Chapter Sixteen: Baby, It's Cold Outside
"How ya, Dr. Fowler!" A man greeted her as she opened the door. It was rare to have someone knocking this early.
"Oh, Dr. O'Neill, to what do I owe this early morning visit?" Amy replied, observing her Irish, biochemist colleague that seemed out of breath. His chest was rising shallowly, keeping his hands on his hips.
Out of breath, he pointed with his thumb. "There's a lad outside, wanted me to call Amy. Yer the only Amy I know. I guess he's a pal?"
Amy raised her eyebrow in confusion "A man?" she asked in disbelief. "Did he tell you his name, Conor?" This time, Amy went out and locked the door behind her. She was about to eat outside anyway and buy her provisions for the week, hence it wasn't a bother.
Conor shook his head as he hissed. "I don't think so. The lad's shiverin', I have me coat on him, though. Tall, tall lad, 'pletely knackered. I was supposed to go out to meet someone and there he was waitin' outside. It's friggin' cold, I don't want him to die."
They exchanged an apologetic laugh as they were nearing the stairs.
As far as her knowledge of people in the state, there's only one man that would frequent her in her apartment. Naturally, that man had been living in New Hampshire for almost a decade now, a self-proclaimed expert on the state, especially the weather. And hearing about him without his winter coat on seemed a bizarre phenomenon.
It piqued her interest more when she asked for a description: tall man, medium-length hair with the sides touching the helix of his ear and the top strands sticking on his forehead, and a half-half dark blue and gray windbreaker that was soaking wet.
Right off the bat, her assumptions of the identity of the man waiting immediately dissipated, only to be replaced by the image of another man whom she hadn't seen in months. Sheldon. What is he doing here? Why would he not tell her that he was going? Maybe he was lost and something? She was expecting him to spend the holidays with his family in Texas, and now he's here.
She knew that their friends will be vacationing on Christmas day, but they promised her that they will go home for New Year's in case Sheldon decides to stay home for the holidays.
As they turned to the last flight of stairs, the image of the man sat in the chair with a thick coat engulfing him emerged behind the glass swing door. He must have heard the echoes coming from the empty stairwell as he had his eyes glued to whoever was coming down. His back was hunched over the chair, forearms pressing on the wood of the armchair, trying his best to keep his body heat enclosed. The very description given by Conor was spot on. But this time he's less wet and less shivering as he was inside, keeping himself warm.
Amy pushed the door to the lobby and approached the man, all the while taking off her coat and switched it with Conor's.
Conor asked as he accepted back his jacket, "Ya know him, Amy?"
Amy nodded. "Yes, Conor. Thank you so much. And I'm so sorry to bother you," she smiled politely, still fusing over the through and through Texan unaccustomed to winter and a coat's role to aid in cold places. Good Lord, Sheldon, I thought you were a genius.
"My pleasure, Amy. Take care!" Conor excused himself, scurrying out the building in haste.
"You too. Have a nice day!"
Amy sighed at the spectacle. It's like Sheldon was a traveler whose flight had been canceled several times and, practically, made himself comfortable living in the airport. But in this case, he's at the lobby of her apartment, soaking wet and disheveled. He only got a small, dry suitcase with him, lying carelessly on the floor, with his limp messenger bag douse with snow that eventually turned into water.
She helped him get up, hustling his only suitcase and handing the messenger bag to his clasped hands. The rarely used elevator rumbled into life and they were inside. Amy put out the ID card that, at the behest of her superior, she carries all the time to access everything in the university and her apartment, in particular.
Slowly, they traversed the hallway, each step was agonizing for both of them. Once inside her forgotten apartment, she sat him at the chair she'd been indulging herself in since yesterday.
The heavily lit apartment revealed his condition. His eyes were dilated, darkened bags sagging beneath. Ears, nose, cheeks, and fingers were reddened, near crimson and might have been frostnip. And his skin was ghastly, almost like life had been sucked out of him.
She noticed that Sheldon had 2 windbreakers—his only 2 windbreakers—wrapped beneath the coat that she covered him with. Both were soaking wet; he must have been outside for a long time because it was the rain that woke her up. His lips were chapped to the point where blood had dried like a red rivulet trimming the banks of his bluish lips. He must have taken the weather for granted for him to experience this intense cold.
It's not to say that he deserved it, but Amy hoped he learned a lesson from this experience: always use your noggin'.
Sheldon's arrival had been untimely. But she can't just leave him there and escape, can she? First off, it's her 'house,' and second, this was her chance! Should she ask how was he doing? S-Should she inquire about the 'teaching gig', as he'd always liked to put it? Or maybe about what happened to him and why he was here?
A lot of questions floated. Amy was too caught up in thinking when she realized she was in the bathroom. What am I going here? I already took a bath, she thought to herself as she clicked her tongue disappointedly. But as soon as she was about the exit the bathroom, a small voice whispered to her, Sheldon, as anyone in her situation would help him.
She quickly turned the knob in the bathtub at her aha moment. Steaming water came rushing down to the bathtub and started to do its job of filling it. In the meantime, she returned to find Sheldon dozing off at her La-Z-boy, apparently figured out how to recline it, and use the patterned blanket she left at the table, neatly folded. Upon reaching him, it took a mere second to convince him to take a warm, lulling bath.
He did something very unusual. He did a series of definitely unusual things. Without taking Amy's presence into account, he meticulously stripped off his clothes, down to the last piece of fabric. She had to take away her eyes off him—not too obvious, though—at the very last minute, because he simply decided no one would mind seeing him naked. However, that didn't spare her to seeing a lot. The very sight of his abdominal flesh instinctively signaled her to look away.
The second thing was, he disregarded the exact temperature of the water. Amy had to look back at him again, careful not to leer at his barely submerged body that even the slight bit of water couldn't distort the vivid image and submerged the tips of her fingers to felt the temperature. She twisted the knob to make it a tad colder. Such a surprise that Sheldon's not yelping in the scalding water, even with his genitals submerged.
To break the tension, she asked, "Have you eaten yet?" She wasn't looking at him still.
"Only a protein bar and a bottle of water," he replied, emotionless. It didn't take him too long to make himself comfortable in the bath.
"I've got chocolate pudding and onions in the fridge. You pick one, alright?" she quipped, trying her hand at humor.
Sheldon seemed to like it as he groaned and then laugh faintly at the realization of the joke. "I'll take the chocolate pudding, please."
She stood up and held the metal doorknob, "I'll leave you for a while. I'm buying breakfast."
She returned home to Sheldon sleeping in the bathtub. His long body prevented him from sliding down too much at the chest-deep water, which was a relief to know that he didn't drown. She woke him up, poking her finger on his bare shoulder, and helped him up. Retrieving a towel from her drawer, she handed it to him and let him do the job.
At one point, he even joked about wrapping the towel around his body, like what most women would do, oblivious of the fact that anyone who would be the same height as a child would undoubtedly be face to face with his junk. Luckily, Amy had no one with 4 feet below living with her.
Amy realized that's one thing she missed about living under the same roof with Sheldon. All those quips and quirks that made him who he is, notwithstanding Amy gossiping about the things he usually does when he's alone.
Now she was more at ease to have seen him regain his color and look more alert. She missed that in him.
He clothed with whatever he brought from California, mismatching clothes to pants, disrupting the schedule he had back home. They went and had breakfast on Amy's minute 2-seater dining table, silent as both were starving from the delayed breakfast.
Before she went out to buy breakfast, Amy rummaged through his suitcase: 3 t-shirts, 5 raglan shirts, 2 white undershirts, 2 pairs of briefs, a plaid green pajama pants, a pair of socks, a pair of pants, and that 2 windbreakers he had overlaid to warm himself. Maybe 2 and a half days worth of wear.
Much for a man who gets neurotic whenever he's vacationing and there aren't enough clothes to wear, his choice of packed clothing wasn't well thought out.
Amy surmised that he's staying with her, but she couldn't guess from his clothes for how long, and none of his clothes were suitable for winter. Her only solution was to bring him out to shop for appropriate clothes, or else, he would be cooped up in her apartment, and chances are he would later decline to the cold. No one would want that, especially when she has a trip in 2 days and has no clue if bringing Sheldon would be the right thing to do.
Sheldon was grateful that that man discovered him before he would succumb to hypothermia. He got complacent about the weather and, frankly, his decision to fly in New Hampshire was last minute hence he didn't have any clothes to battle the winter. Nor did he have the brains to piece out the relationship of December and New England together. He got excited, that is.
He waited outside the door, with the roof overhang hardly protecting him from the snow but not from the chilly wind. It took 30 minutes for someone to emerge from the building. The first one overlooked him, but the second one thankfully acknowledged him.
His first thought when he arrived in front of Amy's apartment building was to call her. But he wanted it to be a surprise. And besides, calling her at 6 in the morning seemed inconsiderate. He'd changed some of his ways, and one of them was being lenient when it comes to Amy.
Also, one thing to point out about why he was soaking wet was the absence of friction in the concrete. As he was walking on the sidewalk towards her building, he'd lost his footing, catapulting him onto the freshly plowed pile of snow on the lawn. He landed face down, hence the wet clothes, and somehow busted his right shoe open, his big toe and beyond, almost, to his heel revealed in a tear that inevitably made his sock wet. He was fine but he felt quite a sting in his right ankle. However, he soldiered through to reach the building.
Still, that didn't urge him to call his wife.
And then, as soon as he took cover at the front of the building, it started sleeting. He got wetter and somewhat harmed from the combination of liquid and small ice pellets that was hitting his makeshift shield in the form of his empty messenger bag. He made sure everything he owned was transferred inside his suitcase and lodged at the corner where it wouldn't get wet.
He was very close to calling 911 if it weren't for the second man. The arrival of the man with an accent—probably Scottish or Irish or maybe a New England accent; the disorientation from the cold failed him to distinguish the truth—was unexpected. Fortunately, the man knew Amy and was kind enough to keep him warm by lending his coat and welcoming him in their no-brainer lobby.
When he saw Amy, he nearly burst into tears, but exhaustion and being on the brink of hypothermia put an end to it. She looked wonderful even with a worried look on her face. Her hair cascaded just above her shoulders, not the haircut she sported when she left; it was much longer back then. She was layered in cloth beyond he expected. Well, everyone he'd come across in New Hampshire had donned unappealing, thick clothes.
Even her concern was inexplicable. She didn't talk to him for over 15 minutes; she practically bore him in her shoulders as she maneuvered through the secured building. An offer of chocolate pudding was thoughtful; the onions, not so much.
He fell into a deep slumber in the chest-deep water, slowly rejuvenating his worn-out body. Amy woke him up on what felt like a lifetime after, about 45 minutes after she put him to the bathtub.
Sitting down at the foot of her bed, full as a tick, neat as a pin, and warm as toast, he waited as Amy rummage through her closet. Still, he doesn't know the motivation as to why he needed to witness that. She sighed in resignation and looked at the drawer behind him. She opened the bottom drawer, retrieved an oversized rust-colored puffer jacket, and handed it to him.
"Whose jacket is this?" he asked, his eyes following Amy as she crossed in front of him.
"Mine," she answered sheepishly, tucking out the hair that had been caught in her shoulder bag.
"Yours?" He checked it out at arm's length. "It's oddly large and long for you," he responded, wearing it in out swoosh and feeling the fit.
"It's someone else's, Sheldon," she snapped softly, turning her face into him, prompting him immobilized. "I'm guessing that you will be staying here for a while?" He nodded. "We're buying you some winter garments. You can't live with the clothes you've brought, you'll be frozen by the end of the day," she added. "Can we go in peace?"
He nodded, puzzled by her behavior.
They drove for 15 minutes, leaving the edifices of Hanover for trees. It's unusual to be sandwiched between birch and beech and occasional sugar maple, as Amy later revealed. A short portion of the ride revealed the Connecticut River flowing on his side of the road, a dam cut through the water across to the snow-covered Vermont land. The bank on the other side mirrored the tree-laden slope of his side.
Amy parked at a shopping complex in West Lebanon, teeming with department stores, and restaurants, and pharmacies, and services. She parked fronting the department store, a few parking spaces away, just to ensure that he will be walking less in his busted shoe and sprained ankle.
More often than not, he or his mother was allowed to do the shopping for him, but this time, he let Amy in charge. She picked out the clothes that he'll be needing, although some of them he couldn't figure out their purpose, and he was in charge of paying.
Classic, he thought as he watched his card being swiped at the cashier, amounting to almost his share of the monthly rent. All of his clothes changed from head to toe, but he convinced her to wear his usual ¾ shirt underneath his not-so-ordinary superhero t-shirt, a quilted sweatshirt, a hooded down jacket, and a pair of ankle-high snow boots—the right one felt snug as Amy wrapped his ankle in compression wrap beforehand—that Amy insisted he take 2 but debated against it.
He felt like a new man with a new identity, almost like being in the witness protection program, because, as humiliating as it could be, he was also subjected to buy undergarments. Apparently, Amy was snooping inside his bag and told him that he should buy more "panties," as she put it.
They went home a different route again, crossing the bridge with its snowy, rusted railings, the river peeking again on his side of the road. Amy said they were in Vermont. Well, geographically, he couldn't tell the difference between New Hampshire as the other side of the river and Vermont on the other. The only give away was two consecutive green and white signages that says, "State Line: Entering Vermont," and "Welcome to Vermont: The Green Mountain State." Other than that, everything seemed foresty and wintery on either side.
He helped Amy out with everything, hauling every clothing that he, technically, bought for himself and some of the shopping bags Amy filled with groceries for the week and for the upcoming trip she had that he knew nothing about. He was limping but he did anyway.
As they were putting away bag after bag of food, necessities, and clothes, Amy put up the question, "I've been avoiding this all day: how did you get here and what are you doing here?"
He stopped folding the new and strange clothes he acquired. "I rode 2 planes," he started giddily, gazing at Amy who was busy in the counter. "The other one was frightening, though. I thought they were bringing me to Lebanon, in the Middle East; it took a few people to explain that the plane is bound for Lebanon, New Hampshire. Apparently, it's the closest airport in Dartmouth. It's a Cessna plane with 9 seats. I barely had any room for my feet. But I get to sit behind the pilot, so that was, at least, reassuring to know that he's pushing the right buttons." He stood up and left his chore. "And for your second question, I was just visiting," he shrugged, appearing so innocent.
Amy cocked her head. "In winter?"
"Yes…" His response was prolonged. Keeping eye contact with Amy was harder than he thought; she still had that effect on him.
"As far as I know, you're not a winter guy," she insisted.
"Can't you see the beauty outside? I am drawn to this place!" he declared, feigning fascination at the winter build-up as seen from Amy's third floor apartment.
Amy stopped and looked at him smugly. "Sheldon, we both know you rarely go to places that have below-freezing temperatures. The last frigid place I know you've been to was the Arctic. And even that you said you didn't set foot outside, except from when you arrived there, when you had to go home, and that 20 seconds the guys were horsing around and pushing you outside the door."
"I had a feeling that they were serious with locking me out of our living quarters," he shrugged. "And I did say that to you. I hate freezing places."
"Then, why are you here?" she asked genuinely.
He sighed in resignation. "I was led to believe, through eavesdropping Penny that one time you called, that you were planning on staying here for the holiday festivities. I-I just wanted to accompany you here." Drawing circles in the counter, he held his head down in embarrassment.
"That's not necessary." She shook her head and continued emptying the shopping bag.
"And I know it's your birthday on the 17th," he added, eager to convince her.
"I do have people to accompany me, don't worry," she assured, and then realized, "How did you know about my birthday?"
"You told me," he said in confidence.
The confidence seemed not effective as Amy furrowed her eyebrows and pursed her lips. "No, I didn't."
"Yes, you did," he defended, twitching once at his lie.
"Sheldon…" she chided, abandoning the loaded egg carton.
He moaned and puffed his chest. "Fine. I did some snooping the second time we met. At the Griffith Observatory, you let me hold your purse while you were in the bathroom. Even though we've been talking for 3 months, I still had to find some ID in you; the scrupulous quest to find information about you on the Internet was lacking. Thankfully, I did or else we wouldn't be in this situation," he admitted. "And to be fair, my birthday is on February 26, just so you know."
"You already told me that," she stated, followed by a hiss of disappointment. "But I wouldn't be here on the 17th."
It was Sheldon's turn to be confused. "Where are you going?"
"I told you, I have some people to accompany me, both on my birthday and Christmas."
He stopped and stammered, "C-Can I accompany you?"
"Uhh… let's see what I can do." Amy looked at her watch. She diverted the topic. "It's 10 minutes past 11. How about you rest first you've been up since yesterday."
Sheldon was roused to the muffled voice coming from the living room. As in every unusual place, he was bewildered at the place, only realizing that he was in New Hampshire and had been in Amy's apartment since morning. Light streamed from the windows but doesn't seem so powerful. It's winter, the genius in him realized as an amount of snow perched at the window grilles, gently melting at the sunlight, peeked at their position.
He stood up from the bed. The voice was still going and going, but he couldn't decipher the conversation. He gazed at the alarm clock on the nightstand. 4:15. He had been sleeping for beyond 5 hours. Wow, what a sleep! With the red-eye he took from LA to Boston and the subsequent morning hours he spent staying awake and waiting for his 5 a.m. flight to New Hampshire, it's no wonder why it took him 5 hours to replenish all his energy.
He opened the door to the last part of the conversation. 2 words caught his attention. Love you, said Amy as she sat at the wooden bar stool, facing away from him. As soon as her call ended, she swiveled the chair to his direction.
"Who were you talking to?" he closed the door behind him and stood stock.
"Someone," she answered nonchalantly, even happy about the possibility of dropping the L-bomb to someone.
It might have been the sleep drunkenness in his system, but his hearing was perfectly functioning. He heard that. He heard the word.
Lethargy was still evident in his face, but emotions weren't. He approached Amy, ensuring that he keeps a respectable distance between them, as he was about to be overpowered by his eagerness to know what the hell was that.
"Do you say you love someone on a daily basis?" He approached even further, crossing his arms on his chest.
"Huh? What are you saying?" she replied, flustered.
Sheldon had a feeling that Amy turned a blind eye on what he was saying. She must have known what he was talking about. She's clearly faking this.
"I was just curious if you say those to, I don't know, every person that you encounter," he hinted, stepping once.
"You heard?" she responded, as though acting like she didn't do it on purpose.
Sheldon huffed and yelped, "People from across the street heard it, Amy," pointing to the other side with the sway of his hands. Clearly, he was overcome with unwanted emotions.
Her eyebrows furrowed as her jaw tightened. He didn't notice, but Amy's shoulders rose up and down rapidly. Gaudily, she groaned. Knowing where this was going, she stood up from her seat and grabbed ahold of her coat. "I'm going out," she responded in gritted teeth.
He remained unmoved by Amy's sudden movement toward him. He felt her shoulders hitting his forearm, but she just walked past him. He pivoted in his feet. "Why? So that you can meet with your lover? Is he the man with the auburn hair that loaned me the coat?"
Instead of an answer, what he got was the blaring sound of the door slamming and followed by stillness.