Chapter Three
Morgan walked out of her kitchen, the morning sun shining brightly through those double-hung windows, taking the cup of steaming hot coffee with her to the living room. “When I said I was moving to Carmel, I didn’t expect you to be here all the time. It’s like you moved in with me.”
“That’s what best friends do,” Tessa said, making herself at home. She was in the kitchen, unpacking the boxes Morgan hadn’t bothered to do herself despite moving in nearly a month ago already.
The house, a sunny three-bedroom with a steeply pitched roof, olive green shingles, arched doorways, and a sizeable garden with low stone walls, looked like it had been lifted straight from a storybook.
A complete one-eighty to the penthouse apartment she had back in San Francisco.
It reminded her of that movie The Holiday, swapping a fancy apartment with views of the Golden Gate Bridge with something a little more rustic, a little more quaint.
When Morgan had first moved in, it had felt strange, like stepping into someone else’s life.
She felt like she had become someone who baked apple muffins and knitted by the fire.
Every part of her felt like someone who didn’t thrive on the pulse of the city.
Everything in Carmel-by-the sea was quiet, relaxed, unhurried.
She was trapped in a place that seemed determined to slow her down whether or not she wanted to.
She kind of hated it.
But that was the exact reason she stayed.
“They help their friends out when they are in need,” said Tessa, pointing to Morgan, who was on the couch, clicking mindlessly through television channels. “And you need my help.”
“I’m perfectly fine.”
Tessa’s forehead scrunched up, bunching the hundreds of freckles together into a big pink blob. “Are you serious?”
“Serious as a ripe peach.”
Tessa shook her head, incredulous, her face blank. “You were in a psych ward, Morgan. Not that long ago, mind you.”
“It was only for half a day.”
“Half a day more than you should have been.” Tessa walked around the island counter.
Her short hourglass figure was dressed in a body-hugging dress.
She stuck a hip out and looked more like a mother than anything else.
Though that was the last thing Tessa would refer herself to.
She swore off having children when she was sixteen and had stuck with that promise, for no other reason than she was too selfish.
Morgan, on the other hand, had been so focused on her career that she had completely forgotten about the concept of a family.
Tessa continued. “When I got that call—I’m very honored to be your emergency contact by the way—I thought this was it. Morgan’s finally cracked. And you did. Like an egg.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“I can’t get that picture of you in that blue patient gown out of my head.”
“Can we not talk about it, please,” Morgan moaned, reaching the end of her tether.
She dropped the remote, fetched a throw pillow instead, and pushed it up against her face, wondering how long it would take before she lost enough oxygen to slip away into a deep and pleasant sleep.
It wasn’t exactly a prestigious award to be booked into the psychiatric ward at Sequoia Medical Center after a very public nervous breakdown.
It was also not very becoming to quit your job and run away from everything you knew and loved.
“Do you remember when we were twelve and Matron Hickleberry found you smuggling those anatomy books from the library into our dorm room?” Tessa asked, walking back into the kitchen. She grabbed a pan from the cabinet and switched on the stovetop.
Morgan had many memories of their time together at Harrington School for Girls.
They met when they were eleven, both dropped off by distant parents who had careers to worry about.
Despite being yin and yang, they had hit it off instantly.
They became best friends forever, complete with matching bracelets and the tendency to get into trouble.
“I helped you then, didn’t I?”
“You did,” Morgan replied, remembering how Mrs. Hickleberry had thought Morgan wanted to peruse the pictures of the naked men. She had never considered that twelve-year-old Morgan was determined to memorize the many parts of the human brain.
“And when you got busted for trying weed to prove that hypothesis of yours, who was right there with you?”
“Where are you going with this?”
Tessa walked back into the living room and shook Morgan’s foot where it was propped languidly up on the coffee table. “I’m trying to tell you that you did the right thing when you called me.” Her words were swallowed by a sudden, deafening whoosh.
Morgan’s eyes shot to the flames erupting from the pan, and they both leaped up.
“Oh, fuck!” cried Tessa, rushing forward, past the dining table stacked with boxes, and into the open-plan kitchen where she grabbed a dishcloth from the island counter and started swatting at the fire. “Where’s the fire extinguisher, Morgan?”
But Morgan didn’t move any further than the coffee table.
Not because she didn’t want to, but because she just couldn’t.
Her limbs were frozen, and her feet were nailed to the floor.
Her body felt like it had been encased in a leaden vise.
Every instinct screamed for her to do something, to help Tessa, who was in way over her head, yet she was stuck.
“Fire extinguisher! NOW!”
“I… I don’t have one,” muttered Morgan, shaking her head.
It was the only part of her body that seemed capable of moving.
It was a strange feeling to freeze in an emergency, not something Morgan had experienced before.
Just the opposite, actually. Her work as a neurosurgeon was always about acting, moving, and making precise decisions to save the life on the operating table.
But now, with the flames roaring, taking over her kitchen, Morgan felt paralyzed, helpless, powerless… pathetic.
“Well, then what are you doing standing there!” Tessa shouted as the dishcloth ignited. She hurled the cloth toward the sink but missed and instead set the roll of paper towels alight. “CALL THE FIRE DEPARTMENT!”
The flames then leaped onto the curtains, spreading more than Morgan could grasp. It crept up the walls, curled around the cabinets, and ate up the curtains while she did absolutely nothing.
Tessa rushed into the living room, her blue eyes darkened with panic, her strawberry blonde hair matted to her forehead.
She coughed, not bothering to cover her mouth, and grabbed hold of Morgan’s arms, shaking her like a rag doll caught in a storm.
“Morgan! You need to do something. Move, woman. Your kitchen is on fire.”
But she didn’t. That strange dissociating feeling was still there, as if she was trapped in a surreal nightmare. It was as if she were watching from above while a fire roamed in her kitchen. As her dear friend panicked, her body stood there, unmoving.
Tessa slapped her across the face.
The pain and warmth of it snapped her awake. “Ow!” she cried, pressing her palm against her cheek. “That bloody hurt.”
“CALL THE FIRE DEPARTMENT!”
But sirens were already blazing in the distance.
Moments later, the fire truck screeched to a halt outside.
Even with smoke burning her eyes, Morgan could see red flashing lights through the windows.
Tessa ran to the front door right before three firefighters burst through the entrance hall, their gear clanking as they darted into the kitchen with a hose.
“Let’s wait outside.” Tessa grabbed Morgan by the hand and yanked her to the front door. They piled out into the yard, watching black smoke billow up behind the house.
Curious neighbors walked out of their doors. A car or two had stopped, their occupants leaning out the window. That was the thing about emergencies; people couldn’t resist the allure of a spectacle. Human nature. A morbid curiosity.
“I wonder who called the fire station?” Tessa asked, looking around at the neighbors standing on the sidewalk with worried expressions on their faces.
Morgan ignored all of them, including Tessa, and stared up at the smoke. “This is why I won’t let you move in with me. You’re a walking disaster.”
“What?” exclaimed Tessa, her jaw dropping in shock. “Are you saying this is my fault?”
“You’re the one who left the stove top unassisted.”
Tessa gasped and turned to poke Morgan in the ribs, hard. “Well, you’re the one who doesn’t have a fire extinguisher.”
“Do you remember what Headmistress Walker said to you after you convinced all of us to go jumping off that cliff by the old lighthouse?”
Tessa’s face fell, and she looked ashamedly at the crisp green grass. “She said I’ll probably end up getting one of my friends killed.”
“Well, you’re one step closer to living up to that prophecy.”
Then, as if all the weight from impending death evaporated off their shoulders, they both laughed, hard, relieved and exhausted.
“This is nothing to laugh about,” said a firefighter walking toward them.
The person still wore that bulky mask. “Fires are serious. They are dangerous.” The voice sounded awfully familiar.
The firefighter continued, pausing to pull off the mask and when they did, sandy blonde locks toppled over her shoulders.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Morgan muttered under her breath. The relief drifted away out of her reach and her stomach bottomed out.
Sydney stepped closer. She was close enough that Morgan could see a single freckle just above her left eyebrow.
“Let me give you some advice, alright? You might want to consider investing in a fire extinguisher for future reference. It would be a good idea to have one, before you endanger your life and your neighbors.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Morgan through gritted teeth.
A lecture was the last thing she needed.
The first thing was a hardy mop and whatever detergent was capable of removing smoky charred residue and the second was to wipe clean those memories of that other night.
It made it hard to concentrate, especially when flashes of that night shot into her head like fireworks. Lips, tongue, fingers.
Morgan was adamant about keeping that wall she had created, brick by brick, in place. The wall she had only ever let down for one person in her life—the strawberry blonde friend standing beside her now.
“Good,” Sydney said, shifting her weight to her left foot, perhaps waiting for a thank you for putting the fire out before it burned her house down. She deserved a grateful thanks. Yet Morgan couldn’t get the words out of her mouth. Fortunately, Tessa spoke for both of them. “Thanks for saving us.”
“It’s no problem.” Sydney smiled. It was a professional, dissociated smile she probably gave to all the people she saved.
Still, Morgan couldn’t help the flutter of moth wings in her stomach.
It was uncomfortable, to say the least, a gnawing ache where the wings were sharp instead of soft and delicate.
“You might want to stay somewhere else for the week,” said Sydney, glancing back at the house. “Your home smells like a barbecue.” She then gave Morgan one last look, her eyes like two torches searching for something in the dark before she walked away. Her long, wavy hair swung behind her back.
“Why am I feeling some tension between the two of—” Tessa cut herself off, angled her body so that she was standing right in front of Morgan, and then dropped her jaw so low that her molars were exposed.
“Is that the woman you slept with the other night? The one from the gallery? The one with the tattoos on her arm?”
“Leave it alone, alright,” said Morgan, rolling her eyes, regretting ever telling Tessa about her personal life.
Not that she had much of a choice. Her longest-standing friend, the one who had gotten her through eight years of boarding school, who had held her hand when the female lead singer of her favorite band The Cherries had died, who had supported her when Morgan had admitted that she liked girls, who had recognized her genius and pushed her to study medicine and who had convinced her to move to Carmel after the ‘incident’, deserved to know everything about her life—including the women whom she slept with.
“I don’t want to talk about it…” Before Morgan could finish her sentence, Tessa was running across the yard to the firetruck. She ran right to Sydney, who was helping a colleague with the hose.
It was hard to hear the conversation, and it became impossible when Morgan’s heartbeat thumped in her head.
She clenched her fists when she saw Sydney smile, gritted her teeth when she heard Tessa laugh, and then blew out a murderous breath when Tessa came running back.
“What did you say to her?” Morgan growled.
“Just that we’re grateful.”
“You’re lying. I know that face. That’s definitely your lying face.”
Tessa laughed, but said nothing. She only winked before she ambled off to the front door, disappearing inside.
“Are you coming, Morgan?” she called back, peaking a head out. “We’ve got a bag to pack. You’re staying at my place this week.”