What is and What Should Never Be

Chapter Six  -- Bubo's Story

Frank helped Bubo to sit on the edge of the large garden tub in Taylor's bathroom.  She turned on the faucet, tested the water until it was warm enough, and then set the drain stop.  She then made her way to the sink, opened the cabinet underneath, and removed a men's shaving bag.  He found that an odd thing for a single, unattached woman to keep in her bathroom.

Taylor moved back to the tub and began placing the items from the bag onto the tray that sat at one corner of the tub.  "If you're up to shaving, Bubo…if not, that's okay too," she assured.  She opened the small closet and brought out two fresh towels and placed them on the towel rack.  Without a word, she left the room, returning moments later with a pair of men's pajamas and robe.  "I'll wash your clothes, Bubo.  I promise to have them ready for you by morning.  Just leave them in here when you're finished bathing."

Bubo remained silent as he watched Taylor move about, finally turning off the water.  He also kept a close eye on the man who was with her.  He'd seen the slick looking man skulking about for weeks on end, and he wondered if Taylor knew the man had been keeping tabs on her. 

"If you need help, whistle for me, 'kay?" Taylor urged as she moved toward the door and indicated to Ettore to leave.  "Your room is straight across the hall from here, Bubo.  I'm going down to the kitchen to heat you some chicken soup." 

She waited for Ettore to leave the room and was halfway through the doorway when she heard a disheartened whistle followed by several clicks.  She turned back toward Bubo to see the forlorn expression on his face.   She sighed a little and turned back to Ettore.  "Please give me a moment; he's upset.  You can wait for me in the kitchen."

Frank nodded and walked away, hesitating at the top of the stairs.  He could clearly hear the outpouring of clicks and whistles from Bubo.  He knew he should keep walking, but his curiosity got the better of him.

"It's funny," he heard Taylor say.  "He is worried about you being in my home, and you are just as worried about his presence.  You both worry too much." 

Several short whistles followed Taylor's statement.

"Oh, I know you mean well.  It's okay.  I trust him.  God help me, but I really do," Taylor admitted.  "Now, it's time you worry about you."

Frank stood then quietly began descending the stairs when he heard Taylor moving toward the doorway.  "I'll be back up in thirty minutes," she called out as she closed the door behind her.  She hurried down to the kitchen to find Ettore making a pot of coffee.  "Thank you, that's very thoughtful of you."

"It is nothing," he answered smoothly.  His mind was still reeling from her admission to Bubo that she trusted him.  Ettore.  She trusted Ettore.  Oh how she would hate him when she discovered there was no such person as Ettore Sansone.  She'll never understand, no matter how you explain it to her.  "How is…Bubo?"

"He's concerned about you," she admitted with a smile.  "Hopefully, he's bathing.  I'll give him some time before I head back up."  She went to the pantry and rummaged around until she found the bed tray.  Not really that much into cooking, Taylor had asked Jeanie to make some chicken soup earlier.  Being the sweetheart that she was, and having a key to Taylor's home, Jeanie brought the soup by and stashed it in the fridge while Taylor was at the hospital.  She took out the container and emptied it into a small pan to heat on the stove.

"How do you know he's concerned about me?  How can you say you understand him?" Frank asked curiously.  Taylor didn't answer him immediately.  Instead she busied herself by heating up the soup.  When the coffee was ready, she poured two cups and handed him one.  "Taylor?"

She shook her head.  "Please…I can't."

He didn't understand, of course.  How could he, if she refused to explain it?  "Taylor, when will you stop hiding from me?"

She turned to face him.  "I'm not hiding," she insisted firmly.  "I'm right here, out in the open.  You said you would not push, Ettore.  You're pushing."

Frank shook his head and closed the distance between them.  He grasped her lightly by the shoulders and forced her to look at him.  "I am not pushing.  What I am is concerned that you are bringing a homeless man into your home.  You…"

Taylor smiled and touched his cheek softly.  Her finger trailed along his beard.  "I appreciate your concern.  I really do," she assured him.  "Let me get Bubo settled.  After he eats, and takes the antibiotics that Mark sent for him, and begins to rest, I'll try to answer your questions."

He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the touch of her hand on his face.  When he opened them, he found himself mesmerized by the deep green of her eyes.  When he dipped his head to capture her lips, she pulled away quickly and turned her attention back to the stove.  "Taylor?" he whispered huskily.

She smiled slightly as she glanced over her shoulder.  "Bubo comes first, Ettore.  If you kiss me…I can't afford to neglect him.  He's too ill."

Frank returned her smile.  "Patience."

"Thank you."

~*~

"He seems to be sleeping comfortably now," Taylor commented as she disappeared into a small hall closet and reappeared with a pile of clothing that resembled those that Bubo entered the house wearing.  The only exception – these clothes were clean.  "He took the antibiotics and ate most of the soup, so I guess that's a good sign.  And he actually managed to shave.  He looks better.  If only he felt better…"

"Okay, Taylor.  I think it's time you told me what's going on here," Frank demanded curiously.  He kept his tone soft so as not to piss her off.

Taylor shrugged as she placed the clothing atop the dresser just inside the guest room that Bubo was sleeping in.  "I'm kind of tired, Ettore," she lied, not wishing to go into detail, although she had promised the handsome Italian that she would.  She moved across the hall and retrieved Bubo's dirty clothing and shoved it down the laundry chute.

"You feed him, clothe him, do his laundry, and take care of his medical needs," Frank observed.  "Don't you find that behavior the least bit odd?" he questioned as he followed her to her bedroom.

Taylor laughed softly as she closed the door behind them.  "I can't take the chance that he'll overhear," she explained when she noticed the perplexed expression on Ettore's face.  "They say Savannah harbors some odd folk, and I suppose it's true.  But, when you discover the reason behind most of our oddities, we're not so crazy."

"I never said you were crazy, Taylor.  I would just like to understand what's going on," Frank stated matter-of-factly.

"Of course.  Don't for one second think I believe you are entitled to any information regarding my life," she said coldly.  "I'm only telling you these things so that you can understand Bubo better.  He's a good man."

"I never said…" he began, but was stopped when Taylor raised a brow in his direction.  Is that what I look like?

She crawled to the middle of her bed and sat cross-legged while she waited for Ettore to get settled.  Once he was seated on the edge of her bed, she began.  "Bubo arrived in Savannah some seven years ago.  He wasn't the man you see now.  He was a successful advertising executive.  He came to town every month for a week to handle his clients here.  His last visit, he brought his family with him."

Frank listened attentively as she spoke.  It was hard not to notice her eyes fill with tears as she unfolded Bubo's story.

"On his drive out of town, an eighteen-wheeler hydroplaned in bad weather and crossed over into oncoming traffic.  Bubo never had a chance.  He lost his entire family in that wreck."  Taylor blinked back the tears that stung her eyes.  "When he came out of his coma, he was left brain damaged.  Doctor Mark was his physician then, and he took great care of Bubo.  He did all he could, but Bubo will never be what he was.  He lost the ability to speak and communicate normally."

"You seem to do all right with him," Frank observed.  He found it uncanny the way the two of them communicated with Bubo's apparent disability.  There was some latent connection between the two.  Perhaps Taylor reminded Bubo of someone he lost.

"I couldn't explain it, even if I wanted to."  Taylor sighed heavily as she toyed with a loose thread on the comforter. 

"You said he lost his entire family?  That consisted of…"

"His wife, daughter, and son," Taylor supplied sadly.

For a moment, Frank thought she was going to bolt from the bed and take off for parts unknown.  She appeared agitated and on edge.  "How old was the daughter?"

Taylor shrugged.   "I really couldn't say for sure.  I think she would be around my age if she had lived."

Frank nodded and shifted slightly, bumping his knee against hers accidentally.  "It could be that you're close enough in age to his daughter, coupled with your concern for him, that keeps him close to you," he surmised.  "How did you get to know him?" he asked curiously as he watched her move away from him.

"I just found him one day…sitting on the bench.  Day after day he was there.  It was obvious he wasn't eating, and it broke my heart to watch him slowly killing himself."

"So you began feeding him?  How did you find out all of this about him?"

Taylor lifted her head quickly to gaze into dark, sympathetic eyes.  Does he really care?  Is he really more than just a saleswhore?  "Doctor Mark saw me with him one day.  He approached me and…"

"Why isn't he in an institution?"

Taylor nodded.  It was a logical question.  "If only it were that easy."  She moved to her knees and inched closer to him.  In the back of her mind, the thought nagged at her that she was letting him get too close; allowing him into her life.  "He's been in and out of several, but he always manages to get away from them.  He always finds his way back here."  Tears slowly spilled down her cheeks.  "You may laugh, but I swear he's looking for his family."

Frank shook his head.  "I'd never laugh at you, Taylor.  It's a very sad story," he said as he cupped her chin and wiped her tears away with his finger.  "You've got a very big heart, Taylor," he whispered.  Is there room in it for me?

Taylor released a disheartened laugh.  "There are many who would disagree with that statement, Ettore Sansone." 

"Then they are fools."  His eyes locked onto hers and, if questioned later, he would swear time stood still for several moments.  His body drifted towards her as if it had a will of its own.  One hand cupped the back of her neck, holding her in place as his lips descended to hers.  He was breaking every rule in his line of work, but God help him, he couldn't care less.  As his tongue slipped past her parted lips to taste her sweetness, he vowed to find some way to rule her out with regards to any involvement in the drug smuggling.  When her tongue touched his in answer to his exploration of her warm, delicious mouth, he further vowed to make Taylor his.

…to be continued.