When Sparks Fly (8 page)

“I’m okay. I’ve told you that,” Bill exclaimed, pushing the oxygen mask away from his face.

“Mr. Callaghan, you need to keep that on until we get your levels up,” the paramedic patiently explained for the fourth time.

“Do what he says, Dad,” Joe ordered, trying to pace back and forth between the sofa and the fireplace, to no avail. The living room floor was littered with debris from the paramedics’ attempt to revive his father, and he had to step around paper wrappers and equipment in his endeavor. Finally giving up, he sat down on the sofa, only to jump up again and resume pacing.

Tearing the mask from his face, Bill roared, “Enough! I’m fine! I certainly don’t need all of this fuss being made over a little dizzy spell.”

Exasperated, Joe argued back, “It was more than a dizzy spell, Dad. You blacked out.”

“It’s called syncope.” Bill’s personal physician, Ted Blanchard strode in, crouching down in front of his patient. Snapping open his bag, he nodded to the paramedics. “I’ve got it from here fellas. Thanks.”

“Sure thing, Doc. Are you sure you don’t want us to stick around in case you need a lift to the hospital?”

“I’m not going to any damned hospital!” Bill thundered, rising up off the sofa.

“Settle down,” Ted ordered, fixing his patient with a level stare until the man sank back against the cushions. “If he needs to go anywhere, I’ll take him.”

The medics packed up their equipment and left the house. Joe stood with his back to the fireplace, his fingers tented across the bridge of his nose while the doctor examined his father. Vaguely aware of Monica moving around in the kitchen, he knew she was doing her best to keep Kimber out of the way. He’d thought the worst when they’d driven up and seen the ambulance, and barely had enough sense to put the truck in park before jumping out and racing into the house.

Relief had flooded through him when he saw his father sitting up giving the paramedics hell. He’d called his mother and after assuring her that Bill was not in any immediate danger, he’d hung up and called Ted. Besides being the family’s physician for more than forty years, Ted Blanchard was also a close personal friend, and there was no one Joe trusted more with his parents’ health.

A vehicle pulled up in the driveway and assuming correctly that it was his mother, he stepped outside to reassure her. He could see that she was shaken but was doing a good job of holding it together, though she took his arm and leaned on him as they walked into the house. Her face crumpled when she saw her husband. “Oh, Bill, what have you done?”

Ted stepped forward and grasped her upper arms, giving her a light shake to refocus her attention. The last thing he needed was two patients on his hands and though Fran was in fairly good health, the woman was getting up there in age. “He’s going to be fine, don’t you worry. You know I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“I know. Thank you Ted, for coming out. I’m alright.” Giving him a half-smile and a nod, she stepped around him and over to her husband, taking a seat on the sofa next to him. They put their arms around each other and Fran’s shoulders quaked lightly, an indication that she was giving into her fears.

“It’s alright, pet,” Bill said soothingly, rubbing her back. “I’m going to be fine. Right, Doc?”

“As long as you remember to take your medicine, you will.”

Bill smiled sheepishly. “I mighta forgotten to take my pills this morning,” he admitted.

“William Sean Callaghan! You cannot forget to take your medicine,” Fran scolded. “Am I going to have to watch you every minute of the day to make sure you do as you’re told?”

“I think that’s my cue to leave,” Ted commented, snapping his bag shut. Motioning to Joe, the two men stepped into the kitchen. The doctor looked over at Monica, who was standing beside the counter, folding a paper grocery bag. Kimber was seated at the table eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, Leroy at her feet, hoping that she’d drop a crust. “Hello there, I don’t believe we’ve met. Dr. Theodore Blanchard.”

Monica reached out and shook the doctor’s hand. “Monica Russo. It’s nice to meet you. How’s Bill?”

“He’ll be fine. He just needs to take it easy for the rest of the day.”

She glanced at Joe to find him staring intently at her, the expression on his face hard to read. “I hope having us here isn’t the cause of this. Maybe we should go stay in Springfield.”

“No!” Joe said, the word coming out harsher than he intended. Ignoring the look Ted cast his way, he softened his voice and continued. “Having you stay here had nothing to do with this. I told you that Dad had a stroke a few years ago. He likes to think that nothing has changed but that isn’t the case.” He reached over and clasped her hands. “Please, Monica, stay. He enjoys having you here. We all do. And he adores Kimber.” The little girl looked up from her sandwich and smiled, melting his heart. “Dad and Mom would both be upset if you left. Besides,” he said, lowering his voice, “you promised me a dance.”

A thrill went through her at his words. She didn’t want to leave. It had only been a day but she couldn’t imagine these people not being in her life. Still….

“I mean it. Stay.” The quiet tone of his voice belied the apprehension he was feeling, afraid she’d say no.

“If you’re sure it’s not too much trouble,” she conceded hesitantly.

“It’s no trouble at all!” Fran strode into the room, her emotional countenance having been replaced with a more authoritative one. “Monica dear, you and Kimber are more than welcome to stay as long as you like. Oh, you put up the groceries. You didn’t have to do that. Thank you, dear.” She moved briskly around the kitchen, setting the kettle to boil and removing a cup and saucer from the cabinet. “Bill would like some tea. Can I get anyone else anything? Ted, I thought you’d gone. Can I make you something to eat?”

Joe and Monica exchanged a look. Walking over to his mother, he wrapped his arms around her in a bear hug, forcing her to be still. “Mom, Dad’s going to be fine. You need to take a breath and calm down.”

Slapping him on the arm, she struggled to remove herself from his arms. “Joseph, let me go! I’m fine! I need to make the tea. Your father is waiting and…,” she stopped resisting and sagged against him. “Oh, Joe, I don’t know what I’d do if I lost him.”

Loosening his hold, he patted her on the back and said soothingly, “You’re not going to lose him, Mom. He’s going to be with us for a long time.”

“He is at that,” Ted agreed. “Just as long as he remembers to take his medication.” He looked at his watch. “I have to be on my way. Fran, if there is anything you need, don’t hesitate to call, day or night. It was nice to meet you Ms. Russo. And you, little miss,” he said to Kimber, causing her to laugh. Giving Joe a meaningful look, he left the house to return to his office.

Wiping her eyes, Fran straightened and fussed with her hair. “I must look a sight. Let me finish making your father’s tea and then I’ll go freshen up.”

“I’ve got it right here, Fran. I can take it to him if you’d like,” Monica offered, holding a bamboo tray containing cups and saucers, a porcelain teapot filled with hot water and wrapped in a cozy, sugar, cream, slices of lemon, and spoons.

“Why, thank you dear, you didn’t have to do all that. I think I’ll take it to the bedroom. Bill could probably use some rest after his excitement.”

“Can I make either of you something to eat? Some soup, maybe?”

“No, thank you. Not right now. That’s very thoughtful of you, though. Joe, honey, do you think you could help your father to our room?”

“Of course, Mom,” he agreed, leaning over and giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Anything for you.”

Swatting him on the shoulder, she said, “Oh you!” then smiled at him. “What would I do without you?” Taking his face in her hands she gave him a big kiss back, much to the delight of Kimber.

“My mommy does that to me sometimes,” she giggled.

“That’s what mommies do,” Fran laughed. “Thank you again for your help, Monica. I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome. If there is anything I can do, please let me know.”

“Mommy, what about the present?” Kimber asked, her eyes full of concern over the forgotten gift.

“Shhh, sweetheart, we’ll do it later. Why don’t you go to your room and color a picture for Grandpa Bill?

“Can Leroy come with me?”

“I don’t think s….” “Sure, he can.”

Monica and Joe spoke at the same time and he met her eyes, challenging her to disagree with him. Shaking her head in mock disapproval, she relented. “Okay, but you have to keep quiet. No roughhousing. Grandma Fran and Grandpa Bill are going to take a nap and I don’t want you to disturb them, understand?”

“Yes, Mommy. Thanks, Joe. Come on, Leroy, let’s go color.” The girl and dog raced down the hallway, the door to the bedroom crashing against the wall as they entered.

“Kimber! What did I say?” Monica called after her.

“Sorry, Mommy. We’ll be quiet,” a small voice drifted down the hall.

“That child!” Shaking her head, Monica cleared the plate from the table, wiping breadcrumbs into her hand.

“They’re all like that, dear,” Fran said. “Why I could tell you stories about Joe that would make your hair stand up on end.”

“Really? I’d like to hear those sometime,” she responded, eyes twinkling as she looked at the object of their discussion.

“Mom, Dad’s tea is getting cold,” he pointed out, in an attempt to head off the conversation before it began.

“You’re right, it is.” Winking at Monica, Fran picked up the tray pausing in the doorway. “I’ll fill you in later, dear.”

Joe groaned and shook his head. “Don’t believe everything you hear. I was a perfectly, well-behaved child.”

She laughed. “That’s what they all say. Go on and help your dad. I’ll finish up in here.”

He walked over to her and cupped his hand around her neck, his thumb grazing her cheek. “Thank you, Monica, for coming into my life.” Brushing his lips over hers, he stepped back and dropped his hand. “I’ve got to get back to the park after I get Dad settled. I’ll see you later.” Disappearing into the living room, he exchanged a few words with his father then helped him to his room. Three minutes later, he was pulling out of the driveway on his way back to work.

Her lips tingled, the faintest impression of his lingering there. The brief contact left her feeling giddy and though she heard his truck leave she practically danced around the kitchen finishing the cleanup. A small radio tucked beneath a cabinet beckoned, and switching it on 1950s rock and roll filled the air, tempting her to sing along with the likes of Fats Domino and The Everly Brothers.

Deciding to make homemade soup for supper, certain that Fran wouldn’t mind, she opened the pantry to see which ingredients the woman had on hand. Mentally flipping through her favorite recipes, she selected a white bean chowder and gathered the necessary items, lining them up on the counter. Before beginning, she went to check on Kimber, not surprised to find her fast asleep on the bed, Leroy curled up by her side. Touched that Joe had left his furry friend behind, it gave her one more reason to admire the man.

Back in the kitchen, she searched for a stock pot, colander, and cutting board. Washing, peeling, and chopping vegetables for the soup, she added them to the pot along with vegetable broth and some rinsed canned beans. A few dried herbs and a couple of bay leaves were added and soon the chowder was simmering away on the stove.

She thought drop biscuits would go nicely with the soup, a quick fix that she could make right before serving supper. The thought of a freshly baked dessert appealed to her too. She loved to bake, a hobby that went back to her childhood days, spending summers in the kitchen with her grandmother. There wasn’t much time for baking with her current schedule; there was barely enough time to throw together a sandwich at the end of a long day.

Unable to choose between pie and cake, she ended up baking both. After discovering a cache of frozen blueberries in the freezer, she boiled a concoction of sugar, berries, and vanilla. Mixing up an oil crust and pressing it into a ten inch pie plate, she heaped spoonsful of the glistening berries into the dish and covered it with strips of pastry in a pretty lattice design.

While the pie was baking, she blended together flour, sugar, cocoa, and eggs for a simple chocolate cake, pouring the batter into a floured baking dish. Stirring in some chocolate chips, her secret ingredient, she popped it into the oven the second the pie was finished. At the last minute, she opted to whip up a batch of brownies too, thinking that Joe might like to take some for his lunch. By the time she was done, the kitchen smelled like a bakery and there were stacks of mixing bowls and utensils in the sink to be washed.

Starting in on the dirty dishes, Monica inhaled deeply, the scent of freshly baked goods making her mouth water. She’d forgotten how much she enjoyed being in the kitchen, and vowed to make time for it once she and Kimber were settled in their new home. A soft breeze blew through the window over the sink, ruffling the wisps of hair that hung down from her hastily pinned-up bun. It hadn’t taken long for her to grow warm between the heat of the stove and oven and her physical labor. Whoever said that domestic work was easy had surely never done any.