The Rescue - Nicholas Sparks [77]
In the living room, Denise turned on one of the lamps as Taylor sat on the couch. After a slight hesitation, Denise sat in a separate chair, catercorner to the couch.
Neither one of them had said anything on the way home for fear of waking Kyle, but once they were seated Denise went straight to the point.
“What happened?” she asked. “On the bridge tonight.”
Taylor told her everything: about the rescue, what Mitch and Joe had said, the images he’d been tormented by afterward. Denise sat quietly as he talked, her eyes never leaving his face. When he was finished, she leaned forward in her seat.
“You saved him?”
“I didn’t. We all did,” Taylor said, automatically making the distinction.
“But how many of you went out on the ladder? How many of you had to let go because the ladder wouldn’t hold?”
Taylor didn’t answer, and Denise rose from her seat to sit next to him on the couch.
“You’re a hero,” she said, a small grin on her face. “Just like you were when Kyle was lost.”
“No, I’m not,” he said, images of the past surfacing against his will.
“Yes, you are.” She reached for his hand. For the next twenty minutes they talked about inconsequential things, their conversation wandering here and there. At last Taylor asked about the men who wanted to drive her home; she laughed and rolled her eyes, explaining it away as part of the job. “The nicer I am, the more tips I get. But some men, I suppose, take it the wrong way.”
The simple drift of the conversation was soothing; Denise did her best to keep Taylor’s thoughts away from the accident. As a child, when she’d had nightmares, her mother used to do the same thing. By talking about something else, anything else, she would finally be able to relax.
It seemed to be working for Taylor as well. He gradually began to speak less, his answers coming more slowly. His eyes closed and opened, closed again. His breaths settled into a deeper rhythm as the demands of the day began to take their toll.
Denise held his hand, watching until he nodded off. Then she rose from the couch and retrieved an extra blanket from her bedroom. When she gave him a nudge, Taylor lay down and she was able to drape the blanket over him.
Half-asleep, he mumbled something about having to go; Denise whispered that he was fine where he was. “Go to sleep,” she murmured as she turned off the lamp.
She went to her own room and slipped out of her workclothes, then into her pajamas. She untied her ponytail, brushed her teeth, and scrubbed the grease from her face. Then, after crawling into bed, she closed her eyes.
The fact that Taylor McAden was sleeping in the other room was the last thing she remembered before she, too, nodded off.
“Hewwo, Tayer,” Kyle said happily.
Taylor opened his eyes, squinting against the early morning sunlight streaming in the living room window. Wiping the sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand, he saw Kyle standing over him, his face very close. Kyle’s hair, clumped and matted, pointed off in various directions.
It took a second for Taylor to register where he was. When Kyle pulled back, smiling, Taylor sat up. He ran both hands through his hair. Checking his watch, he saw that it was a little after six in the morning. The rest of the house was quiet.
“Good morning, Kyle. How are you?”
“He’s sleeping.” (Eez sweepeen)
“Where’s your mom?”
“He’s on the couch.” (Eez on-ah coush)
Taylor straightened up, feeling the stiffness in his joints. His shoulder ached as it always did when he woke.
“I sure was.”
Taylor stretched his arms out to the side and yawned.
“Good morning,” he heard behind him. Over his shoulder he saw Denise coming out of her room, wearing long pink pajamas and socks. He stood up from the couch.
“Good