14. Grilled Cheese and Tomato Soup
fourteen
Grilled Cheese and Tomato Soup
K ourt flies back up and through the rolling streets we just steadied down. My mouth falls agape as I grip the ‘Oh shit’ handle. It remains open until he parks in front of a modest brick home that sits what feels like a mile past its own mailbox and the main road.
“Wait here.” Kourt leaves the truck running and grabs a first aid bag from the back. I sit, still a little stunned, and then I process the order he barked.
Absolutely not. I don’t see any smoke so…
I kill the truck’s ignition and climb out.
I walk carefully up the front porch. A rocking bench built for two sits below the front window and several potted plants that appear neglected either from lack of care or the harsh winter season line the porch steps.
A small ramp that looks like it was added on the side of the porch, for bypassing steps.
I pause when my boots hit the worn-out old mat with Welcome to Our Home written across it.
I press my ear to the door.
“Mrs. Phillips, you’re just going to have to trust me.
I’m going to step in and get behind you…
” Kourt’s voice is firm but has alarm to it.
I can’t quite make out the rest of what he’s saying.
It’s muffled behind the thick wooden door, and it sounds like water is running.
I look behind me, wondering if back up or more of Blitzen’s volunteer fire department isn’t barreling down the drive.
“G.W.! Bring me a towel or a blanket, for God’s sake!” Kourt’s demand is loud and clear, and I can’t ignore the concern in his voice.
I push the front door open and barge in. An old man greets me with a kind expression and dancing eyes. He’s wearing overalls and slippers, and he seems as if he doesn’t know what’s going on back there.
“Hello, Miss.” He smiles up at me from the kitchen bar where he fiddles with a can opener. “Are you here for my buddy Kourt? Sit down if you like. Carol will be glad to have you two stay for dinner when she gets out of the shower.” He tries again at the can opener.
“G.W.! Get a blanket!” The urgency in Kourt’s voice rings through me like a bell, and I try to pull my knitted brows apart and wipe the confusion off my face.
I nod at the old man and muster a genuine smile to leave him with as I race down the hallway of a home I’ve never been in.
I see a throw folded on a day bed in a middle bedroom and grab it on impulse as I continue toward the sound of a shower that’s been running way too long.
“Erika?” Kourt has a foot, leg and a shoulder lodged in the bathroom doorway. His neck is strained, and he’s holding as tight as he can while I hear a woman behind the door crying hysterically, “Don’t look at me. Don’t look at me. Please! You can’t come in!”
I lean through the door past Kourt to see an elderly woman half sitting, half lying on the tile, clutching Kourt’s arm to a debilitating extreme. The shower curtain is askew, and water is pouring from both the shower head and the bathtub while she faces opposite the door and cries in terror.
“Get G.W.! Please. Get him to lift me, then you can help me out. Please! I’m unclothed.”
“Hello? Mrs. Phillips?” My voice is strong, and I cringe at my adrenaline burst that could prove nothing more than over-confidence.
Kourt’s red, stressed face searches mine as he waits to hear her response.
His shoulder is jammed if not trapped inside the door she’s pressing her back to with all her might. Kourt could obviously push it open with his strength, but out of respect for her privacy, or maybe to avoid hurting her, he’s allowed himself to be harmed.
I peek through again to see if she’s hearing me, and I see where Kourt’s arm is supporting her upper back by hooking under her shoulder.
“It’s Erika, Mrs. Phillips. You don’t know me, but I’m sure you knew my Great Aunt Josephine. I’m here in Blitzen staying at her place for the holidays.”
“Josephine Amherst’s girl?” Mrs. Phillips’ voice trembles from the other side of the door.
I step closer to Kourt and the gap in the doorway.
He’s so tall he’s looking down on me. His ear pressed to the door, his chin almost touching the top of my head from leaning in to sacrifice his arm where it’s pinched.
I can feel his fast breath on my cheek as I press my face to the door to hear her better.
I take a half step closer to Kourt. My body presses against his and my face is directly in line with his as I look up at him, craning my own arm through the door with the throw I found.
Kourt’s eyes dilate as he stares down into mine and I know he’s about to inch his brows together in complete horror and confusion as he asks me what the hell I’m doing.
My breath hitches as I feel the blanket reach what must be the top of her shoulder. This could go completely wrong. If I scare her, she could buck back on the door, slamming both our arms and hitting her head on the tile in the process.
Please let this work.
My eyes lock on Kourt’s. “G.W. gave me this blanket to give you, Mrs. Phillips.”
We stare through each other waiting for her response.
“He did?” Mrs. Phillip’s voice is slower, lower.
“Yes, ma’am. He said I should get that flannel blanket you like and wrap it around your shoulders to cover you. You’ve got your bath towel covering the front of you, and if you can lean forward to let me in, I’ll have your throw he gave me wrapped completely around you before anyone can see in.”
My breath ticks up and my heart beats wildly at the lies I told her, assuming the soft man in the kitchen with the can opener is G.W.
“It’s just you then?”
“Yes, Mrs. Phillips. Kourt has his back to you and the door. I’m watching him as we speak, and G.W. is here waiting to see if I can get your blanket to you. May I slide in behind you?”
She takes a deep breath and sighs. “Well, G.W. knows best. Kourt, you can let that Amherst girl in.”
Kourt cringes, and I see how red his forearm, wrist and hand are from holding her up. I squeeze through the door, adding more pressure on him for a split second before I slide my open palm down her back and prop her shoulder with my other to replace his.
The door closes behind us.
I work quickly with the throw to cover her.
The floor is slick and a spongey bathmat is soaked through with water.
Careful not to slip myself, I sit behind her so I don’t move her. I’m clearly not the paramedic here and I’m acutely aware of how delicate and brittle her bones and skin feel under my touch.
“All covered now Mrs. Phillips. Can Kourt come in and turn the shower off and get us off the floor?” I lean our bodies away from the door so Kourt can get through.
“Oh, yes, of course. Kourt, I’m so sorry you’ve had to come after me. And with me not decent.”
Kourt’s hands replace mine behind her back and I move in front of Mrs. Philips so she can see me.
“Nonsense, Carol. I’m happy to stop by any time.” Kourt’s voice is soothing, and a smile of relief twinkles up to his eyes as he goes to work to get her stable enough to lift. “It’s always good to see you, regardless of the circumstances.”
I watch Mrs. Phillips gush as I kneel in front of her.
“Oh my. Aren’t you a pretty little thing. Look at those lashes—”
I can’t stifle my burst of laughter.
“And those blue, blue eyes.”
Kourt clears his throat. Flattering and embarrassing as this is on my end, he’s working to save her, and I’m keeping her mind off one of the most embarrassing moments of her life.
“You’re too kind, and I’m happy to meet you, Mrs. Phillips.”
“You call me Carol. Kourt knows he’s supposed to. I just hate we had to meet with me so exposed,” she starts again.
“There’s no such thing as modesty where your safety is concerned, and besides that, Kourt here is supposedly quite the gentlemen.” I lean toward her with a smile.
She matches me, leaning in, and whispers, “I’m certain a moment alone with you will fix that.”
“Carol.” My eyes widen at my new friend as I hear commotion outside the bathroom door.
“They’re in the back bathroom.” A male’s voice shouts toward us. “Kourt, you got her?” A man I recognize as the fire chief from the town meeting appears with two younger men behind him.
“Carol, I’m going to let them through to help you up, and I’ll go let G.W. know we got you all covered up and settled.” I try to keep my voice strong and confident, so she doesn’t go back to the fear and embarrassment that made her panic before.
“Oh, yes. Please let G.W. know I’m in good hands.”
I slip past Kourt and out of the team’s way in search of the lost old man who greeted me. Before we can get reacquainted, a stretcher rolls past, and Carol is sitting up, wearing a robe and strapped onto the gurney.
“Alright, Kourt. We’re gonna go ahead and take her in for X-rays, to make sure nothing’s broken. Thanks for getting here so fast.” The chief nods at Kourt over the heads of the others making their way out with Carol.
“I’m going to stay and get this cleaned up.” Kourt motions to the flooded bathroom with a thumb but shoots an additional nod and silent glance toward the old man standing next to me in the kitchen.
The chief nods back and mouths thank you as he turns to leave. “Don’t forget to add your girl here to the incident report tomorrow. Thanks for your help young lady.”
“It’s Erika.” I smile back at the chief.
A younger, shorter version of Kourt turns to look at us from where he rolls the stretcher. “Did you, ah, need a ride back into town with us, Erika?” he asks, like a hopeful puppy.
Kourt’s eyes cut through the small crowd to him, and he gives him a lasting glare.
I look to Kourt, genuinely not knowing what I’m supposed to do, and since I give up my power, Kourt takes it back and smiles cockily in my direction.
“Erika?” His eyebrows rise, as if he’s suggesting I should answer his colleague’s question.
“Oh, no young man,” a small voice calls from behind the kitchen counter, answering for me. G.W. stands, still holding a can opener. “The young lady and Kourt have been invited to stay to dinner.” G.W. smiles at me as if it is settled.
Kourt’s lips purse together, and he blinks at me, watching my face as I try to hide the fact that the old man made me blush.
The rest of the volunteer fire crew chuckle as they slide out the door and Kourt and I both land on G.W. as we watch him hold the can opener upside down.
My eyes drift back down the hallway thinking of the two of them here and how they manage. For the first time, I catch a walker at the end of the hallway. It has a pink purse pouch and seat attached. It must belong to Carol.
It’s clear that, left to his own devices, G.W. cannot open a can of tomato soup and it’s difficult for me to imagine Carol holding down the fort and cooking their meals from her walker.
My heart sinks. For them.
“Let me grab that, G.W.—Tomato soup and grilled cheese? Is that what we’re aiming for?” Kourt pats G.W. on the back, man to man, as he slides the can from the wrinkled, stiff hands that have failed G.W. as much as his mind.
“Carol’s favorite. She’s a dunker. It’s a soggy half she takes, and I take a whole sandwich, but my soup, separate.
I was trying to fix some supper for us while she took her bath.
But I don’t know where to get the cheese.
She likes the white kind in her grilled sandwich, but I don’t see any bread and I’m not sure that soup’s hot.
” G.W. looks up at Kourt to see what he thinks about the situation.
Kourt pulls a package of fresh mozzarella and a stick of butter out of their fridge. I watch him open the soup and pour it into a pan to simmer. He plucks a leaf of fresh basil from the small potted plant in Carol’s kitchen sink window and winks at me.
“Not yet, G.W., but it’ll be hot and ready in two shakes.”