CHAPTER SEVEN
Malcolm woke to the sound of hushed whispers and the heavenly smell of his favorite food: chili.
Yes, it was a firefighter cliché to love chili as much as he did, but he wasn’t going to fight it. Spicy or mild, vegetarian or meaty, he could not get enough. Ever.
“I don’t see why I can’t go in there and wake him up, Craig.” His mother’s stage whisper nearly had him cackling. It could be her training as an actress or her prerogative as his mother, but Estelle could project her voice from Tybee Island to New Orleans on one lungful of air.
“Estelle.” His father’s exacerbated tone proved this wasn’t their first argument of the day. “I love you, darling, but, please, let’s give the boy a little privacy. Jessie will make sure he’s up and ready for dinner. Why don’t you get the drinks together? I packed that chardonnay you like. Hmm?”
Brilliant play on his father’s part; his mother never met a white wine she didn’t love. “Fine, for now. But I want to help him get ready for bed.”
He didn’t miss Jessie’s snort of laughter.
“I’m looking forward to watching that,” she said, quietly knocking as she pushed her way into his bedroom.
“I’ll bring our patient right out,” she promised as she closed the door behind her with a quiet snick.
She flipped the flimsy lock, although Malcolm knew Estelle would kick it down if she had the gumption.
Jessie padded into the room, a haggard expression crossing her lovely face.
Her hair was loose and hung to her shoulders, and she was still in her cut-off overalls.
She was adorable, and he cursed his broken body for not being able to pull her into bed with him.
It could be the bandages and wraps, but his arms itched with the need to hold her, to cradle her against him. But he would, in time ...
“You’re awake!” she exclaimed, jogging to his side of the bed and squatting down to be at eye level.
“Did we wake you with all of our witty banter?” She pressed her cool hand to his forehead.
The windows were closed and the ceiling fan was off, so he’d grown warm in the stifling room.
“You’re sweating to death in here. I’ll turn down the AC.
” She began pulling back, but Malcolm stopped her progress with a gentle grip on her wrist.
“Wait,” he croaked, throat dry and tender from sleep.
Jessie frowned. “What’s the matter? Do you need more pain meds?”
Malcolm shook his head, although he didn’t miss the stab of pain as he did so. His whole body revolted at his every move, but now he was more focused on his aching heart than his bones and joints. “Can we sit for a minute?”
Back when they began dating in high school, the pair would hang out all over Pinegrove.
From their houses to the library to the creek to Hog Hollow, they always found a spot to call their own.
During these moments, they would talk—and kiss—but also just be.
Right now, as he started the long journey to recovery, the temporary loss of his job, and the invasion of his well-meaning but overbearing parents, all Malcolm wanted was Jessie.
Understanding exactly what he needed, Jessie kicked off her shoes and crawled next to him.
She fluffed the pillows before sitting back, opening her arms so he could rest his head on her shoulder.
Careful to avoid the bandages on his face, she kissed his temple.
Malcolm felt a zing of awareness all the way down to his cast. At least certain parts of him were in full working order. ..
“Do you remember that one time out by the water tower?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. If his mother was the queen of attention, Jessie was the princess of discretion.
Malcolm’s chest rumbled as he stifled a laugh. “You’ll have to be more specific. Do you mean the time in high school when we stole that bottle of schnaps from my grandma? Or the time you stole Trevor’s high school yearbook with that girl’s phone number in it?”
Jessie giggled, resting her head against his. “Actually, I meant that time a few years ago, when I was back home from Liberia and we stole the pie from Mrs. Watkins’s windowsill.” She snorted at the memory, and Malcolm could barely contain his mirth.
Mrs. Watkins was a sweet old woman known for her cartoonish lifestyle.
She dressed in bright colors, always sang in public, and even left her prized pies to cool on the windowsill like she was living in a Looney Tunes episode.
Much like Bugs Bunny, the pair of them had been walking by her house, debating where to stop for a snack.
When they spotted the pie, Jessie got a wild hair to grab it and run .
.. and that’s what they did—all the way to the top of the town’s water tower.
They hid up behind the ladders in the shadows, happily munching on the peach pie like it was their last meal. And knowing how connected to the local police department Mrs. Watkins was, it very well could have been.
“Wasn’t that before the fireworks that year? I vaguely remember bumping into her while we still had evidence of the crime on our lips.”
Without thinking, Malcolm latched onto Jessie’s hand. He squeezed and she squeezed back harder. “Totally worth it. I’d do it again in a heartbeat, but I’d have to do some training first. My cardio skills aren’t what they used to be,” Jessie teased, waggling their joined hands.
For a few moments, they leaned against each other, the sound of Estelle’s one-woman show seeping through the closed door.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, tilting his head so his lips grazed her earlobe.
After over a decade of off-again, on-again dating, Malcolm knew every inch of Jessie, every way to make her shudder.
Just as he’d hoped, a cluster of goosebumps erupted over the patch of freckles on her neck. Jessie turned toward him, licking her bottom lip. “I couldn’t stay away, you know that.” Her words escaped on an exhale, and Malcolm had to strain to hear her over his hammering heart.
Being mindful of his wrapped arm, he scooted over, tugging her against his side. Their lips were millimeters apart, closer than his favorite fireman’s chair knot. This was it, he was finally going to kiss Jessie after ages apart.
Because his mother had the worst timing on the planet, she chose that exact moment to burst through the door, flimsy lock be damned.
Jessie hadn’t turned on his light, so the lights from the hallway had the same effect as a spotlight.
Both of them shielded their eyes as Jessie hopped off the bed, nearly stumbling to the floor.
“What is taking so long? Are you okay, baby?”
Either oblivious or uncaring of the situation she interrupted, Estelle breezed in and turned on the bedside lamp. “You look flushed. Are you dehydrated?” Turning an accusing eye to Jessie, she added, “I thought you were going to bring him water?”
“I-I-I did. I mean, I will,” Jessie stammered, smoothing her hands over the front of her overalls.
Her cheeks were so rosy, they were brighter than her pink tank top.
A flash of masculine pride washed over Malcolm, seeing her that flustered from his touch.
He made a mental note—Install deadbolt locks on his bedroom door. .. or enter witness protection.
“Mom, for the love of God. We were just coming out for dinner.” Malcolm sat up, pleased he didn’t yelp out in pain. With Jessie’s help, he swung his legs over the bed and made it to his walker. “Let me,” he pleaded, desperate to keep some of his dignity.
Jessie nodded, but she stayed close to his side. “I’ll get your pills ready. Did you want to stop by the bathroom on your way to the dining room?”
“Good idea.” As he took a step closer, his mother rushed ahead and held the door open. Malcolm ground his teeth together. “Mom, please go help Dad with dinner. I’ll be out in a minute, and I definitely don’t need anyone’s assistance in the next five minutes.”
Craig shouted from the kitchen. “I could use help chopping this cilantro!”
Jessie jutted her thumb over her shoulder. “Do you mind helping Craig? I’ll wait to make sure Malcolm gets to the table okay.”
Estelle looked back and forth from her son to Jessie. “But I wanted to ...”
Craig joined them in the hallway, a chef’s knife in one hand and a bunch of herbs in the other.
“Estelle, you know I’ll likely chop my fingers off if you don’t help.
Then we’ll have two Smith men down for the count, and I don’t think your nursing skills are up for the task.
” He winked and headed back to the kitchen.
“Jessie, I’ll pour you a glass of caretaker juice. ”
Jessie wrinkled her brow. “Caretaker juice?”
“It’s wine,” Estelle said, finally allowing herself a smile. “I thought we could all use a little mood elevator.”
Before Malcolm closed the door, he asked, “Can I have some? I feel like out of the four of us, my mood could use the most lifting.”
“You can’t drink on your medication,” both Jessie and Estelle barked.
Malcolm pushed his walker into the bathroom and sighed. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.” He took longer than he needed, savoring a moment’s peace.
Cracking the door open, Malcolm found Jessie leaning against the far wall. “You okay?” she asked, stepping forward to help him get his walker over the seam in the floor.
“Yeah. You know how my mom is. I needed a minute of solitude.”
“I made corn muffins!” Estelle shouted from the kitchen.
“Oooohhh,” Jessie cooed as she steered them toward the dining room. The table was set for four, with Malcolm at the head closest to the doorway. Everyone had glasses of wine, except for Malcolm, who had apple juice.
“Really?” he scoffed, easing into his seat with a wince. “I’m surprised you didn’t get me juice boxes, Mom,” he snickered, raising an eyebrow.
Craig rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “She did.”
Jessie burst out laughing, recovering in time when Estelle sashayed to the table with a basket of corn muffins. “What did I miss?” she asked, placing two muffins on Malcolm’s plate before settling into her own seat.
“Nothing, darling. Let’s say grace and dig in.”
Craig led a brief prayer before serving everyone hearty bowls of chili. True to form, Malcolm doused his in hot sauce until his eyes watered, but he could certainly take the heat.
Jessie was a different story. She put a dollop of sour cream on top and shook away any offers of jalapenos or hot sauce. The foursome ate and chatted about inane topics like the weather and happenings back in Tennessee. Malcolm considered the night to be a success, until his mother poked the bear.
“So, Jessie,” she said, dabbing at her mouth with a cloth napkin Malcolm didn’t know he owned. “Are you set to move back to Pinegrove full-time now?”
Jessie’s spoon stalled on the way to her mouth, a bite of chili plopping back into her bowl with a sad splat. “Oh, urm,” she muttered as she collected her thoughts.
Craig, always the peacekeeper, asked, “Did anyone see the story in today’s newspaper? They got one of the winners of American Idol to be the emcee of the Fourth of July parade.”
Estelle flapped a manicured hand in the air. “We can discuss that later, honey. I’m curious what Jessie’s plans are now that she’s home.”
Truth be told, Malcolm was as curious as his mother was—more so. Yet he knew how Jessie operated. The more you cornered her, the more she’d fight back. “Mom,” Malcolm warned under his breath, but Jessie shook her head.
“I’m not sure, actually.” Jessie squared her shoulders. “I’m up for a promotion in the Peace Corps, and I need to get back sooner rather than later. My boss, Noel, can only hold my application so long.”
“Oh?” Estelle asked. “A promotion. Isn’t that lovely.” Her tone suggested otherwise. “I know your momma would love to have you home again. And we sure would like to ...”
Jessie’s spoon clattered to the table, and she hurried to catch it before it fell to the floor. “I know that, but there’s a lot to consider.”
“Such as?” Estelle pressed, and Malcolm couldn’t bother to stop her. He tugged the napkin from his collar and balled it up, knuckles turning white as he waited.
Jessie blinked, as if surprised anyone was forcing the issue. “I’ve worked for the Peace Corps for nearly a decade. It’s hard to walk away when I’ve done so much for them.”
Craig nodded, draining the last of his wine. Judging from how he longingly looked at the empty bottle, Malcolm knew he wanted more liquid courage for this discussion. “You’ve done a lot of good things for the Corps, Jessie. They’ve been lucky to have you.”
“We’d be lucky to have you, too,” Malcolm said, instantly hating himself. Jessie’s head whipped in his direction, her expression a mix of hope, confusion, and betrayal. “But congratulations on the promotion. That’s very exciting, you earned it.”
“I haven’t gotten it yet.” Jessie pushed to her feet. “I’ll start cleaning up the dishes.”
Malcolm’s head fell back and he blinked rapidly up at the ceiling, willing the last five minutes to evaporate.
They’d made such progress since she’d been back, tiptoeing around the elephant in the room.
He’d been under the impression she was close to coming home for good, but apparently while he was mentally picking out engagement rings, she was renewing her work visa.
How did he get it so wrong again?
And would they ever get it right?