Part 22 (1/2)
Taylor's keys jingled in his hand as he rounded the corner. The front door opened and slammed, and Tyler sighed.
”You're going to miss him.”
He sat down on my bed again, leaning over and lacing his fingers together. ”It's kind of a p.u.s.s.y thing to say, but Taylor and I haven't been apart a lot. It feels weird.”
”Understandable. The twin thing.”
”I'm just glad he's not going to Australia with Jew.”
”Australia?”
”Yeah, we switch out. A couple of our guys go over there for a season to learn their way of doing things, and we get a couple of their guys to see how we do it.”
”So those are the Aussies we're waiting on? Isn't that going to mess with your groove or whatever to get two new guys?”
”The Aussies are machines. They always come here to work. We're dragging a.s.s to headquarters, and they're antsy, wis.h.i.+ng for the next call. What?”
”I don't know ... I feel irrationally betrayed.”
Tyler wrinkled his nose. ”You feel what?”
”You should have told me. One minute I'm the big sister making grilled cheese, the next I'm left out of the loop.”
Tyler thought about that. ”Wow, I'm sorry. You just fit in so well I forget you don't already know this stuff.”
”I suppose I can forgive you.” I sat up, running my hand over my face. ”Oh my G.o.d.”
”What?”
”My mouth. It tastes like a trashcan.” I stood, opening the armoire to grab my toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste before rus.h.i.+ng to the bathroom. After spitting the suds into the sink, I rinsed and grabbed a towel. My sinuses felt congested, so I grabbed a tissue.
”Oh my G.o.d!” I said again.
Tyler jogged across the barracks, stopping in the doorway. ”What's wrong?”
”I'm dying,” I said, blowing my nose again. ”My insides are rotting.”
”Black in the tissue?” Tyler asked.
I nodded.
He chuckled. ”That's normal. When fire season is over, you'll still be doing that for weeks. It's from the smoke and ash.”
”Isn't that ... I don't know ... unhealthy?”
Tyler made a face. ”You smoke, Ellie.”
”So do you,” I snapped.
”But I'm not whining about the hazards of inhaling wood smoke. We're sucking a lot worse every time we light up.”
”But I don't blow charcoal out of my nose after I smoke.”
Tyler shrugged. ”So wear a filter mask next time.”
”Maybe I will.”
”Good. Are we going into town or what?”
I shook my head and s.h.i.+fted, holding up one foot off the cold floor. ”I can't right now. I have to get my notes emailed to Jojo.”
”I don't know why you don't just write it yourself. She used most of your ma.n.u.script for the magazine. She didn't even credit herself.”
I smiled, filling my hand with water and rinsing out the sink. ”That was pretty cool. I thought it was c.r.a.p, but she cleaned it up a little bit and called it good.”
”Chief said he's gotten a lot of phone calls about the story. The bra.s.s like the positive press it's brought to the crew.”
”It didn't get picked up by the AP like Wick had hoped.”
”Yet,” Tyler said as I turned off the faucet. ”So you're going to work?”
”Yeah ... go ahead.”
”Nah, I'll wait. It's kinda nice being alone with you.”
I fetched my laptop, and then sat with Tyler in the TV room. He lifted the remote and turned on the television, keeping the volume down while I typed. The process was a bit easier this time, matching numbered photos to corresponding accounts.
Not quite an hour after we'd sat down, Tyler reached down and lifted my legs, lowering them over his lap. He settled back against the sofa cus.h.i.+ons, looking sleepy but content.
”Hungry?” I asked, clicking SEND.
”All done?” Tyler said, watching me close my laptop.
”Yes. Finished. Let's eat.”
We rode into town in Tyler's truck, his ridiculously loud exhaust pipes announcing to everyone within a three-mile radius that we were back. He stopped in a small cafe I'd never been to, but where he seemed to be familiar.
The waitress looked both surprised and overly enthusiastic about seeing him, but Tyler didn't seem to notice.
”Uh, just waters for now. You want OJ, Ellie?” Tyler asked, still reading over the menu.
”Yes, please,” I said.
”Two,” Tyler said, holding up his index and middle finger. When the waitress left, he lowered his index finger, leaving me a charming gesture for a few seconds before putting it away.
”Back atcha,” I grumbled. I pretended to be annoyed, but it was hard to stay mad at him when his dimple was working its magic.
”Orange juice. Two,” the waitress said, setting down two gla.s.ses. ”Who's this, Tyler?”
She was smiling when she asked the question, but a familiar glint was in her eye. She took in my clothes, my hair, even my jagged fingernails and chipped polish, wondering what it was about me that had enticed Tyler Maddox enough to buy me breakfast.