Page 3 of Rescue
I admit that I haven’t exactly been busy keeping up my end of the proposal. When we first got engaged, it seemed like we talked about what we wanted our wedding to look like every day. It was easy to picture myself as Mrs. Spencer Adams. It was like a fairy tale, with me starring as the luckiest girl in the world. But that’s all it was - acting. The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced he doesn’t really want me. He wants the full package, and I’m just the pretty face he picked to play the wife. The busier he got with work, the easier it was to keep pushing it to the back burner. If I don’t think about all the ways this relationship doesn’t work, I don't have to think about breaking things off.
As I enter the parking garage of our apartment, my phone rings, pulling me away from my deep thoughts. I consider letting it just go to voicemail, but I see it’s Mama, so I answer.
“Hey, Mama,” I say, missing her more in this moment than I thought possible.
“Hey, Beautiful,” she says quickly, using her classic nickname for me. “Listen,” she hurries on, sounding stressed, “it’s not an emergency, sweet girl, but I think you might need to come home.”
“What? What happened?” I say, immediately starting to worry. If she’s telling me I need to make the 4-hour drive through the mountains, then I know there must be something wrong.
“Well, it’s just that Nana has gotten herself into a little bit of trouble,” she says, trying to cover for whatever shenanigans Nana has started now.
“Oh no.” I groan. “What’s she done now?” I ask, almost afraid of her answer.
“Well,” Mama says, and I can tell she’s stalling, trying to avoid having to say whatever she’s building up to, “she was trying to decorate old Tom’s barber shop pole for the upcoming Labor Day parade as a little prank . . . and well . . . she climbed to the top of the pole and tried to twirl down it like a ‘dancer’ and fell. The doctor just came in and said her hip is broken. She’ll need a partial hip replacement in the morning and at least six weeks downtime. Which means . . .” she says as if she regrets having to ask.
“Which means you need me to come home and run the cafe and help keep her at home in bed healing?”
“Oh, would you?” she asks as though I’ve offered. “Haven’t you been saying how much you hate your boss there in the city? Can’t you just quit your job and come home for a few weeks to help out? Surely by the time you’re heading back to the city one of those jobs you’ve applied for will have called to offer you something better!”
“Mama it doesn’t work that way. I have to be here in the city to interview.”
“Nonsense,” she says, “I use video calls for practically everything at work these days. I know you can make it work. Please come home, darling. Nana needs you. She specifically asked me to call you. You’re the only one who knows what to do at that cafe.”
I think about all the times Nana has been there for me. From the time I was a small girl she’s helped raise me. She’s the reason I’m a pastry chef. If she’s asking me to come home and help, I can’t say no. “Ok, Mama. I’ll work everything out and head home as soon as I can.”
“What about Spencer? Will he be ok while you’re gone?” She knows he can’t leave work and come with me.
“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” I say, trying to hide my icy tone as I recall our conversation at dinner. “I’ll call him now and make arrangements.” I’m already making a mental list of all the things I need to get done before I can leave.
“Ok, Beautiful. Try not to worry about Nana too much. She’s in good hands. Thank you for doing this for us. I always knew you were one of the good ones.” I can picture her winking at me.
I tell her goodnight and hang up. Thinking about my earlier conversation with Spencer, I decide to call him. It rings twice and goes to voicemail. I text and tell him ‘it’s urgent’, then head into our bedroom to start packing.
I wake with a start. I must have fallen asleep last night while I was waiting for some clothes to dry. I look to my right expecting Spencer to be there, but his side of the bed looks untouched, like he never slept there.
That’s odd, but not unheard of. Especially lately. Sometimes he gets so wrapped up in a case that he falls asleep at the office. I reach for my phone to see if he’s called, but it’s not on my nightstand. Before I begin my search, I make my way to the bathroom, brush my teeth, and throw this relentless hair into a messy bun. As I head to the kitchen, I spot my phone on the coffee table. Dead, of course. I connect it to the charger while I make coffee.Ugh. I must’ve fallen asleep before prepping the coffeemaker. Lord knows I can’t function without coffee.
I pop a bagel into the toaster while I wait and see that my phone has rebooted. I have one voicemail and two texts, none of which are from Spencer. Even after I told him it was urgent? I hope he’s ok, but if he is, he’s got some serious explaining to do. I don’t know how our relationship got here, but it’s not ok with me. Suddenly, my bagel doesn’t seem as appealing anymore.
When I check my voicemail, there’s a message from Mama that says Nana is in surgery and reminding me to drive safely on my way through the mountains. One of the texts is from my childhood best friend, Amy, telling me news of Nana’s accident has made its way around town and she’s available if my family needs anything. I shoot her a quick text thanking her, letting her know that I’m going to be coming home to help for a while, and telling her I’m looking forward to seeing her again soon.
The second message is from a coworker asking if I can cover their shift this weekend. It reminds me that I need to get in touch with my boss about some time off. I check the clock and decide to take a quick shower before I call her. I reply to my coworker’s text to say I’m unavailable and head to the bathroom.
