Delivered Page 6

  My eyes are closed, and I’m pretending to be asleep so I don’t have to face anyone or anything until I have a clearer picture of what happened. I can’t let them know that huge chunks have disappeared from my memory, and the rest is hazy, as though someone poured a filmy liquid over my head, and it seeped through the membrane and onto my brain.

  The pieces are scattered without rhyme or reason, without even a hint of how they fit together. But the picture’s somewhat less blurry than it was just a few hours ago, and much to my relief, the corners are beginning to take shape.

  I spent the evening of the fire with Georgie. We had dinner and put the finishing touches on the baby’s room. Oh God, the warehouse fires. Georgie couldn’t bear to watch. She must have been terrified when the fire started and she couldn’t get out of the office. It must have been so hot. Since she’s been pregnant, she hasn’t tolerated the heat well. Stop Gabrielle! You’ll never figure out what happened if you keep focusing on Georgie’s last minutes on earth. The details will get muddled again.

  JD called to say hello when he was on his way back to Charleston. And then Rafe called to tell me Gus was sick and had to leave. They were short-staffed because most of the security team was in Washington for the inauguration. “Please don’t do anything tonight that would make my life more difficult,” he said. I promised him I would stay in my bed until morning.

  I remember sliding my e-reader onto the nightstand when I started to nod off. The next thing—Rafe’s in my room, and I’m banging on doors shouting for guests to get out. Then I’m on the sidewalk across the street. Georgie’s car is there. Why is Georgie’s car here? She must have come in to pick up the quarterlies. I told you not to drive alone at night! Georgie! I need to find Georgie!

  I hear the squeak of the door opening, and I’m pulled back from that night. I want to remember more. I want to remember all of it, but remembering is soul-crushing work and I’m in short supply of the courage it demands. The memories are an ache in my chest, unfurling slowly, spiny fingers prodding roughly as they expand, leaving me drained and overwhelmed. Even lifting my head off the pillow seems like a chore that can only be accomplished after an internal pep talk. I’m grateful for a short reprieve. I’ll work at remembering again after I’ve had a chance to rest and fortify myself.

  JD’s talking to the nurse. They’re speaking so softly I can’t make out what they’re saying.

  After a minute or two, the bed dips beside me. My eyes are closed, but I know it’s JD. I smell the warm creamy scent of the sandalwood soap uses. He puts his hand on my arm but I pretend to be asleep.

  “Gabrielle,” he murmurs. “I hate to wake you, darlin’, but the nurse needs to change your bandages.”

  I wince at the prospect of the nurse cleaning the open wounds. “I’m awake. What time is it?”

  “It’s two o’clock. There’s a clock right here.” He lifts a small vintage clock off the bedside table so I can see it. “You slept a long time. You needed it.”

  I did need it, but my sleep didn’t bring me any peace. The nightmares were hauntingly real. In the dreams, I kept trying to get to my office. For some reason, I knew Georgie was there, but the smoke was thick and black and I couldn’t see more than a few inches in front of me. I rooted around for the office door but couldn’t find it. When I eventually did locate it, a dragon stuck its head through the heavy wooden door blowing fire at me so I couldn’t get inside. Georgie kept screaming my name from the other side of the door, and I could hear a baby wailing. It felt real. In many ways, it still does.

  “Lally left clothes for you,” JD tells me. “She said they’ll be big, but they’re clean and will work for now. We’ll get you some new clothes. That’s easy. I spoke with a woman from Jordan Jones. She’s going to come by tomorrow with samples. You can pick out whatever you want, and it’ll be delivered within hours.”

  “What Lally sent is fine.” More than I deserve. Georgie’s dead. I couldn’t save her. Maybe—maybe I caused the fire. Maybe I was too inexperienced to be in charge of a hotel. Even a tiny hotel. I glance at JD. “Clothes are the least of my worries.”

  “How about something to eat?” he asks, wisely putting the topic of personal shoppers and clothes aside.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “At least take a drink and let the nurse change the bandages.”

  “I’m not helpless. I don’t need someone telling me when to drink, or a nurse to change my bandages. I have a perfectly good hand.” It comes out terser than I mean it. But I just want to crawl inside a hole and be left alone. JD is going to smother me because he doesn’t know how to nurture without smothering. Because his way of taking care of someone means controlling every last detail. “I know you mean well and I’m grateful to have a place to sleep. So grateful, even though it doesn’t seem like it. But I need some space.”

  “Gabrielle, we’re not doing this.” Here we go. “You were released from the hospital because there’s a nurse on duty here around the clock. Otherwise, you might still be there. You need to let us take care of you while you get your strength back.”

  I will not let you treat me like an invalid, JD. “I need to go to the bathroom. And if you don’t mind, I’d like some privacy.”

  He nods. That fine, but I don’t like it nod he uses with me. “It’s right through there. Don’t lock the door in case you need something. You’re still weak.”

  I glare at him while swinging my legs off the bed. Sitting up isn’t easy. I’ve been lying down for a long time, and I’m stiff and wobbly.

  “Let me help you stand up.”

  I don’t as much as glance at him. “No.” The minute I open the door to his help, he’ll never back off. And I need to prove to myself that I can get out of bed. It’s a small matter, but it’s huge to me.

  I hear JD’s knuckles crack. “I don’t want you to fall.”

  I sit at edge of the bed gathering some strength and look around. “Is this your bedroom?”

  “Mmhm.”

  I peek over my shoulder. The other side of the bed hasn’t been slept in. “Where did you sleep last night?”

  “In that chair.” He points to a recliner, not far from the bed. “We brought it up from downstairs.”

  “I’ll sleep somewhere else tonight so I don’t disturb you,” I mumble. “It seems—”

  “Seems like a lot of trouble to keep dragging the recliner from room to room. It would be easier if you just slept here.” I don’t understand what he means at first, but after catching his steely gaze, I finally get it. He’s sleeping where I sleep.

  “You can’t sleep in a chair again. I’ll be fine for the night.”

  “You might be ready, but I’m not ready for that. Not yet.”

  “I’m a little unsteady,” I confess reluctantly. The truth is I’ll never make it to the bathroom alone. “Maybe I can use your help. Just a little help getting to the door.”

  He places his arm around my torso to protect me from falling, but he lets me do most of the maneuvering myself, even though I know it’s killing him. He’d rather scoop me up and carry me.

  It’s a long walk to the bathroom. It feels like miles. When my knees start to buckle, I clutch his arm and cling to him with my good hand. I’m not sure I have the strength to make it.

  “Just rest for a minute,” he says softly, wrapping his strong arms around me, and pulling me against him for support. I squeeze my eyes tight. But no matter how hard I squeeze, I can’t hold the tears back.

  JD doesn’t say a word. He just holds me protectively, lets me find comfort in his arms, and gives me time to wring out some of the sorrow and grief that have saturated every inch of my body. I cry for Georgie, and for Wade, and for the baby who was supposed to wear a pink ruffled dress for Easter, with matching tights and shoes. I cry for the hotel guests who must have been terrified descending the stairs while the dark, thick smoke rose above the ground floor. I cry for all the work my family and friends put into The Gatehouse to make my dream come tru
e. And I cry for myself. Because I’m allowed to. Because my best friend is dead. Because I don’t have anything left, not a single pair of underpants to my name.

  I cry until I’m dry as a bone, until there isn’t a single tear left to shed.

  When I’m done, JD presses his lips to the top of my head and helps me toward the bathroom. I’m so grateful he doesn’t say it’ll all be okay, or they’re in a better place. Maybe it’s true, but right now those words would sting.

  When we get there, he guides me into the room and sits me on the lid of the toilet seat. “Stay here, Gabrielle. Don’t move. I know you want some privacy, but let the nurse help you. The stone floor is hard. You’ll hurt yourself if you fall.”

  I nod, because I don’t have the strength to argue. I’m not even sure I have the strength to pee without help. It’s a humbling moment for me.

  My physical injuries aren’t serious, so I can’t understand why I’m so exhausted. I slept plenty. Maybe I slept too much. That’s what my mother would tell Georgie and me when we’d wake up at noon still groggy after sleeping half the day away. Georgie’s baby will never have sleepovers with her best friend, or movie nights with makeovers and pedicures. I bury my face in my hands. I was wrong about the tears. My heart will weep for them forever.

  JD comes back with Nurse Maureen, and she immediately sends him away. “Maybe you can get Gabby some juice and toast. Can you scramble an egg?” she asks him.

  He hesitates, but she shoos him out of the bathroom and shuts the door before he can protest.

  After Maureen wraps my hand in layers of plastic, she sits me on a long marble bench in the cavernous shower and turns on the water. “I’ll be right outside the shower if you need me,” she says.

  I let the warm spray cleanse me. I diligently work the sandalwood soap under the fingernails of my unwrapped hand and behind my ears where soot still hides. And I ugly cry again. Traces of black ash streak the mucus dripping from my nose.

  How awful it must have been for Georgie. Consumed by deadly smoke, inside and out. The poison filling her nose and lungs until she couldn’t breathe. It’s the smoke that kills people in a fire. I heard that somewhere.

  The steam clears some of the lingering residue from my sinuses, but it will be a long time before I breathe freely again. It has nothing to do with my lungs, and everything to do with the heaviness in my chest.

  I already miss her so much it hurts everywhere. I’m like a wooden chair battered against the shore during a hurricane. Torn apart limb by limb. Grains of sand wearing craggy holes into the splintered surface until it’s a fragile piece of driftwood, twisted into a grotesque form. Unrecognizable.

  Was I negligent? Did I miss something that caused the fire? Am I responsible for their deaths? God help me. I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to live with myself if that’s the case.

  I could hide in the steam forever, but Maureen’s waiting for me, so I finish washing myself as quickly as I can.

  After she helps me dry, Maureen changes the bandages on my hand. She’s gentle and kind, apologizing in advance for the throbbing pain that comes when she applies an antibacterial ointment to the festering blisters. I wonder what kind of pain Georgie was in when she was burning to death. I wonder if the baby felt pain. Georgie must have been terrified gasping for air that had all been eaten up by the fire. Her face is in front of me constantly, screwed-up in agony. Screaming for help. Her chilling screams are all I hear inside my head. Day and night, she screams for me. But even in my dreams, I don’t save her.

  I’m so tired. I need to sleep for a hundred years. But Maureen has other ideas. She sits me in the oversized upholstered chair in JD’s room while she strips the bed and puts on fresh sheets.

  Georgie, why did you have to go to the hotel?

  To help you, Gabby. I was just trying to help you.

  “JD!” I shriek. “JD!” Maureen rushes over to me, alarmed. “I need to talk to him,” I gasp. “It’s important.”

  “He’ll be up in a few minutes. Can I get you something?”

  I don’t think I can wait a few minutes. But now I can’t remember what I need to ask him. I’m choking. The smoke. It’s so hot. A wave of nausea rolls through me, and the light flickers.

  “Gabby. Gabby. Gabby,” Maureen calls, but I can’t fight my way back to her.

  * * *

  I open my eyes slowly. The worst of the queasiness is gone, but my skin feels clammy. JD is on his haunches, on one side of the chair, and Maureen is on her knees on the other side, swabbing my face and neck with a cool washcloth.

  “I think I fainted.”

  “You blacked out,” JD says, brushing a few errant strands of hair off my face.

  “It’s a normal reaction. You’ve been through a lot and you haven’t eaten anything. Just taking a shower can take a lot out of person who is still recovering,” Maureen assures me, “but I’ll be more comfortable after I speak to your doctor. Let’s get you some juice and into bed first.”

  The queasiness is back with a vengeance. “Don’t think I can hold anything down.”

  “Take a sip of juice,” JD instructs, holding the glass to my mouth. I wet my lips, but it’s all I can manage.

  I let JD help me to the bed. Maureen props two pillows behind my back before she leaves us alone.

  JD sits on the bed beside me. “Have you talked to Wade or to my parents?” I ask him.

  “I haven’t spoken to Wade. I tried to call to see if there was anything he needed, but his phone is off.” He smooths the quilt over my legs. “I did speak to your parents. They’re worried about you, but otherwise, they’re fine. Your mother wants to come back to Charleston, but she’s in a phase of treatment where she needs to be near the hospital. I’m hoping your father and Lally can talk some sense into her.”

  I nod. I’m not really feeling up to talking with her, but there is no way my mother is interrupting her treatment to come back to Charleston. “I’ll call her. Can I use your phone?”

  “Here,” he says, unlocking the screen. JD stretches out on the quilt next to me while I phone my parents.

  “Mama.”

  “Gabrielle!” My mother starts to cry, and I begin to sob too. “Baby,” she says, “we’ve been so worried. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Just tired. Georgie—” I can’t say it. I can’t form the words.

  “Your father and I are coming home.”

  “No! Please. Please don’t even think about it. You need to get well. I can’t lose you too. Please. Give me a few days and I’ll come to you. Please.”

  “You have to promise me you’ll do everything the doctors say. And you’ll let Lally take care of you. I’m going to send her home today. And you need to call me every day.”

  “I promise. But you need to promise me you’ll do everything you need to do to get well, too.” Before she can respond the phone beeps. Another call is coming in. I glance at the screen. Charleston Fire and Rescue.

  “Mama. Hold on. Let me call you back. JD’s getting an important call.” I don’t wait for her to respond before I click over to the incoming call. “Hello.”

  “This is Chief Clark. I’m looking for JD Wilder.”

  “Chief Clark. Is this about The Gatehouse? This is Gabrielle Duval. The owner of the hotel.” He hesitates for a few seconds. “I have JD’s phone. Mine was lost in the fire.” I sound ridiculous. Falling all over myself to explain things that don’t need explanation.

  “How are you, Ms. Duval?” the Chief asks.

  “Fine.” I’m almost afraid to ask, but I need to know. “Do you have any news about how the fire started?”

  “We’re still working on that. It’s too early to know for sure.” I feel like he’s not telling me everything. “A fire inspector will be by to ask you some questions as soon as you’re up to it. Can we reach you at this number?”

  “Yes. I’m available any time.”

  “Good. Is JD around?”

  I reluctantly hand the phone to JD, who ta
kes it and starts to walk away. “Don’t go. I want to hear,” I say softly. He glances back at me. “I’ll follow you.”

  JD glares at me, but doesn’t leave the room. Although he might as well have, because his responses are terse, one or two words, and a grunt here and there. The conversation lasts just a couple minutes with Chief Clark doing all the talking.

  When JD ends the call, he tosses his phone on the bed without saying a word. “What did he say?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Georgina is my friend. The Gatehouse is my hotel. Don’t you dare keep secrets from me about the fire. Don’t you dare!”

  “Not today, Gabrielle. Today you need to gather your strength. There’s a lot for you to do. And I’m not keeping secrets from you about the fire.”

  “Like hell you’re not. The Chief didn’t call to shoot the shit. He called for a reason.”

  “The local police and fire inspectors want to talk to you. And the FBI,” he adds, his voice quieter, as though he’s hoping I won’t hear him say FBI.

  “Why is the FBI involved?”

  “They got involved initially because of the warehouse fires. Some of the items stored in the warehouses were transported across state lines.”

  “What? I don’t understand. Is The Gatehouse fire connected to the warehouses?”

  JD stretches his arms over his head, like he’s trying to work out some stiffness from his shoulders. “They don’t know, but it’s unlikely.” He’s lying.

  “Then why are they still involved?”

  “My father’s the president, and you and I have a relationship. You need to put Georgina to rest. We’ll talk more about all of it after the funeral.”

  After the funeral. I swallow the lump in my throat. “We’ll talk now.”

  “No. That’s not what you need right now. You worry about getting your strength back and saying goodbye to your friend. Let me and Smith worry about the rest.”

  “That’s what you said when the furnaces went down. Don’t worry, Smith and I’ll take care of it.” The minute the words come out of my mouth, I want to shove them back inside. I didn’t mean to say them out loud. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”