Wishes and Stitches (23 page)

Chapter Thirty-nine

N
aomi woke in a pool of sunshine. She opened her eyes warily. Something was, or had been, very wrong. She just couldn't remember what it was.

She stretched. Oh, God, her stomach felt like she'd been kicked in the gut by a furious horse. The back of her hand stung, and her head felt light. The bedsheets were tangled around her. But the windows were open, and a warm summer wind blew through the room, tickling her nose with the scent of dusty jasmine and mown grass. Something told her she should feel much worse than she did.

Shigellosis. It had dropped her much harder than a normal touch of food poisoning would. But now she felt better, and suddenly . . . she felt hungry.

It might have had something to do with the smell of toast wafting in through her open bedroom door, but she was ravenous. Everything Naomi thought of to eat—bread, bananas, cereal, ice cream, steak—sounded like the best idea she'd ever had. Knowing her body was probably lying to her and that she should take it easy didn't prevent her stomach from rumbling hungrily, loudly. Anna must be home. Maybe she'd make Naomi some toast, too.

She stood, careful to hold on to first the nightstand, then the door handle. Making it to the kitchen was more difficult than she'd thought it would be. The hallway she'd always thought short seemed a million miles long. At some point, she'd changed her pajamas to the ones with the cherries on them, and the crazy thing was, she didn't even remember doing it.

How long had Rig stayed with her last night? Had he helped her change? She'd remember
that
, wouldn't she?

She turned the corner to enter the kitchen and almost ran smack-dab into the tall man who was leaving the kitchen in a hurry. Naomi wasn't able to stifle the scream.

Rig—of course it was Rig—yelled back, “Hoooo! Damn! You scared me!”

“Me?' Naomi pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down slowly, propping herself against the table for support. “What are you doing here?”

“What does it look like?” He pointed at the tray resting on the kitchen countertop. On it was buttered toast on her favorite blue plate, and a glass holding something that looked like Gatorade. A pill was on a napkin, and a banana was halfway peeled, ready to be picked up and eaten. A red rose was at the top of the tray—she recognized it as one of hers from the overgrown garden.

“That's for me?”

Rig nodded. “I was going to bring it to you in bed before I split, see if I could tempt your appetite, but now that you're there, just stay.” He set the tray down in front of her.

Naomi picked up a piece of toast and considered her stomach. It twanged, but didn't lurch or roll. And the bread smelled so good . . . she took a bite, chewing slowly. Rig watched with what looked like approval.

After a couple of bites and a swallow of the noxious sports drink, she asked, “Where's Anna?” She'd need her to go in and cancel her appointments for today, or see if they could be shifted to Rig. She was still in no shape to go to work. Naomi knew she could be stubborn, but she wouldn't play around with this. You didn't mess with shigellosis, and she was glad she'd taken yesterday off.

The back of her left hand burned, and she looked down at it. Holy hell—there was an access hole and the remnants of tape left on her skin.

Naomi looked up at Rig, who was leaning against her refrigerator, watching her eat. “You gave me an IV?”

He nodded.

Naomi felt her head swim. “
When?
”

“Yesterday. You were pretty delirious. It was that or take you in to be hospitalized, and I figured you'd hate that.”

“You mean last night? I totally don't remember.”

“No, yesterday. In the afternoon. I told Anna what to bring me, and she did.”

Math, numbers, days . . . Nothing added up to the right thing. “But I got sick two nights ago, right?”

“Four nights ago. It's Saturday. I've spent the last three nights with you, and I missed as much work as I possibly could to be here. And you're doing well to be moving around as much as you are now. So eat, and then go back to bed. I've got a project I'm working on this afternoon, but I want to make sure you're okay before I leave.”

Naomi sat back in the wooden chair, feeling the top rung dig into her back. She'd lost
days
? Was that possible? But the more she thought about it, the more things started trickling back into her mind: Rig, holding her for long hours as she shook with cold; his hands around her as she swayed back to the bathroom; a cold washcloth that felt just right; the look of Rig's jaw at dawn, profiled against the light.

Also: Anna's face, worried, then hurt.

“What did I say to Anna?”

Rig grimaced and, as if buying time, poured himself a cup of coffee. Turning back to face Naomi, he said, “It wasn't great.”

Naomi put a hand to her cheek. “What did I say?”

“You should probably ask her.” He pulled the other chair out and spun it so that he could sit backward on it and still face her.

“Is she at the office?”

Rig glanced at his watch. “It's Saturday.”

“Has she been . . . here? With me?”

Rig looked almost apologetic. “She didn't want to stay.”

Oh, dear. So, apparently, when sick, Naomi had said things she didn't mean to. An echo of a memory sounded in her brain . . . Anna's shocked face . . .

“You can't remember
anything
I said to her? Did I mention the baby?”

Rig gave a careful nod. “You did.”

Another memory rocked Naomi, making her feel sick all over again. “Did I . . . ask why she didn't get rid of the baby when she found out?”

His lips folded into a line that told her the answer.

“Shit,
shit
. What did she do?”

“She left. Thought it would be better if you healed up before you had a real conversation. I tried telling her that you were feverish, and too sick to make sense, but she wasn't listening by that point.”

Naomi slumped in her chair, ignoring how much her body hurt. “I'm a horrible, horrible person.”

“No, you're not.”

“I hate myself.”

“You said that, too,” said Rig.

“Wow.” Shoving her fingers through her hair was a mistake. “Where's she been staying?”

“The first night, when you asked for me—”

“I did?”

“She stayed that night at my brother's house after she fell asleep on the couch. He's got a spare room, the one I used to crash in when I visited. The next night she was going to stay here, but that's when you went squirrely, so she went back over there.”

Naomi felt like she'd been hit by a tractor. “Your brother . . .”

“I'm sure he didn't mind. Your sister's a nice girl, Naomi.”

“Who's pregnant. Almost due. What if she'd had the baby, early? And I was still sick . . . Oh, God . . .”

Rig pushed the toast plate a little closer to her. “But she didn't. And don't forget, Jake's a paramedic. She's in good hands.”

“What did I miss at work?”

“Not much. It was slow.”

Naomi shot him a look.

“Okay, I handled it. All right? Anna and I handled it.” He laughed. “Just barely. It was the blonde leading the blind. We didn't have a freaking clue where anything was,
who
anyone was. But we got it all done.”

“Thanks.”

Rig inclined his head. “What are almost partners for? Heard from Pederson, he'll be retiring officially in a month. I'll buy in then, if you still want me.”

Naomi looked dumbly at her plate. Of course she wanted him.

That was the problem.

“Oh, and your mother called.”

It was getting worse and worse. “What did she want?”

“To talk to you about Anna, but I said you were out of town and that I was house-sitting.”

Naomi smiled, in spite of herself. “Genius.”

“She sounded friendly.”

“That's the key word:
sounded.
”

Rig folded his arms. “You called out for her, you know.”

Naomi gaped. “I didn't.”

“You did. Tell me again what's wrong with her?”

Sighing, Naomi took another nibble and then rested her wrist on the table, looking down at the access point on the back of her hand. “It's not like she's a monster. She doesn't eat kittens for breakfast, as far as I know. She's just been so busy worrying about Anna for so long that she didn't realize she never worried about me.”

“You were the good girl.”

Naomi nodded. “And worse, I was a Daddy's girl. I've played second fiddle in her heart my whole life. She didn't have to deal with me except every other weekend from the time I was five until I was seventeen. And she liked it that way. She never . . .” She paused. Then she made herself continue. “She never even tried to get to know me.” It was silly, Naomi knew, that this secret truth hurt so much to say out loud.

“And your dad was everything to you. Must have been hard to lose him so young.”

Naomi bit her lip. “Yep.” God, it felt weird to tell him. And what was stranger, she wanted to tell him more. “But it's okay. Ninety-nine percent of the time it's fine. Then, the only time in my adult life I get really sick . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she was horrified to feel tears fill her eyes. “Then apparently I cry like a baby for my mama. Go figure.”

There was a small pause. Then Rig said, “I loved my mom. My brother and my dad and me, we worshipped her. It was terrible when she died—none of us knew how to live without her. I guess Jake's always been the more sensitive one, and I'd always teased him for it, but we had to be there for each other after she died. Sometimes I'd cry harder than he would.” He paused again. “But it seems that even if your mother blew it with you, she did okay by your sister, right? Seems like Anna turned out just fine.” His gaze was open.

“Well, there's that whole thing where she's pregnant? Jobless? Itinerant?”

Slapping a red fabric napkin against his leg, Rig said, “So she's knocked up. She'll get a baby out of the deal, and that's always a nice thing. Babies are cool, don't you think?” He didn't give her time to answer. “And she has a job, with us. She has a place to stay when you're not fighting, and when you are, it sounds like she has a second place to stay. Jake seems pretty happy with the whole thing, and apparently Milo loves her. Won't quit hanging from her arm like a monkey. And I'm sure my dad is fussing over her and making her eat comfort foods like macaroni and cheese and Vienna sausages.”

How did he make it sound so easy? How did he make
everything
seem so easy? The chair he sat in seemed dwarfed by his long legs, his broad thighs. Thighs that Naomi was remembering snuggling up against. He hadn't—

No, he hadn't. She'd know. She would remember that. Looking into his eyes, she saw he knew what she had wondered, and he gave his head an almost imperceptible shake. “I just took care of you,” he said.

“Why?”

Rig's coffee cup stopped halfway to his mouth. “Why? It's obvious.”

“It's not.”

“You didn't have anyone else.”

Chapter Forty

T
he next morning, Rig left Naomi sleeping. She'd asked him to get her knitting needles and a book called
Eliza's Road Not Taken
from the living room for her after he'd fed her one scrambled egg, but she hadn't gotten very far into either knitting or reading. She looked adorable, though, sleeping on her side, the book propped open in front of her, her knitting clutched in her left hand. The food seemed to be staying settled, and Rig left a note saying he'd be back as soon as he could be.

Rig didn't want to be away from her.

Damn, he
was
in big trouble.

But forewarned was forearmed, right? A crush was easily dealt with. No big deal. But every time he told himself the no-big-deal line, Rig bumped into something, or stubbed his toe, or dropped his sunglasses.

As he pushed through the door at Tillie's and found his eyes drawn to the back booth where he'd seen her for the second time, he had to admit that this Naomi thing was seriously messing with his head.

But he could handle it.
No big deal.
Instantly, he tripped over Elbert's cane, which had slipped to the ground. He caught himself, hoping no one had seen his windmill.

Shirley greeted him with a grin and a quick peck on the cheek.

“Sit at the counter, honey? Sunday morning's busy 'round here.”

Rig looked at Naomi's empty booth. “Can I sit there? If you don't mind? I've got a couple of people meeting me.”

She flapped her hand. “Just opened up. Have at it. I'll bring you coffee in a second.”

As he eased himself into the crooked booth, Rig thought about how many times Naomi had sat here over the last year. Alone.

He didn't want her to sit here by herself anymore.

Rig watched Shirley fly around the room, coffeepot in hand whenever she wasn't carrying plates. Another younger waitress was also working today, but Shirley ran circles around her. He looked out the window, toward the beach. A young redheaded woman wearing a white half apron leaned against the brick wall of the Italian restaurant, watching the low surf and smoking a cigarette. Two skateboarders heading for the boardwalk rolled past her. She grinned and said something to them and they laughed as they skated past.

It was a nice little town. And man, it was different than moving from one platform to another, always a different sick bay, always an offshore medic who thought he knew everything, always a hundred new guys, faces he didn't know. Here, it was just him and Naomi and Bruno. And now Anna. He admitted to himself that he'd do just about anything to keep Anna working at the office with them after the baby came. Last week, he'd caught Naomi looking at her with pride. She'd probably never admit it, but he knew she loved having her sister so close.

And that was her problem. She'd never admit it. For a woman who felt so much, so deeply, she sure was closed off to her emotions. Or at least that's what Naomi would have him think. But he'd seen her eyes when Anna had gasped, right after the abortion comment, and even while sick, Naomi's expression had been stricken. She'd felt that to her core.

And when she'd talked about her mother, those weren't crocodile tears she'd turned away to hide. They'd been painful and very real. She
felt
things, especially that distance from her mother. That much was sure.

Getting her to talk about her feelings more, that's what he wasn't sure he'd be able to do.

He sipped his coffee and waited, listening to the chatter of the diner as it swirled around him. It sounded like it had his first day in town: Mildred argued with Toots about something related to the upcoming contra dance as Greta knitted quietly and watched both of them. Elbert Romo sat at the counter as an ambassador of goodwill, greeting every person who entered. Officer Moss chatted with Old Bill and kept an eagle eye on the parking meters in front. A firefighter who worked with Rig's brother nodded to him—Rig had forgotten his name but knew he made a mean lasagna. In the side room just behind his head, Rig could hear the ranchers talking. Cade MacArthur barked a laugh and startled baby Owen into crying. Lucy Bancroft, carrying a stack of magazines to a back table, smiled at him.

It felt so good to be part of it all.

The front door opened, and Anna entered the diner. She was followed by Bruno, and Rig realized they didn't know each other yet. That was okay. They would. Rig waved. He needed to talk to Anna, but that could wait until he could get her apart from Bruno—later, when they were working, he'd get her by herself.

Bruno sat down heavily across from him. “Iced tea,” he told Shirley, who was pulling up a chair to place in the aisle for Anna.

“Because there's no way you're getting that belly behind that table, honey. Milk for you?”

Rig made the introductions, saying, “Anna's saved us this week, Bruno. I hope you enjoyed your vacation, but thanks for coming in today. I need you both.” As Anna settled herself, pulling as close to the booth as she could, Rig asked her, “How's it going at Jake's? Milo terrorizing you?”

“Nah,” said Anna. “He's sweet. I read to him before he goes to sleep. He's cuddly then—not so much at other times.”

“Watch out, or my brother's gonna fall for having a woman in his house.” Rig laughed and waited for Anna to do the same.

She didn't. She turned pink instead.

Oh, Jesus. “Jake's not . . . giving you any problems?”

Anna shook her head, smiling down at her lap.

Whoa. Jake, serious about anyone, let alone a woman who was about to have her life turned upside down by an infant—he needed to talk to his brother, the sooner the better.

But right now, he had more pressing things to take care of. “I know it's Sunday, so thanks, you two, again. We can get a shitload done today.”

Anna pulled the paper napkin from around the silverware and tore off a piece of it. Rolling the paper in her fingers, she said, “I'm still mad at her.”

“I know,” said Rig.

“And really hurt.”

Bruno patted Anna on the shoulder. “It's big of you to help Rig out, then,” he said.

“It is,” Anna agreed. “Plus, I know it'll be satisfying to see her face when she hears I helped anyway.”

Rig leaned forward. “Okay, so here's the deal—” He broke off as he saw his father enter the diner and greet Old Bill at the front.

Well, heck. Frank hadn't been invited. But he could help if he wanted to, even though he'd probably just end up getting in the way.

Rig raised his hand to gesture his father over, but Frank didn't see him. Instead, he went directly to the open stool next to Elbert who patted him on the back as he sat. Frank pushed the menu out of his way and turned his mug right side up, ready for coffee.

And then Rig watched in utter stupefaction as Shirley leaned over the counter to kiss his father full on the mouth.