Torch
“Beck!”
I’d already knocked twice, but Beck had yet to answer.
I would’ve just left, but her car was in the driveway, and I hadn’t seen heads or tails of her since Ava got sick. Beck hadn’t called, but something about the silence didn’t sit right with me—especially after our conversation and that kiss.
It was all I could think about. I wasn’t sure if it was the kiss itself or the way she’d looked at me afterward, but I finally felt like I’d done something right. I wanted a chance to talk to her or, at the very least, see her, but she’d gone radio silent on me.
Concerned something might be wrong, I knocked a third time.
“Hey, Beck! You home?”
A few seconds passed before the door creaked open, and there she was—all wrapped in a blanket that looked about two sizes too big for her. Her hair was a wild mess, and she had a crumpled Kleenex pressed to her nose. Her cheeks were flushed, and not in a good way. The poor thing looked like she was having a time of it.
She cleared her throat with a grimace before muttering, “Hey.”
"Jesus, Beck. You look like hell."
“Gee, thanks,” she croaked. “Just the compliment I needed today.”
I ignored her sarcasm and reached out to brush a hand against her forehead. She tried to bat me away, but she was too slow. I placed my palm on her head and immediately felt the heat radiating off her skin. “You’re burning up.”
“I’m fine,” she lied, leaning heavily against the doorframe. “I just got a touch of what Ava had, and I...”
“Need to go to bed,” I cut her off, pushing past her into the house. “Where’s Ava?”
“She’s in her room,” Beck said, her voice softening as she pulled the blanket tighter around her. “She’s pretty much over it, but ...”
Beck’s face grew pale, and her eyes grew wide with panic. Before I could ask what was wrong, she turned and darted towards the bathroom. Seconds later, I heard her retching and then, the commode flush. I eased the door open, and when I found her hunched over the commode, I stepped over and pulled her hair back. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“Please go away...”
“Not happening.”
“I don’t want you seeing me like this,” she groaned—her words echoing in the commode.
“Too late for that.” I used my free hand to grab a clean washcloth and ran it under cold water. “I would’ve come sooner if I’d known you were sick.”
“Oh, God.” Her breathing became ragged, and it looked like she was on death’s door as I placed the cold cloth against her forehead. “This is awful.”
“I know. Just give it a minute and see if it passes.”
“I can’t be sick.”
“Clearly, you can.”
“No... That’s not what I meant,” she groaned. “My job is about to start. I don’t have a tree yet, and all my decorations are piled up in the garage. I just don’t have time for this.”
“I hate to break it to you, but you don’t really have a choice in the matter. Now, stop your whining and just breathe for a bit.”
She let out a defeated sigh as she continued to hug the toilet. We stayed there a good while longer, and when the nausea seemed to pass, I asked her, “You think you could make it to the sofa?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
I helped her to her feet, and after she’d rinsed her mouth out, I led her down the hall to the living room. Once she was settled on the sofa, I pulled a another blanket over her. “Hold tight. I’m gonna go grab a few things.”
“It’s okay. I can call Mom and...”
“I’m already here. I’ve got it covered. Just give me a minute.”
To my surprise, she didn’t argue. Hell, she didn’t have the energy to. All she could do was just lay there and try not to pass out. I went into the kitchen and grabbed all the things she’d used to help Ava, then carried them to her in the living room. When I placed the clean bowl on the coffee table, she cracked open one eye and muttered, “You need to go.”
“You can stop with that. I’m not going anywhere.” I placed the ginger ale and Pepto on the coffee table as I scolded, “You should’ve let someone know you were sick.”
“I didn’t want to be a bother.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit. You need me, then call. End of discussion.”
“Hm-hmm.”
“That’s more like it. Now, get some rest. I’m gonna go check on Ava.”
“Wait.” She eased up on the sofa as she fussed, “No, I can?—”
“Beck,” I cut her off, my voice firm. “You’re not winning this one.”
For a second, I thought she’d argue, but then she eased back on her pillow and let out a tired sigh. “Okay. But if she asks for me?—”
“I’ll let you know,” I said, softening my tone. “Now get some sleep.”
I left the living room and went to find Ava. When I got to the end of the hall, I found her in her room, sitting on the floor. She looked up at me with narrowed eyes and asked, “Where’s my momma?”
“She’s not feeling good and went to lie down for a bit.”
“Oh.”
“I’m just checking to make sure you’re good.” She just sat there looking at me like I had three heads, so I asked, “Can I get you something?”
“I’m hungry.”
“Okay. I can scrounge you up something to eat. How about some eggs or some toast?”
Her nose crinkled with disapproval as she shook her head no.
“How about some cereal?”
Another shake of the head.
“A grilled cheese?”
With that, her eyes lit up, and she nodded with excitement.
“Okay. A grilled cheese it is.” I started to back out of the room but stopped when I thought back to how sick her mother had just been. “Are you sure you feel up for that with your tummy and all?”
“Hm-hmm. I want ‘em.”
“Okay, you got it.”
Ava followed me into the kitchen and climbed up on one of the kitchen stools. Her tiny legs swung back and forth as she watched me walk over and start searching through the cabinets. I sounded like a bull in a china shop as I fumbled through the pots and pans. I finally found the skillet and placed it on the stove before going over to the fridge for the cheese and butter.
I was about to turn on the stove when I realized I’d forgotten the bread. I stepped over to the pantry and grabbed a loaf from the second shelf before returning to the stove. I was about to get started when Ava muttered, “That’s not right.”
“What?”
She pointed to the loaf of bread and said, “That’s not it.”
“What do you mean?” I picked it up and looked at it. “Looks like bread to me.”
“It has seeds.”
“Seeds?” I had no idea what she was talking about, so I argued, “Kid, bread is bread.”
“No.” She shook her head like she was already over my incompetence. “In the fridge.”
“The fridge? Why would bread be in the—never mind.” I opened the door, and sure enough, there it was. I was starting to regret volunteering for this mission as I grumbled, “All right, we’re back on track.”
I started buttering the bread like a pro. The sizzle of butter hitting the hot surface felt like victory—until Ava wrinkled her nose and said, “You’re supposed to use the green one.”
“The green one? What’s wrong with this one?”
“It’s for pancakes.”
She said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and I was a jackass for not knowing better. She reminded me of her mother back in the day—full of sass and determination. I sighed and swapped out spatulas because arguing with a four-year-old wasn’t a battle I cared to win. As I flipped the sandwich, she leaned her chin on her hands and gave me a serious look. “You think Santa will come?”
Surprised by the sudden shift in conversation, I looked over at her and asked, “Why wouldn’t he?”
“We moved.”
“And?”
“What if he can’t find us?”
“Hey now,” I said, crouching down to meet her eyes. “Santa can always find you. He’s got magic powers and can find anyone—even you and your momma.”
“Really?”
“Yep.” I tapped her nose. “Santa will be here. Don’t you worry about that.”
The sandwich was done by then, and I slid it onto a plate, cutting it diagonally like Beck always did. Ava gave me an approving nod as I set it in front of her. She picked it up and took bite. After a few chews, she smiled, and it was like hitting the lottery. “You like it?”
“Hm-hmm.”
“Good deal.” I turned off the stove and put the skillet in the sink. “I’m going to go see about your momma. I’ll be right back.”
I walked into the living room and was surprised to find that Beck was no longer lying on the sofa. Thinking that she might have gotten sick again, I went to check the bathroom. When I walked by her room, I was relieved to find that she was curled up in bed. Damn. I don’t know how long I stood there staring at her, marveling at how beautiful she was.
Fighting the urge to crawl in next to her, I covered her up with the comforter and walked out of the room. I hated seeing her so sick and felt compelled to do something to make her feel better. And then it hit me.
There was something I could do, but it was risky. She’d either love it or absolutely hate it. There was only one way to find out.
It was time for me to call in a few favors...