here and watch over me, you know,” George told her. “I’m sure you need to get home to your family.”
“The doctor was pretty adamant that you couldn’t be alone,” Tilly said. “Anyway, I don’t have family in town, so it’s no bother. Are you hungry?” she asked, trying to change the subject. “Don’t know about you, but I’m starved.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I bought some groceries. Nothing very fancy, I’m afraid.”
True to his words, George’s idea of groceries was typical guy stuff. Canned soup, hamburger, deli meats and cheese, and a huge bag of Fritos. Nothing green. She heated up a can of chili, ladled it into bowls, then topped it with slices of cheese, and popped it in the microwave. Finally, she crushed up some Fritos and sprinkled them over the top of the chili.
He dug into the chili, then scooped it down, stopping every few bites to say “Amazing” and “Fritos, great idea” and “Is there any more?”
Finally, he handed her his empty bowl. “Awesome. Sorry I can’t clean up the kitchen.”
“It’s just the one pan,” Tilly said, “I think I can handle it.”
She heard his phone ringing from the kitchen and the caller ID announcing that Vanessa was calling. Again. He didn’t pick up.
What is up with that?Tilly wondered.
George was reaching for his crutches when she got back to the living room. “Bathroom break,” he announced.
His phone rang again while he was in the bathroom, with another call from Vanessa.
“You had a missed call,” Tilly told him when he’d settled himself back on the sofa. “It was Vanessa.”
George pretended to busy himself pulling up the quilts and rearranging the pillows under his ankle. “I’ll, uh, call her back later.”
Tilly gave him an appraising look. “Sorry to be nosy, but when I picked up your phone, I noticed you had three other missed calls from her. She’s probably worried sick that she hasn’t heard from you.”
George cocked his head and stared right back at her. “I actually do know you, you know.”
Tilly shook her head. “Don’t think so.”
“High school glee club,” he said definitively. “I knew I knew that face and that voice. It’s been bugging me since the first time you answered the Piney Point Vacation Rentals phone. And then I found the registration papers in the glove box, after I had the Kia towed. You’re Matilda Farriday. Or, you were in high school.”
Tilly’s face flushed, and she worried about what he must think of her. She hadn’t showered in three days, her hair was shoved up under a Piney Point High Seagulls baseball cap, she was in dingy jeans that were more depressed than distressed,and, worst of all, she was braless under her shapeless, oversize Boston Red Sox sweatshirt. She crossed her arms over her chest, hoping George wouldn’t notice.
“You were a soprano, right? And oh my God. I remember. You were a Sea-Gal too.”
She groaned. “Lamest name for a high school drill team ever. You notice they didn’t call the football team the Sea-Men. No, they got to be the Shorebirds.”
“But those cute little sailor outfits with the short skirts were awesome. You had great legs.” Then it was his turn to blush. “Geez. That sounds kinda pervy, doesn’t it? I just meant ...”
She stretched out her legs now, flexing her toes and grinning. “That you remembered my legs from twenty years ago is pretty remarkable. So I’ll take it as a compliment.”
George’s expression darkened. “Whatever happened to that douchebag boyfriend of yours? Denny? I’ve conveniently blocked his last name.”
