18. Sylvia #2
The Cavendish Enterprises logo is on a large sign beside the entry to the parking lot, which used to be the driveway to the farm.
I drive past it the first time, which means I see the loading dock on the far side of the warehouse, and the line of tractor trailers waiting to be loaded.
They also have the Cavendish logo on them.
That greenhouse continues across the back, then there’s another one, even bigger, where the Cavendish farm used to have seemingly endless fields of tomatoes.
I make a U-turn and head back. It’s incredibly quiet and I don’t see anyone else around.
Mike’s truck is parked near the back of the house but the windows are all dark.
Is he even home? The house looks funny with the commercial property right beside it, but I guess every inch of land is valuable, too valuable to waste.
I park beside his truck and it’s not until I’m standing on the pavement that I fully appreciate the height of that first greenhouse.
I can see the shadowy shapes of the plants inside and hear fans running.
There’s a line of lights on inside it, too.
I go to the kitchen door because that’s always how we went into the house. The place really needs a coat of paint. I knock on the door, but there’s no answer. I press the doorbell, but I don’t hear it ring. I look back at Mike’s truck, then I try the door.
Of course, it’s unlocked. This is Empire.
“Mike?” I call. “Are you home?”
After a minute, I hear a toilet flush and am relieved. There’s a sure sign of life.
The kitchen isn’t very different from what I remember, just that it’s empty, as if no one lives here.
Back in the day, there were kids running in and out the door, jumping in the pool, grabbing treats from the freezer and drinks from the fridge.
Any party in the summer was at the Cavendish place, because they had a pool.
There were always snacks on the counter and usually dishes in the sink.
The fridge was covered with drawings and notes and reminders and joke magnets.
Now, every surface is bare. The only sign of life is a line of big plastic bottles from a sports drink, placed neatly on the counter.
Don’t people drink that stuff for the electrolytes?
I wait a minute, then I call again.
“Sylvia?” Mike’s voice is rough and when he appears in the kitchen doorway, he looks even rougher.
I don’t think he’s wearing anything other than a pair of sweatpants.
His chest is bare and so are his feet. His hair is rumpled and he looks pale.
“ Turn around and walk right out of here,” he says, pointing to the door.
“I just wanted to check that you were okay,” I say, feeling a little insulted by his gruff manner. “You’re not answering your phone.”
He blinks and looks around, and we both spot his phone on the counter. “I haven’t plugged it in since Tuesday,” he says as he picks it up. “Yup. Paperweight.” He reaches for the cord on the counter and plugs it in. “Now, go.”
“You look terrible,” I say, noticing the shadows under his eyes.
“Thanks. The plague got me. Run while you can.” He leans against the counter, as if he might not remain standing otherwise, and fixes me with a look.
“When?”
“Tuesday.”
Tuesday? He’s been here alone since then? “Symptoms?”
Mike takes a deep breath, then counts them off on his fingers. “Fever, nausea, vomiting, sweats, chills, aches and pains.” He gives me a very blue look. “It’s a party, no doubt about it. Zero stars. Do not recommend.”
The thing is that his eyes have brightened since we started talking. Maybe it’s good for him to have company. It’s not like I need an excuse to stand here and talk to half-naked Mike, but I’ll take it. In fact, I feel awful that I didn’t check in on him sooner. “Has your fever broken?”
“I don’t know. I don’t actually care.” He pushes a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. “I’ve been in bed the whole time, well, except for when I’ve been in the bathroom.”
I walk toward him, ignoring his protests and put my hand on his forehead. To my relief, it’s cool.
He steps back. “Sylvia, you shouldn’t get close… ”
“I was closer Monday and didn’t catch it from you.” There’s nothing he can say to that.
He frowns. “Why aren’t you sick?”
“Merrie calls it subway immunity.”
“Excuse me?”
“When you ride the subway or wait tables in a busy restaurant or do anything that involves being in close contact with a whole lot of people every day, you get sick less often.”
“Okay.” He looks unconvinced.
“I don’t think you have a fever anymore.” I lift my hand from his forehead, fighting the urge to keep touching him. “When did you last eat?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did you last eat?” I open the fridge. It’s empty, except for a partial bar of dark chocolate, a jar of mustard and three more bottles of that green sports drink.
“A snack bag of Doritos. There’s a vending machine in the warehouse.”
“Why don’t you have any groceries?”
“I was too busy dying to go shopping. Will you save yourself now?”
“I’ll go, but I’ll be back.” I stop in the doorway. “Do you actually live here, or is it just a place to crash sometimes?”
“I live here.”
“How would I know?” Really, we’ve rented places that felt more like home. He must have been here for years but it looks like he arrived ten minutes ago.
Mike shrugs. “I like the commute.” For some reason, he’s chosen not to make it a home, and he doesn’t like me asking about it. I see that, but don’t understand it. He frowns. “Why are you even here?”
“Sierra was worried about you. She said you promised to give her an update on the greenhouse and when you didn’t come to the café or call, she was convinced you were bleeding to death in a ditch.”
“Just fighting off the four horses of the Apocalypse.” He’s gripping the edge of the counter, still looking like junk but his gaze is clinging to mine, as if he’s glad I’m here.
I’m glad I’m here.
I want to stay and take care of him.
I hate that there’s no one else to do it, but that’s not the whole reason.
I can’t even think the whole reason, but I will take care of him.
“You remind me of that meme,” I say and he raises a brow.
“Which one?”
I make air quotes with my fingers. “Everyone needs a grilled cheese sandwich cut on the diagonal and a forehead kiss once in a while.”
He smiles crookedly and our gazes lock again. “I guess everyone does,” he murmurs. “Go, Sylvia. I’ll be fine.”
“You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
“I’m not?”
“Given your grocery situation, you have no way to make your own grilled cheese sandwich.”
His eyes glint. “I was looking forward to the forehead kiss.”
“Go have a shower while I’m gone.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Are you bossing me around? You’re small enough that I could toss you over my shoulder and carry you off.”
The truth is that I like when he sweeps me off my feet and carries me around, but I don’t say so. Not now. “I’m taking care of you, because it doesn’t look like anybody else has.”
“Who would do that?”
“Candace.”
He laughs and I have to admit that it is implausible .
“Your siblings, or staff.”
He’s still visibly amused as he shakes his head.
“Your friends.”
“Busily living their lives, mostly in Havelock.” He sobers. “Thanks for checking on me, Sylvia, but you should go. I don’t want you to get sick. This flu is awful.”
His protectiveness makes my heart skip.
“I won’t.” I raise a hand when he looks like he’ll argue.
“Your fever’s gone, so you’re probably not infectious anymore.
Besides, it’s not like we’re going to have wild monkey sex on the counters.
” Merrie and I say this to each other, as a joke, when one of us is sick and the other steps up to help – you can guess who said it first. The words are out of my mouth before I realize what I’ve said. I shut my mouth hard and blush.
The thing is that I can’t help but check him out, those shoulders, that tight six-pack, the little bit of dark hair on his chest, the vee – and the sign of enthusiasm becoming evident in his sweatpants.
It’s when he realizes I’m looking that Mike really does smile. “Well, damn,” he murmurs, his eyes glinting after he glances down. “Not dead yet.”
I’m not sure if he means himself or the attraction between us. I’m pretty sure both are alive and kicking. It’s easy to remember the feel of him against me, a little too easy in this moment.
It might be worth risking the plague.
I guess I already did, without realizing it. No regrets.
His smile broadens a little, becoming positively sinful. “Of course, we did that already, didn’t we?”
“Wild monkeys would have done more,” I say impulsively.
Impulse, I remind myself, got me where I am today.
Mike grins as I burn from head to toe. The air between us is simmering, crackling even, and I’m wondering if I could convince him to compromise.
Maybe just one more night, to convince us both that it’s over.
“You need a shower,” I say, all bossy as if I’m not struggling to keep my mind out of the gutter. I also try to keep from running to the door. A graceful exit worthy of Daphne Bradshaw would be the way to do it but I’ll probably trip over my own feet. “I’ll be back.”
“Promises, promises.” I appreciate that Mike’s trying to tease me, but he sounds so weakened and tired. It tears at my heart. What’s the point of having a big family if they don’t even realize you’re sick?
“If you broke a fever, your sheets have to be due for a wash. If you can’t manage it, I’ll do it when I get back.”
“I’ll try,” he says, but my expectations are low. “Tell Sierra the greenhouse is being delivered the 13th.”
“Is that unlucky?” I say, trying to make him smile.
He snorts. “I hope not. She’ll be able to start planting that weekend.” He turns away, sways a little on his feet and grabs the door frame.
I hurry forward to take his arm, as if I could keep him standing if he toppled. “New plan. You stay in bed until I get back.”
“Should I hope that means you’re going to shower with me?”
“I might surprise you.”
“You always do, Sylvia.” The weight of his arm falls to my shoulders and he gives me the barest hug.
I hear him catch his breath, in the same instant that my heart pounds.
“Thank you for coming, Sylvia.” His voice is a low growl, a rumble that vibrates against my arm, and then he heads down the hall with one hand on the wall .
I watch him, biting my lip, until he vanishes into a room that must be the bedroom. I hear him collapse onto the bed and sigh with relief that he made it, then I cross the kitchen with purpose, making a list as I go.
I send Merrie a message from the car, then start the engine and head back to town. I am a woman on a mission. Don’t get in my way.