Page 9 of Spark
“Why don't we—”
In the distance I hear the squeal of a protesting screen door, cutting off my focus from what Walker’s saying. Then the sound of Grandma Rosie’s frail voice penetrates my thoughts. “Avery, is that you?”
Before I can say anything, Walker turns and spots Grandma Rosie on the front porch.
He twists back to me for a moment. “Is that your grandma? The one with Alzheimer’s?”
My hands grow clammy and I wipe them on my thighs. “What—what? Oh, um, yes. Grandma Rosie. But she’s okay. We didn’t have any significant damage and I stocked up before.” I’m rambling. I don’t know if he can hear the straight panic in my voice, but it sounds brittle and desperate to my ears.
“I should give your place a look before I get back to the guys. It’s the least I can do.” He gives me one last kiss on the lips and even though it’s only the barest touch I feel it down to my bones.
“No!” I nearly shout, but he’s already stalking across the street to my house. His long legs make easy work of the distance and I’m simply no match. He’s at the fence before I get halfway. The air simply evaporates from my lungs as he eats up the space between the gate and the front door where Grandma Rosie is waiting patiently, innocently. I don’t know where the baby is, probably still asleep in the bassinet, but she isn’t holding her. With my heart in my throat, I follow behind as quickly as possible.
“Good morning, ma’am, I’m Walker Bryant with the fire department. How are you doing?”
“Has there been a fire?” I hear Grandma Rosie ask.
“No, ma’am. I’m helping with the cleanup after the storm. You remember the storm from last night?”
“Storm?” Grandma Rosie's expression is guileless.
“Yes, ma'am, there was a bad hurricane last night. How are you feeling?”
“Oh, I'm all right. My granddaughter Avery takes good care of me.”
Walker glances back over his shoulder at me as I climb the steps to the porch, out of breath. Both from the kiss and the short sprint across the street.
“I bet she does.”
“Do you want some sweet tea?” I wince at Grandma Rosie's ingrained hospitality. The last thing I want is for Walker to go inside.
“No, Grandma, I’m sure he’s—”
But Walker acts like he doesn’t hear me. “That would be great, ma'am, thank you.”
I nearly wince. “Are you sure you aren’t busy? Don’t you have a ton of people to check on or something?”
Walker merely grins over his shoulder as Grandma Rosie leads him inside the house. “I always have time for the company of beautiful women.”
My heart is at my feet as we move inside. Rosie busies herself making us all glasses of sweet tea. I already know I won't be able to drink any around the knot in my throat. All I can see are the baby things everywhere. A man like Walker must notice everything, so they can't go outside his observation. Once she gives him the glass of tea, Grandma Rosie smiles and goes back to watching her shows on her tablet in the recliner.
His throat works as he drinks deeply. Despite my panic, my eyes are glued to him. “Have you been working all night?” I figure distracting him will be the next best thing. Maybe if I do, he won't notice the bottles on the counter or the breast pump on the kitchen table. My cheeks burn with embarrassment and I hope he thinks it's because of the heat. I don't know if it's my nerves or the lack of air conditioning, but it feels about 100 degrees inside now.
Walker finishes the glass and sets it inside the sink next to a bottle he doesn't seem to pay any mind to. “Well, I'm between contracts again and I came back to visit. When I heard about the storm, I volunteered with the fire department for their emergency response. When they saw how bad it could be, they knew they needed all the help they could get. It's a mess out there.”
“If it's anything like around here, you'll have your work cut out for you.” I hope that didn't sound as inhospitable as it does inside my head.
“You’re not wrong.” With a quick glance at Grandma Rosie, he says, “So would it be okay if I came back the next time I’m free? I’m not sure when that’ll be, but I want to see you again. I wanted to see you again after you left, but I didn’t have any way to contact you. I never did get your number.”
This is either my dreams come true, or my worst nightmare. I’m not certain which.
“Um, I’m not sure—”
Once again, I’m interrupted.
This time, by the thin, high-pitched wail of a hungry baby girl.
Chapter 7