Page 54 of When the Smoke Clears

Four hours later, I awaken to the vacuum running downstairs. I pull on jeans and follow the high-pitched hum. Halfway down the stairs, I stop, squinting at the stranger cleaning my house.

“Hello?” I yell.

The young, dark-haired woman jumps and turns off the vacuum. “Hi. Hope I didn’t wake you.”

“Well, ya did. Who are you? And why are you in my house?”

“Oh, I’m Alba. Dr. Reichart asked me to clean your house. I own a cleaning business. I’m an ex-patient of hers, but she said I shouldn’t tell you that, but I’m not ashamed to admit that I needed her. She helped me so much. You must feel privileged getting to be her roommate. She’s brilliant.”

“Agree to disagree. Listen, Alba, I worked a forty-eight-hour shift, and I need sleep. So maybe you can come back tomorrow afternoon or anytime Wednesday or Thursday.”

“Sorry, sir. I only have Mondays available.”

I pull in a deep breath and hold it while returning a tight smile. Letting it out, I stomp back upstairs, grab a T-shirt, socks, and a hat. Then I breeze past Alba and head to Dr. Reichart’s office.

“Oh! Sir!” The same blond as before follows me down the hallway.

But this time, I know where Everleigh’s office is.

“Sir? Uh, Will?” The blond chases me. “Dr. Reichart is not to be disturbed for another fifteen minutes unless it’s an emergency.”

“It’s an emergency,” I say, opening her office door.

It’s dark except for the light from the hallway. There’s spa music playing. And Everleigh is on the leather sofa under a blanket with a sleep mask over her eyes. I slam the door shut behind me, and she jumps, sliding her mask up her forehead.

“Will?” She squints.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You’re sleeping while one of your patients is vacuuming my house so that I”—I jab my thumb into my chest—“the firefighter who just completed a forty-eight-hour shift, can’t sleep?”

She wrinkles her nose while standing and pulls her hair back into a ponytail before tucking her black blouse into her cream skirt. “I told her to wait until afternoon. And she’s not my patient anymore.”

“Well”—I smack her M&M dispenser several times, sending some rolling off her desk and onto the floor while a few land in my hand—“I sleep until mid to late afternoon following a two-day shift.”

“You’re making a mess,” she says, picking up the M&Ms from the floor.

“Oh, I’m making a mess? You’re a pig. My kitchen was a disaster when I came home this morning. I think your hidden tattoo says a lot more about you than your favorite childhood book.”

Everleigh tosses the M&Ms into her sleek gold trash bin. “I’m very sorry. I tried to check with you, but you didn’t answer your phone or return my text.”

“I was working the Travelers’ fire. Sorry I didn’t have time to discuss chores with you. I was busy saving homes and possibly lives.”

“Thank you for your service,” she says, holding out her hand.

I stare at it. “I’m not shaking your hand.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m pissed off.”

“Go home and sleep. I’ll call Alba and tell her to dust and clean toilets. I’ll vacuum tonight when I get home. Does that sound like a good idea?”

I drag my fingers through my hair, tugging it while trying to shake this building frustration. “You know what sounds like a good idea to me?”

“What?”

“You staying out of my business. You not telling my friends that there’s sexual tension between us. There is tension between us, but it’s not sexual. It’s the kind of tension that leads to a Dateline murder mystery episode.” I drop my hands to my sides.

“Have you ever taken a Xanax or Ativan?”