Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Caleb
“What do the other people look like?” Mrs. Von Gulag asked from the doorstep around seven that evening as we made our way from the truck, Sam with a rashy face and one eye swollen half shut, me lumbering awkwardly along on the uneven gravel drive with my crutches. Step-crunch-step-crunch, a slow, painful process.
“The other people?” I asked, looking around. Mrs. VG was usually sober as a minister and firmly grounded in reality, but who knew?
“From the fight.” She gave a laugh that was more of a raspy smokers rattle. “You two look worse than two rats that escaped a drowning.” She examined us with an eagle eye, her gaze dropping to my cast, where Sam had written her name and colored in a big, obvious heart.
Why had I allowed that? A moment of weakness. Seemed that I had a giant weak spot for Sam.
“I had a little accident,” I said quickly.
Mrs. VG’s thick brows lifted. “And what happened to you, missy?” She looked Sam over. “Your face is all red and puffy.”
“It’s a blush,” I said to distract her. “The girl is head over heels for me.”
Mrs. VG guffawed at that. Sam, however, looked like she was ready to kill both of us. She was lumbering along, carrying both our duffel bags, something I ordinarily wouldn’t have ted if I’d had the choice.
Mrs. VG crossed her arms and tapped her foot. I sensed what she was thinking before she said anything. “Don’t you worry, Mrs. VG. You won’t even know I have these things.” I held up a crutch to demonstrate.
“I’ll hold you to your word.” She motioned to Sam. “Especially if you’re over at her place. That one’s right above my living room.”
Sam halted so abruptly that I almost crashed into her, crutches and all. I shifted a crutch to my right hand and gently squeezed her shoulder, hoping she’d get the hint to just keep moving.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, “these crutches will be as silent as an electric vehicle. Don’t you worry.”
“Oh, I almost forgot. Here’s your package.” She held out a brown mailer bag to Sam.
“Package?” Sam shot me a puzzled look. “Must be yours. I didn’t order anything.”
Mrs. VG pointed to the name and address on the front. “Technically, I can only turn over the package to whom it’s addressed, missy.”
Sam glanced at the label. “Yep, that’s me. Missy.”
I managed to grab it and hold it along with my right crutch, and fortunately, Mrs. VG didn’t protest.
Mrs. VG appeared to be pondering something. “If you move in together, I’ll let you both out of your leases early.”
“We’re not dating,” Sam said, quicker than her next breath. “But thanks.”
I leaned a little closer to Sam and shot her a sweet smile. “That’s not what the justice of the peace said, honey.”
A one-eyed glare is a scary thing. Sam’s response was to leave me there to figure out how to butt-crawl up the stairs. “Thanks for getting the package,” I said to our landlady. “You have a good evening now.”
Sam didn’t say a thing until we were upstairs, across from each of our apartments in the middle of the hallway. “Why would she be so eager to let us out of our leases?” she asked, digging in her purse for her key.
“Because then she can raise the rent for a new tenant. Wanna move in together?” I moved my brows in a nefarious fashion that made her laugh.
“Watch that cast,” a voice called up the stairs. “I don’t want that heavy thing scratching up my floors. You hear that, Doctor?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” I called.
Sam got her door open. “I don’t know how you can be so pleasant,” she said in a quiet voice.
I shrugged. “Oh come on, Missy. You managed it even though she’s a lot nicer to me than to you.”
I got the tiniest smile. Maybe. “With my teeth gritted and cursing under my breath. The fact that there’s no cheaper rent anywhere keeps me here. What’s your reason?”
“It’s all about the charm for me. Charming old building, charming landlord.” She rolled her eyes. “Okay, seriously, we’re ten minutes from work. And I’m basically a cheapskate.” The truth was that I was saving for a little house. Preferably in Oak Bluff.
“Charming place for a charming guy,” she said with a shrug.
“I love it when you give me compliments,” I said as I followed her through the door. I knew I was pushing her patience. But I needed to make sure that she was okay before I left.
She spun around quickly and pointed to my door. “Um, in case you forgot, you live over there. Across the hall.”
“Don’t you want company?”
She tossed up her hands. “I look like a giant red puffer fish. Every body part is itching. And I’m super cranky, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Yeah, I know.” I turned up my mouth in the slightest smile—any more and she might’ve tossed me out the door. “Let’s open the package.” I balanced on my good leg, moving my crutches to one hand.
She shot me an expression that told me she just wanted to be left by herself to maybe crawl into the bathroom trap door and die alone. But, of course, I wasn’t going to allow that.
“Later, okay? I just want to?—”
I shook the mailer bag so that the pills rattled.
Placing it on the kitchen counter, I unzipped the cardboard zipper. Three bottles of pills, a tube of steroid ointment, calamine lotion, and some packets of oatmeal bath tumbled out.
“You had my medicine delivered.” Sam teared up. Well, in the eye that opened all the way anyway. She sorted through the contents. “Prednisone. Anti-itch pills—two kinds.”
“One makes you sleepy, which might be great for tonight. But the other kind won’t.” I paused. “Oh, you already know that. I forgot you went to med school too.”
She ignored that quip, still perusing the items. “Calamine. Oatmeal bath. You shouldn’t have bought all that extra?—”
I held out the bag. “There’s one last thing.”
Frowning, she dove back in. I watched her face, imagining her fingers closing in on the small rectangular object, rounded on top.
She pulled out a giant Snickers bar and then really started bawling. “How did you know I love Snickers?”
“Mia told me. She feels really bad for you, by the way.” I pulled her in for a hug—one-armed, but hey, the best I could do. Not thinking, just acting on impulse. Sort of like what she did trying to save me from death. In doing so, one of my crutches crashed to the floor. Of course we got the broomstick for that. But that didn’t stop me from holding her as tightly as I could with my one arm until I felt her slowly relax. I knew I should let go, but she was soft and warm, and her skin smelled nice, a subtle scent that I was coming to learn was uniquely hers, a mix of soap and something lemony. “This has been a really long day,” I said in a low voice, barely daring to move.
“The longest,” came her muffled reply.
She was way too used to handling everything alone, and I knew how she struggled to accept help. That made my heart hurt for her. And right then and there, I vowed to cure her of that.
She pulled back, starting to scratch her arms until she realized she shouldn’t. “Thank you for my medicine. You’re taking care of me, but who’s going to take care of you?”
I held her at arm’s length, staring into her good eye. “Sam. You threw yourself down a cliff for me. You brought me a lifesaving cheeseburger. And you just drove us home, which was a little scary seeing as you only have one usable eye. So I feel very taken care of. But it would make me feel great if you’d let me stay and help you get settled, okay?” Before she could protest, I steered her to the couch and sat her down. Then I brought her a glass of water so she could take her pills. Finally, I went and filled up her old claw-foot bathtub, tossing in a packet of the oatmeal stuff, and guided her into the bathroom.
Twenty minutes later, she walked out in a fluffy blue robe, carrying a bed pillow, a white towel wrapped around her head, and spied me on the couch with my foot propped up on her ottoman. “You’re still here?”
“I was afraid you’d fall asleep in the bathtub or something.” Not really. Truth was, I wanted to be here—I didn’t want to leave her alone. And to be honest, I wanted to be with her.
She sat down beside me, tossing her pillow nearby. The intoxicating scent of soap and shampoo filled the air. Feelings churned deep within me, warm and exhilarating, desperate and overwhelming, feelings that I had no control over, dashing every which way like water in a drive-through car wash.
She grabbed the tube of steroid cream and touched my arm. “The oatmeal stuff helped. Thank you for everything. I’m going to slather this all over me and go to bed.”
I blinked a few times quickly.
“Do you have something in your eye?”
“I’m blinking away all the inappropriate thoughts that the word slather ignited.”
She stared at me.
“Look, I can’t help it if I still think you’re sexy even if I have a throbbing pain in my leg and your face is as puffy as a ski jacket.”
She shook her head. “Men are weird.” But I could tell from the expression in her eye that she sort of liked it.
I made a circling motion with my hand, indicating that she should turn around. “Let me do your back.”
She hesitated. I knew what she was thinking. That this was a little awkward. I didn’t care. “Say one little word. O…kay .” I said it slowly as I reached over and moved her jaw as if to sound out the word. “ O…kay . Got it?”
“O kay ,” she said. I must’ve worn her down, because she surrendered the tube without a fight.
She took off her robe and lay belly-down on the couch. I lifted up her T-shirt and whistled.
“How bad is it?” Her voice was muffled from the pillow.
“Nasty bad,” I said. Her back was loaded with raised, red, weepy bumps that were starting to blister. I snapped a photo and handed her the phone, then began rubbing ointment all over the inflamed rash.
It took a while. While I was focused on the task, I couldn’t help noticing what a pretty back she had—elegant, beautiful lines. She sighed once, probably from exhaustion and from the fact that she was falling asleep.
I, however, was definitely not getting more relaxed. I was having the opposite problem, and I was having thoughts that had zero to do with poison ivy.
So I finished up quick and washed off my hands. By the time I came back, Sam was fast asleep, the towel off her head, her damp hair tucked over to the side. I grabbed a blanket from her bed and covered her up.
I took a few seconds to take in all her features without fear that she’d catch me. She had pretty arched brows, long lashes. Her full lips were parted in sleep, her breathing calm and even.
A flood of emotions washed over me—mainly, the strong desire to protect her. To stand guard over her, even though she’d proved time and again that she didn’t need anyone to do that. These tender feelings—I didn’t know where they came from. I didn’t want them—they seemed reckless so soon after Lilly, but I couldn’t stop them from coming. Before I could think, I bent to kiss her forehead and let myself out the door.
* * *
Samantha
When I woke up, it was dark, and I was hot and itchy all over. I had a room air conditioner, but it was in my bedroom, and I’d fallen asleep on the couch. I was parched, my throat so sandpapery that I could barely swallow. Through my grogginess, I heard rapping at my door.
“Sam? You okay in there? Open up!”
Caleb. Caleb in a panic. “Coming!” I managed. As I got up, my feet tangled inside a light blanket that I didn’t remember putting on myself.
It all came back to me. The bag of medicines and the other, extra things Caleb had DoorDashed to my door. The way he’d drawn my bath and waited for me and rubbed medicine into my back. I didn’t remember anything after that, but he must’ve covered me up too.
I dragged myself to the door and opened it to a worried-looking man in gym shorts, a gray T-shirt, and a bright green cast. His hair was mussed like he’d just gotten up from a nap too.
He looked relieved. And he was holding a pizza box. “You scared me.”
“I was dead asleep.”
“Well, it’s nine o’clock. Time to eat.”
He handed me the box and hobbled straight past me into my apartment with the confidence of someone used to moving around in the world with ease.
“Come on in,” I said as if that made any difference, running a hand through my hair and realizing that it was sticking up all over the place. I didn’t ever worry about how I looked to men, but right now I found myself in a mild panic. The swollen eye, the ugly red rash, the hair every which way—I was scarier than a creature on Halloween. “Make yourself at home.”
“Thanks.” He said it like I hadn’t been sarcastic, as he plowed through the medicines, coasters, books, and other things on my coffee table, clearing room for the pizza.
The smell got to me. Cheese and warm baked dough, and I swear I could smell the pungent pepperoni before he even opened the box. I ran and got plates, napkins, glasses, and a two-liter bottle half full of fizzless Diet Coke and set everything in front of us.
“Half pepperoni, half veggie,” Caleb cracked open the lid. “Okay?”
“More than okay. Thanks for this,” I said awkwardly.
He flopped two pieces onto plates and handed one to me. “You’re welcome.” He took a bite of pizza. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m going to need some favors these next few weeks, so you might want to stop feeling bad pretty quickly.”
I nodded, but I was worried about—well, everything. How was I going to get him out of here? Could I ask him to put more ointment on my back without it sounding like a come-on? Now that he’d seen me like this, would he still—want me? I mean, not now, but after I could open both eyes again?
Did I want him to? The honest, naked answer was yes.
And then I did something unusual for me. I let it all go. He was here, not with Lilly. He’d brought pizza, which I love. And he had this look in his eyes whenever he looked at me that made me want to smile. I decided right then and there to do my best to try to get over myself. “When you’re ready to go back to work, I can drive you,” I offered.
“Thanks. I’ll take you up on that. But I’m not going in for two days, doctor’s orders. Then I’m relegated to floor duty only. No surgery.” He sounded disappointed.
“No surgery?”
“No weight-bearing for six weeks.” He was staring intently at his pizza. Tapping his good foot. Looking a little upset. “Six weeks of purgatory.”
“Six weeks of sleeping in,” I said in my most cheery voice.
He shrugged. “I come from a family of farmers. I love getting up early.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but he stopped me. “And don’t tell me I can exercise more or read more books or watch my favorite shows. It’s going to be torture, period.”
“Okay, fine. If you don’t try to cheer me up, I won’t try to cheer you up.”
“Deal. Have you called your chief resident?”
I set down the pizza and wiped my mouth with a napkin, careful not to touch any part of my face. I was learning that even accidentally touching my skin set off a torrent of insane itching.
“Why would I do that?” I asked.
“Because she needs to know that you’re not coming in for a few days either.”
“I have to go to work tomorrow.”
“You work with kids.”
“If I don’t show, people will have to cover for me, and everyone’s already overloaded with cases. I can wear a mask when I’m doing pre-ops. No one will notice.”
“Sam, forget that you’ll scare patients, which you will. You can only see out of one eye.” He ran a hand lightly along my forehead. It felt cool and wonderful. “You might even have a little fever.”
I frowned. I did feel very warm, but around him, my body seemed to forget how to regulate temperature. “Is that a thing?”
He nodded. “From all the inflammation.”
I got up and paced. I hadn’t missed a day of work or med school since the day I started. As residents, when one of us calls off, everyone gets burdened. Everyone suffers.
I walked to my bathroom and looked in the mirror, getting up close and tilting my head. My eye was still mostly shut. And he was right. I looked like an extra in a slasher film. “I am scary,” I said, close to tears.
I saw his reflection in the mirror, his brows lifted. Then I felt his hands on my shoulders. “Even the hideous parts can’t hide the fact that you’re beautiful,” he said, giving my shoulders a squeeze before he let go and disappeared down the hall. “Got any ice cream? The movie’s starting.”
“What movie?” Did he just call me beautiful? And was I actually about to sit down and watch a movie with him?
“The one I’m going to pick myself unless you get in here and help me. It’ll probably have a lot of bloodshed and violence too. Swords, Vikings, gladiators, that kind of thing.”
“Maybe we should just watch a game.”
“I’ll take a look at what’s on.” We sat together while he channel flipped with my remote, looking more at home on my couch than I did.
“Which one of us is more miserable?” I asked. “That person should pick.”
“Ha. I think we’re tied. I love rom-coms,” he said.
“Stop.” He was joking, right? “You do not.”
“Classic ones. You call your chief, and I’ll put on Harry and Sally.”
I froze for a moment. Because New Years. But then I realized that I’d been given an opportunity to rewrite our story. I hadn’t expected a chapter with poison ivy and broken bones, but all that aside, it felt like a new beginning.
I forced myself to make the call. And you know what? It wasn’t as bad as I thought. My chief, Priya, told me to take all the time I needed. Of course, I left out the part where I picked up the poison ivy while skidding on my ass down a cliff, chasing after a guy that I was crazy about.
When I hung up, I found Caleb in the kitchen. “You have chocolate raspberry chip or strawberry.” His voice was muffled because he was talking with his head inside my freezer. “Oh, and a little vanilla. And a little chocolate.” He turned around. “I didn’t know you were an ice-cream hoarder.”
Of course I was. “Surprise me,” I said, grabbing the remote from where he left it on the counter. He dished out the ice cream and I carried it in front of the TV while he got himself settled. Then I unceremoniously—but gently—stuffed my pillow under his cast. And passed him more Tylenol.
So we sat together on the couch and ate ice cream and watched Harry and Sally fall in love. And I forgot all about—everything: poor Ani’s ruined weekend; missing work; the fact that I swore I could feel the rash bursting through my skin in clusters of tiny blisters that were now breaking open and oozing. Terrific.
Caleb didn’t try to hold my hand. Or do anything remotely romantic. Even if I wanted to make out, my mouth was pretty much out of commission anyway. But sometimes he’d laugh at something on the TV and then turn to see if I was laughing too. Or he’d smile at me and glance at the TV and then I’d smile too.
I was at my absolute worst, and yet he looked at me like—well, like I wasn’t. He seemed, despite everything, happy to be here. And also despite everything, my heart was full. I didn’t want to be anywhere else but next to him.
Once I looked over and he was wincing a bit. And he shifted around a lot, trying to get comfortable and adjust his leg. But he never complained once.
After the ice cream, I took an anti-itch pill and then I never got to New Year’s Eve in the movie. When I woke up, it was pitch-black. The TV was off, and the only light was moonlight, streaming across the floor from my bay window. I was leaning against Caleb, resting against his chest, my hands tucked under my face. He was leaning back against the couch, his head tipped back on the pillow in a position that would probably lead to neck strain in the morning.
I carefully propped myself up enough that I could look at him. Resting, at peace, his strong features appeared softened. That intense gaze of his was shuttered, and he seemed more serious, not ready to crack a joke at a moment’s notice.
I thought about how easy it was for some people to give their hearts away. Like scooping up a bunch of fall leaves or dandelion seeds and releasing them off into the wind to land where they may. I, however, had learned to fix a vise grip on my heart. I’d safeguarded it to the point where I’d forgotten why there might be any good reason to let it go.
I took in the light lines creasing Caleb’s forehead, the soft ones around his eyes—from laughing too much, no doubt—his full, soft lips, his unreasonably stubborn jaw. He was never afraid to disagree with me, to push me, to see everything I hid from the world and pull it all back, to make me question everything I believed.
He was fun. And surprising. And kind. And he cracked me up. Most of all, he made me wonder what it would be like to be the kind of person who could take all that from someone, accept it, and then fling it all back with vibrance into the world.