The birds were singing in the trees and the leaves were desperately still clinging to the trees, as Michelle hiked out to the Kenworthy Cottage. True Christ Church Meadow was underwater due to inopportune flooding by the Isis and the sky as usual was an ominous shade of gray, but for some reason, Michelle's heart felt ever so slightly lighter than it had the day before.
It all came to an abrupt end as Michelle approached the cottage and spied a spiral of smoke. Dashing the last hundred yards, her heart began to beat wildly in her chest as she realized her fear.
The source of the smoke was the cottage.
Smoke was emanating from the windows, the chimney, underneath the door, and every other crack and crevice of the cottage. Hysterically, she ran up the path and began beating on the door, "Mr. Adams, Mr. Adams, are you all right?"
Hearing no answer, she began beating on the door with her shoulder, in a mad attempt to break the door down. Once, twice,... she began picturing blood, and emergency rooms, ambulances, running through the basics of resucitation in her head, why didn't she become a pulmonary specialist, Rick was telling her they were going to have to fly him out to a specialist in Chicago...
The door flew open, and Michelle found herself sprawled on the floor of the smoke-filled cottage.
"Are you all right?"
Somewhat dazed, Michelle looked up into a pair of concerned, familiar, dark brown eyes. "I feel a strange sense of déjà vu," unsteadily she began to pick herself up off the wooden floor, "What's going on?"
He offered her his arm, and laughed. "We really should stop meeting like this," he waved toward the kitchen, which Michelle realized was the ultimate source of the smoke. "It's the turkey."
An inexpert cook herself, Michelle hesitated to say anything as she climbed to her feet, but the physician in her finally won out. "I think we can safely say that any bacteria has died, and we've got a much greater chance of death by smoke inhalation. Maybe we should check the bird."
His brows furrowed, "But it's this Martha Stewart recipe I found. Blast of heat turkey. We're supposed to end up with a turkey that's still juicy on the inside..."
Michelle was finding her way to the turkey by following the source of smoke. "How long has the turkey been in the oven?"
"Four hours."
"What's the "blast of heat"?"
His brows furrowed again, "I think it was..."
"Oh, my God!" Michelle had found the oven, opened the door and immediately shut it again. "Yes, I think any bacteria is quite dead and buried. I think we might also consider having something besides turkey tonight. How do you turn this thing off?"
"Are you sure?" He moved past her to the oven. "The recipe said that there would be a lot of smoke..." Opening the oven door, he peeked inside.
Because he himself had put it in the oven himself four hours earlier, he knew it had been turkey. Otherwise he might not have been able to identify the charred mass.
He shut the door immediately, and began fiddling with knobs. "Umm, could I interest you in a kebab from the van outside the Bodleian?"
She laughed. It seemed like the first time in years. "Could I get extra lettuce and tomato with that?
"At your own risk," he had to chuckle also.
And then he caught himself. Who was he kidding? He wouldn't be able to control himself for an entire night. One night would turn into another, and then another, and then another...and this was Michelle. He had to send her on her way before he made another stupid mistake. "Look, I'm sorry. I know you came all this way so you could have turkey on Thanksgiving, and you, you just can't eat this.. Maybe we should just call it a night."
Michelle raised an eyebrow at the change in tone. "Yeah, sure. I'll go get my things." She disappeared into the next room.
Danny leaned onto the counter and sighed deeply. "That was close." He just could not afford anymore fantasies starring himself and Michelle. No daydreaming of a quiet life teaching literature, waiting for Michelle to come home from the hospital, children with no ties to the family... She's not going to fall in love with Michael Adams.
She can't.
Why not? a voice asked. She loved you. And you're Michael Adams.
Aren't you?
Send her on her way and out of your life again, he told himself sternly. She's better off.
He was still kidding himself.
The doorbell rang. "I'll get it!" he called.
He opened the door. A uniformed police officer stood there.
"Sir, we've had complaints..."
"Officer, I'm sorry about the smoke. I had an accident, it's airing out now..." He saw a pair of handcuffs and suddenly they were around his left wrist.
"I'll have to take you down to the station for questioning..."
"But officer..."
"Is something wrong officer?" Michelle emerged from the parlor, shrugging on her coat.
Wham! the handcuffs were around Michelle's right wrist. "We'll have to take you down for questioning too, miss."
Her coat half on and half off, Michelle began to struggle, "Officer, we haven't done anything. We burned a turkey. It's a strange American custom..."
He saw a glint of metal...
Michelle's shoulder felt like it was being torn out of its socket, as he landed a punch square on the officer jaw. Clearly, the officer had not been expecting it because he was down immediately.
Rubbing her right shoulder, she looked up at him, thoughtfully.
"Umm, I can explain..."