Burning for You Read online

  He followed her outside, around the building to a small private parking lot. She pressed the remote and the lights flashed on a four-door, late-model, black Chevy Cobalt as the doors unlocked. He folded his body into the passenger seat, reached down, and eased the seat back. He’d barely fastened his seat belt before she’d backed out of the parking space.

  “Where are we going?” he asked as she zipped her car through the Landing traffic.

  “Hospital.” Her knuckles tightened on the wheel as she shot through a yellow light. He put his hand on the top of the doorframe for balance.

  “Is it your family?”

  “No. Not family.” She whipped around a curve and he braced himself. While he was used to racing through city streets, it was in a multi-ton fire truck with lights flashing and sirens screeching. “Do you always drive this fast?”

  “When I need to.”

  He gripped tight again. “How many tickets have you gotten for reckless driving?”

  “None,” she retorted, braking as the light turned red. He jerked forward, then back. He noted this was one of St. Louis City’s red-light camera intersections, or he suspected she’d have gone right through. “I’m a very good driver.”

  “That’s open to interpretation, but seriously—”

  “You didn’t have to come,” she retorted.

  “And miss being in a road rally? Nah. So …” he prompted. “What’s going on? How can I help?”

  The light changed, and she sped up the entrance ramp to Highway 64. “I’m needed at the hospital. A set of triplets. I’m going to take photos for the family.”

  He knew the kind—the ones taken right after birth. He had five wallet-sizes—one for each of his nieces and nephews. “So you drop everything for those photos?”

  She floored the gas and wove past a slower car. “No. That’s not what I do.”

  “Then you’ve really lost me.”

  “Set of triplets. One didn’t make it. That’s why I’m going. I take those photos.”

  “Oh.” He hadn’t expected that answer. Hadn’t realized parents would request a photographer to take pictures of their deceased infant. The fact that she’d dropped everything raised her up another notch.

  Lost to his thoughts, an awkward silence settled. She exited at Kingshighway, made her way into the parking garage, and swiped in. The gate arm lifted. “You don’t have to come. It’s not pleasant, and I’m sure you don’t understand. But even though the baby’s no longer alive, it helps the mother to hold her child, and I’m there so that the parents have some sort of tangible memory, a photograph of what their baby looked like. Not every parent wants my service or wants to remember. But many do. They want a picture so that their child never is forgotten. And time is of the essence.”

  “I see,” he said, although he could tell she probably didn’t believe him. “Let me guess. Few people get what you do.”

  He’d surprised her with his insight. “Maybe you do understand. Most look horrified. Find me freakish.”

  “I won’t. I’m here to help.”

  “Be sure to keep quiet,” she told him as she parked. “That’s rule number one. If you can’t do that, then I need you to stay in the lobby.”

  He scowled. “I’m a professional. I can handle this.”

  She assessed him, deciding if he passed muster and if she should trust him. “I guess death isn’t new to you, is it?”

  Freed from constraints, his wavy dark locks swished as he shook his head. “I’ve seen far more death than I’d like.”

  She faced him and her expression softened. “Yes, you probably have.”

  A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Often we’re the first ones on the scene. Car accidents. Heroin overdoses. Fires. We do everything the paramedics do, except transport in the ambulance.”

  “So you really are a firefighter paramedic?”

  That made him chuckle. “I wasn’t making that up. We all are. It’s required. I really can do resuscitation. If you need it.”

  Taylor’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel as she pictured the sexy man in the passenger seat putting his lips on hers. Her face heated, and she was glad she was inside a darkened car, illuminated only by the lights of the parking garage. She cut the engine and pressed the trunk release. The hatchback popped open. “Okay, let’s go.”

  She rounded the car, removed her camera bag. The slam of the back closing echoed through the partially empty garage. She strode toward the elevators, and they took the pedestrian bridge into the hospital and the elevator up to labor and delivery.

  “Taylor.” Linda stood as Taylor and Joe approached the nurse’s station. Relief erased Linda’s exhausted expression. “Glad you’re here.”

  “Wouldn’t be anywhere else. This is Joe Marino. Firefighter. Okay that he’s tagged along? I’m showing him the ropes.”

  “We’ve moved the two girls to the Children’s NICU.” Linda pronounced the name for the newborn intensive care unit as “Nick-U”. “The mother is in recovery. The boy was stillborn. I’ll let the family know you’re here.”

  Taylor knew that many hospitals had labor and delivery rooms that changed into maternity rooms—a one-room-for-the-duration concept. However, here mothers were moved to a mother-baby unit, where mothers and babies spent as much time as possible together in the same room. Linda disappeared into a room down the hall and came out a few minutes later. “They’re ready for you.”

  Joe hovered behind Taylor as they entered the room, which had been somewhat tidied. The mother sat in the bed, a wrapped bundle in her arms. She looked like hell: brown hair a scraggly mess, sorrowful eyes puffy with tears. Her husband stood at the window, his gaze elsewhere. He turned as they entered.

  “This is Teddy,” the mother said as Taylor stepped next to the bed. Mom adjusted the blanket, and Taylor and Joe could see the baby’s face. Teddy looked like a pale, motionless doll. “There were three heartbeats just days ago,” she said. “I don’t know what happened.”

  Joe froze. How many times had he heard those words during a call? I don’t know what happened.

  Far too many to count.

  From experience, Joe knew Teddy’s parents would repeat that phrase over and over. No matter how many times Teddy’s mother was reassured, she’d never believe that it wasn’t her fault. For the rest of her days, she would question what she could have done, if anything, to prevent this moment.

  Taylor adjusted the blanket, moving it lower, and as sorrow shot through him, Joe had to briefly avert his eyes.

  “Thank you for letting me share this with you,” Taylor said, impressing Joe with her gentle, empathetic bedside manner. “I know it’s hard, and I’m going to make sure you have all the photos you need. He’s a beautiful boy.”

  “My Teddy,” his mother said, softly touching his motionless cheek. “When they’re older, I want his sisters to know what he looked like. I want them to remember he loved them.”

  “Of course they will. I’ll make certain of that.”

  Joe took a steadying breath and glanced at the wall. He’d seen a lot, but the sensitivity of the scene in front of him tugged at his soul. Yet Taylor clearly knew exactly what to do. No tears threatened to fall from her eyes—despite his assertion of professionalism, his were somewhat wet. Her voice soothed as she issued simple instructions. The camera clicked as the shutter opened and closed, a gentle, comforting rhythm as Taylor captured the son who would never age.

  The entire photo shoot took under ten minutes, but Joe felt like he was in a hazy dream, as if time had stopped. He was seeing Taylor in a totally new light, a perspective that solidified his decision that she was perfect for the photography project that was his life-long penance.

  As Taylor finished, time began again and reality intruded. Joe moved closer to the door, giving Taylor space as she squeezed the mother’s hand, telling her she’d mail the disc to the family within forty-eight hours. As they left the room, Linda held out a card that provided the family’s contact information
.

  During the ride down the elevator and the walk across the pedestrian bridge, another silence fell. Joe had no words for what he’d just witnessed. Taylor was a hero in her own right, doing a difficult task because it needed to be done.

  As Taylor set the camera bag in the trunk, he found his voice. “Can we go get a drink?”

  She shut the hatch. “I need to get back to work.”

  He wasn’t ready to leave her. “You can’t spare a few more minutes?” His voice hitched. “Please. Break your plans. Dressel’s is around the corner. I’ll buy. It’s the least I can do. Let me do something.”

  She must have heard the urgency—or was it agony or desperation or a combination of all three?—in his voice, for she surprised him by nodding. He saw her tremble as she opened the car door, looking at him across the roof. “Yeah, I think John can spare me a little longer. Get in. I could use that drink.”

  Chapter Three

  Five minutes later, Taylor wedged her car into a tight spot on Euclid, just across the street from Dressel’s Public House. Wanting to maintain some iota of control, she hadn’t told Joe that he’d picked one of her favorite places or that it was one of the reasons she’d agreed.

  One of her clearest memories of her father was when he’d brought her to dinner at Dressel’s. Later, as an undergraduate at St. Louis University, she’d often returned to the pub once she’d turned twenty-one and could enjoy the libations. The other reason she’d agreed was because being with Joe made her tremble, and she hadn’t felt any lingering interest in over two years. For tonight, she’d like to feel alive, to remember what it felt like to receive the attention of a beautiful man.

  They walked the short distance through the comfortable June evening. They sat on the sidewalk deck, and although the hostess placed two menus down before departing, neither Joe nor Taylor reached for one. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  “A little,” Taylor admitted, leaning back and trying to relax. She was admittedly extremely type A; her mom said she’d been tightly wound since birth. Owen had called her high strung and overreactive. She wondered why her ex had eaten at Presley’s, why he’d even shown up there. Maybe he thought she didn’t work there anymore. He’d always hated her job, claiming waitressing beneath her. Still, even after all this time, it was a chancy move to eat there after their explosive fallout.

  A server passed by, and Joe caught her attention. “Could I have two waters and the potato chips with rarebit?”

  “Sure,” she said, disappearing.

  “That’ll work to start,” Taylor said. Her stomach rumbled, agreeing.

  “I figured we could nibble first, see how hungry we are. Or where we were on time.”

  “Good call. Thank you.” A waiter brought over two tumblers of iced water and introduced himself. “I’m Leo, your server. I’ve put your chip order in. What else can I get you?”

  Taylor mustered the energy to smile at Leo, a young guy with a sleeve of tattoos. It wasn’t his fault she was exhausted. “May I have a house Riesling?”

  “Absolutely. And you?” He turned to Joe, who ordered an English-style brown porter produced by a local craft brewer. “Great choice. I’ll be right back.”

  “The weather is perfect,” Taylor said as Leo retreated. She sipped the water, while watching a car drive down Euclid. The sky was full black; they sat beneath the streetlights.

  “I wanted to tell you I’m sorry,” Joe said.

  “For what?” She unwrapped the flatware, put the napkin in her lap and the silverware on the metal table.

  “You were right. I’ve been a jerk. Hell, probably been a real ass.”

  Taylor couldn’t help herself. Her lips inched into a smile. “And you just realized this?”

  “The questions return.” He chuckled, amazingly not offended by her instant rebuke. “I’m sure I deserved that. Although you could simply be kind and accept my heartfelt apology.”

  The man had a way of getting under her skin, and his knees were far too close to hers.

  “As long as you try not to do it again. An apology’s only as good as the actions behind it. I learned that lesson the hard way.”

  “Well, I’m good for it. Scout’s honor.” Her lip puckered, and he laughed, a warm, rumble. “All the way to Eagle. I won’t lie to you.” He turned serious, drummed his fingers on the metal table. “I don’t lie.”

  Their server returned, bringing Joe a draft beer that was a deep brown with a white-foam top. Joe sipped, and wiped his top lip where foam had dared to alight. Taylor swallowed, clutching her fingers in her lap.

  “How is it?”

  He motioned with his glass. “Excellent. Want to try?”

  “I’m okay.” In the soft, warm light he was even more handsome. Unclenching her hands, she reached for her wine and let the tart Riesling roll over her tongue. She sighed, savored. “This hits the spot. Thanks for suggesting we come here. I honestly wasn’t ready to go back. It takes a lot out of you, you know?”

  “Actually, I do know, which is why I’m glad you could spare a few minutes. I’ll admit I needed them.” He drank, worked on finding the right words. “The baby. That’s tough. I was amazed by what you did tonight. Your composure. I almost lost mine, and that never happens.”

  His admission surprised her. She leaned back. “Surely you’ve dealt with similar things.”

  “Yes.” He moved the menu aside, settled deeper into his chair, the hot pink fabric molding to his torso. His leg stretched, coming closer to hers. “Yes.” He hesitated, then chose to share. “I’ve seen plenty of things. But never like that, not during childbirth. She was at a hospital, not a fire or accident scene. It’s the twenty-first century. We have advanced medicine. Childbirth is not supposed to be deadly.”

  “It happens more than you’d think.”

  “Tonight seemed personal for you.” Lips wrapped around the glass edge. He was very perceptive. Owen had never understood, never wanted to. She watched Joe swallow.

  “It is,” she admitted, in the spirit of sharing. “Every time I do it, I hope it makes a difference. My sister lost her baby. Evelyn was twenty-six, my age now. Newly wed. Got pregnant on her honeymoon. Nine months later, about a week before her due date, she had these contractions and when she went into the hospital there was no heartbeat. The hospital had a woman who took photos, but she was out of town. So I stepped in. I don’t even know how I managed to get any shots through my tears, but I did. Seeing my niece lying there so still. She wasn’t red. Her skin was so bluish gray.”

  She reached for the water instead of wine, drinking as she remembered. Her hand trembled. “Claire. My niece Claire. And ever since, I just kept doing it. It’s like I’m trying to bribe the universe for the next time Evelyn tries. Or for whenever I finally get ready to be a mom. Here I am a struggling photographer who waits tables to pay the rent because my main photo gig is performed pro bono. I would never charge those parents after what they’ve just been through.”

  “The universe will pay you back. You’re building up good karma,” Joe replied. His beer had lost some froth as he’d drunk about a third.

  She fiddled with the fork she didn’t need. “I’m not sure I believe that anymore. It certainly hasn’t so far. I’m even trying the graduate school route so I can go into teaching. There was this competition I was going to enter, but I couldn’t get my professor to sign off on my project. I just keep hoping it’ll get better.”

  “Well, you met me, didn’t you?” He gave her that trademark grin, the one that she liked more and more the longer she sat with him.

  She tilted her head. Considered. Refused to concede. “I’m not sure that’s a convincing argument that good things are coming my way.”

  “I do.” Joe spoke without a doubt in the world. “At some point fate’s got to give, right? That you’ve paid whatever debt you think you owe and that life suddenly smiles on you? That you are on the right side of things for once?”

  She drank more wine, letting the fuzzy feel
ing go to her head. She liked how her cheeks warmed. With food, the pleasant sensation would quickly fade, leaving her very sober, back to the reality of the night, and her life.

  “I wouldn’t say fate is working against me. I’m just not where I want to be. I had these visions of getting out of college, getting hired by a big New York City magazine, and seeing the world. Didn’t happen and within two years I was back home.” And dating Owen.

  “But my life isn’t bad,” she continued. “Not when you like what you do, and I do love my photography. It just doesn’t pay the bills so I’m late nights at Presley’s. It’s that or move home, and so far I’ve managed to say no to my mom’s constant pressure to do that. What about you?”

  A shadow passed over his face, or maybe the flicker was Leo bringing their homemade chips and cheese dip. He set them down, asked if they needed anything else and, when both shook their heads, left.

  “Why’d you become a firefighter?” she asked, loading up her plate with chips and cheese. The rarebit was fabulous.

  “It’s in my blood,” he said, putting chips on his plate. “My dad was one. My brother-in-law is one. My grandfather.”

  “You have a large family?”

  She’d given him the opportunity he needed. “Yes. There are six of us kids. I’m the oldest. My sister Susie is a burn survivor. She’s the one married to a firefighter. Not many people can see past her scars, but he could.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He waved her comment aside, as if brushing away a mosquito that dared get through the perimeter. “It was a long time ago. She’s why I’m so passionate about the book I’m doing for burn survivors.”

  He wiped the sweat off the glass. His leg had come into contact with hers; the denim rubbing against her bare calf. “See, I made my sister a promise, long ago. She’s part of the Burns Recovered Support Group. The book will be portraits of burn survivors and their stories. A celebration of triumph. After what I saw tonight, I know you’re the photographer I want.”