13. Fireman Carry
Chapter 13
Fireman Carry
M addock has given me a lot to think about and even more I don’t want to think about—namely, the past. But in a weird time loop, my mind sticks on how he’s leaving for at least six weeks, which makes me think that all this will soon just be a memory.
The man blew into my life like a wrecking ball on fire, and I’m not sure I want to stop the destruction because that means maybe we can build something new—a future. But I have strings—adorable ones. Leonie and I come as a pair.
Mama sent yet another letter asking me about Ambrette’s baby. Says she has information and insists I call or write at the very least. I won’t be giving her the time of day now or anytime soon.
I’d rather put my hand in a blender than listen to her lies.
Thankfully, the restaurant is now open, keeping me from spending more time in my head. However, I’m now housing a family of rodents despite the big blue tarp over the hole in the roof of my trailer. If only Minou would do her job. Instead, she’s made herself at home, living the high life at the chateau.
I’d like to pick myself up by my bootstraps, get up on the single-wide’s roof, and fix the thing myself. But I know nothing about framing or shingles and I already received one courtesy roof from the kind people in my community. I don’t think they have another spare lying around.
If it weren’t for Maddock, I’d be in a dire, desperate situation.
It makes me feel small, helpless, and foolish.
I need a lollipop.
Mid-morning, Molly sidles up to the counter with a gleam in her eyes that tells me she knows something she shouldn’t or is about to ask a question that’s none of her business.
I get both.
“I’ve noticed some suspicious activity. I think someone has been prowling around the Tickle property at night.”
“It’s probably the crocogator.”
“You might want to take precautions or let me investigate.” Then, without a segue, she spends the next ten minutes asking me about Maddock’s grooming, eating, and sleeping habits.
I see her angle. She has the hots for the firefighter and wants to know everything about him. This makes sweat prickle my hairline. “Is this an interrogation?”
Her eyebrows lift with a smile. “I prefer to think of it as an interview.”
“In that case, no comment.”
She inclines her head and leans close. “But you’ve been spending a lot of time together.”
“In separate sections of the house.”
She adds, “He buys you beignet buns.”
“He also got biscuits for Frodo.”
Molly jots something down, then says, “But I see the way you look at him.”
The corner of my lip twitches. She’s not entirely wrong about that.
Late in the afternoon, after picking Leonie up from Lexi’s house, I return to the chateau to find Maddock loading the bed of his truck with boxes.
I haven’t quite accepted that he’s going to let us live here. Nor do I like the way the idea of him leaving makes me feel.
Least of all, I’m not a fan of how it’s making me feel: like a raccoon that found the snack drawer, gobbled up its contents, and has been hopped up on espresso beans all day.
Oh wait, that’s me.
Maddock stops at the foot of the stairs that lead to the kitchen as I mount them, Leonie in my arms. She waves hers, eager for him to hold her. He sets down the box and the two exchange a sickeningly adorable greeting. She pats his cheeks, and he nuzzles her, eliciting a peel of laughter. Then she kind of bites his nose and he laughs. It probably tickles. Raspberries blown on her belly come next, which results in a fit of giggles. They both make nonsensical happy noises.
While they’re occupied, I peek in the box Maddock set on the ground. It contains a Corning Ware bowl, a few Pyrex baking dishes, a citrus juicer, and some other stuff—mostly kitchen items neither my mother nor scavengers thought were valuable. But they’re vintage and well-made.
“What are you doing with all this?”
Without interrupting his motorboat lips while Leonie claps his ears and laughs with glee, Maddock says, “Clearing out odds and ends. Figured I could donate it on my way out of town tomorrow.”
“No! You can’t get rid of this.” I pick up the box.
“It’s junk.”
“No, it’s treasure.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in that.”
“I don’t. It’s just that this is part of history. If you intend to restore the Tickle Chateau, it has to contain original items.”
“It’s not going to be a museum. We’re going to live here.”
I stagger backward. “We?”
He looks slightly sheepish. “I mean, yeah. For now. If you want.”
I’ve gotten the sense that Maddock wants to help me out like I’m some pity-charity-single mom case. But I’ve gotten this far on my own. I can do it without being a tax write-off.
He adds, “No pressure.”
But that’s just what I’ve felt. So much pressure from every direction: the past with my mother, the present with the restaurant and taking care of Leonie, and the looming future with wanting to do everything I can so her life doesn’t turn out like mine.
My thoughts turn foggy and I get dizzy. My knees suddenly feel like they’re going to buckle. I reach for the handrail but miss as my vision blurs. A steady hand lands on mine as my thoughts fade and my surroundings turn spotty.
“Honey. It’s okay. I’ve got you.” Like an octopus, Maddock somehow manages to take the box from my hands while holding onto Leonie and me.
I struggle to return to full consciousness, knowing I need to take care of her.
“Honey, let me help you. Leonie is safe. She’s just upset I stopped blowing raspberries on her belly. We need to get you inside.”
Then I’m upside down, knocking me half back into reality.
Maddock swept me off my feet and now holds me in a fireman carry. My long hair splays toward the ground as he marches up the steps and into the kitchen. Not going to lie, I have a good view of his backside. He works out. Probably hits leg day hard. Also, I can feel the ripple of his firm muscles under his T-shirt.
So I don’t let myself get too carried away, I protest, “What are you doing? Put me down.”
Leonie sits in her bouncer and goes quiet as if trying to puzzle out what’s happening. From my unusual position, I wave at her and play peek-a-boo around Maddock’s side. She giggles.
He says, “I’ll put you down if you promise me you’ll eat something.”
I start to protest, but my stomach growls. All I had today were two glasses of sweet tea. I can thank myself for the free refill, but not for skipping two meals.
An upside-down pastry box sits on the counter. Scratch that. I’m the one who is still upside down. With his arm still wrapped around my legs, Maddock flips open the lid with his free hand and passes me a muffin.
“What are you doing?” I’m not sure where to put my arms and fight the urge to wrap them around him. I bet his stomach is tightly etched with abs of steel.
Mine is empty.
He waves the muffin by my face. “It’s a cinnamon apple streusel muffin.”
My nose twitches at the delicious scent, but I sling my arms in front of my chest. “Ew. Gross.”
“Ew. Gross. Like kissing. Is that what you think?”
“Absolutely?” I lie.
“Applelutely?”
My smile cracks.
He asks, “How about a beignet bun?”
“Bag nut?” I almost laugh despite myself. “It’s pronounced ben yay .”
“Okay, Pancake Queen. How about I make you some flapjacks?”
“Pancakes and flapjacks aren’t the same as mispronouncing beignet. Those are two different foods. I’m merely correcting your phonetics.”
He takes a sugar cookie with icing and little autumn leaf sprinkles out of the box. “Can I tempt you with this?”
He’s tempting with his thick hair that begs for me to run my hands into it. His stubble-covered cheeks. Full lips ... Even though I can’t see that side of him from this position, his image is permanently painted in my head.
I seal my mouth and shake my head from side to side.
As if more fatigued by my stubborn refusal to do what he says, than by holding me over his shoulder, he shifts his weight. Then I hear a crunch.
That rascal is eating the cookie.
Around a mouthful, he says, “Mmm. It’s good. Are you sure you don’t want a bite?”
“Quite.”
“Why are you so difficult?” he asks.
If I were standing, I’d swing at him. But I’m tired and feeling weak, my thoughts and vision remain a blur. Instead, I inwardly stagger as if that very question struck a blow. My voice is small when I answer, “Actually, I don’t know.”
Because I don’t want help or handouts?
Because all my life I’ve been fighting?
Because the guy is trying to feed me?
That last one is ridiculous and brings to mind Mrs. Daley’s conversation with me about the roof. My inner hunger amplifies because that day she served me sweet potato pie and sweet tea along with a hefty serving of the hard truth.
“Because every time I’ve taken a gamble on someone, they’ve shown their real hand.” My stomach sears with a gnawing hunger.
“Then maybe don’t play cards with dishonest people.”
The words hang between us. I can take them or leave them. It’s my call.
Clearing my throat, I say, “I need real food.”
As if knowing how hard this is for me, Maddock says, “This is just to tide you over. I’ll make whatever you want. Name it. Chef Maddo at your service.”
My thoughts turn fuzzy as my entire body turns slack in his arms.
Maddock tightens his grip. “Whoa there. Seriously, Honey. You need food.”
“I know,” I whisper.
As if we’re a professional couples’ dance pair, he somehow manages to sling me around so he’s cradling me in his arms. After letting go of my legs, I slowly slide down his front as he sets me on my feet. He’s at least six inches taller than me and I have to tip my head back slightly to meet his gaze.
Those deep blue eyes with the lighter ring around them hold on to me like a pair of life rings in a pool. I don’t want to let go. Ever.
I rasp, “I don’t know what I want to eat or why I refuse your help.”
He nods as if understanding that I have some things that I need to work through.
I whisper, “But I do know that I get disappointed when your gaze looks anywhere but at me.”
He shakes his head slowly. “I can hardly tear my eyes from you, Honey.”
I tell myself not to blush, but as my cheeks turn pink, his smile grows, pleased to have this kind of effect on me.
Then, also, as if he knows what I’m craving, he says, “I’m going to warm up Leonie’s bottle and then you and I are having dinner.”
Tallula’s beignet buns are phenomenal and I take a few bites while Maddock makes Leonie’s milk.
“The Laughing Gator Grille used to serve dinner, but I had to shorten opening hours. The Klatch is guaranteed early morning regulars, and since I’d often have an empty dining room at dinnertime, I cut the later hours.” I list some of the old dinner menu items like gumbo, jambalaya, and crawfish étouffée. “Antoine still occasionally runs them as lunch specials.”
“What was your favorite?”
“Lasagna.”
Maddock does a double-take. “Wasn’t expecting that on the menu.”
“It wasn’t. Cory’s grandmother Nan made it once, and I fell in love.” With the food and the boy.
Maddock swishes his lips from side to side. “Unfortunately, I don’t have all the ingredients for lasagna, but I can scratch something together I think you’ll like.”
We sit on the porch and have pasta with meat sauce. Leonie sits in her bouncer-rocker combo seat between us, kicking her little feet. Both socks go flying.
Maddock sets his plate off to the side and wipes his mouth. “While I’m gone, you have to make me a promise.”
“Only if you—” I’m about to tell him he can’t get rid of the stuff from the chateau, but it’s not like it’s my stuff. Anything valuable is long gone. Mama, my cousin, and their cohorts were sure to take care of that. The problem is I don’t want change. It’s like if I hold on to things hard enough, nothing will slip through my fingers.
“Only if I what?” he asks.
Changing tact, I say, “Only if you promise to Facetime Leonie when you’re free.” She adores him.
He laughs. “That I’m more than happy to do.”
The last of the sunlight flashes in his eyes and they catch hold of mine for a moment that burns through my defenses, seeps deep, and makes my heart swell.
We tag team the dinner clean up and the Leonie entertainment showcase. At some point, music comes on and the three of us dance in the kitchen. I have a moment where I imagine walking by the window and seeing this little family full of smiles and laughter. Only way out here, if someone were on the chateau property, they’re definitely up to no good and we’d have to call the sheriff.
Thankfully, law enforcement isn’t needed. Instead of the shadows of the past creeping back in, right now my heart is the fullest it’s ever been. If I had a camera, I’d take a snapshot, capturing this moment in time.
After Leonie goes to sleep, I wander downstairs under the auspices of asking Maddock what he plans on doing with the truckload of stuff.
I find him stacking the boxes in the hallway closet.
“So you decided to keep it all?”
“Status pending. If after the renovation, you want to go through it all, you can decorate as you wish, open a museum, or sell it.”
The idea of staying here, living here, teases me like a house of mirrors. “No yard sales, though. They attract scavengers.”
“The scavenger hunters?”
“Same thing.” I set the baby monitor on the table.
“But maybe someone will get lucky.”
“Luck has nothing to do with it.
Maddock leans against the wall in the hallway and folds his arms in front of his chest. I feel like I’m staring down my own reckoning and sputter, “Hogan Tickle didn’t intend for his riddles not to be solved.”
“So if it’s not luck, you mean someone smart will figure them out.”
“Someone cunning. Cutthroat.”
“Someone like you?”
Since living here, my sleep is much improved so my laughter isn’t so much delirious as it is diabolical. It’s my mother’s laugh. I glance around, but she’s not here. More like it echoes in this house.
Maddock’s look at me is long and penetrating like he knows there’s a chapter, the apex of the story, that I’m not sharing.
I keep my poker face.
“You don’t think there’s treasure, so what are people searching for?”
“Treasure.”
“Now it sounds to me like you’re the one speaking in riddles.”
“Searching for treasure implies something valuable that was hidden. Seeking it consumes people and corrupts them. Makes them greedy. There’s never enough.”
“And you know this first hand?”
“Second hand. I’m not that kind of criminal.” My shoulders lift and lower as I let out a breath, wondering how much I should tell Maddock. How much he can handle before he has second thoughts about coming back?
I sit down at the base of the stairs. A spot I’ve occupied many times, but never on this side of my life where there are genuine smiles, laughter, and something else that’s just barely budding, but there nonetheless. Love.
Maddock steps closer, invading my space. Or did I invite him? The lines are blurring. Is that because I’m living at his house? This place is nearly as big as a hotel. We could go days without seeing each other if we wanted to. But we somehow always end up in the kitchen at the same time.
Maybe it’s because we’re both hungry for each other but are too stubborn to admit it.
“So are you going to tell me?” he asks, eyes dipping slightly in the direction of my mouth as if he’s waiting to hear me speak the words ... or is it for something else?
“How good are you at keeping secrets?” I ask, feeling dangerously close to revealing mine.