“Your grandmother said you were a terrible patient.”
“Gran lies.” I close my eyes and try to clear my mind. “Are you staying?”
“Unless you want me to go,” he replies, only a little hesitation in his voice.
“I don’t really care.” And I don’t. He can stay, he can go, or he can leave and come back. I am past the point of caring.
“Good,” he says. “Because I wasn’t leaving either way. You’re stuck with me.”
I can’t think of anyone I’d rather be stuck with.
23
Ethan
I haven’t shared a bed with a woman since Melanie. And that was a long time ago.
I find myself fascinated by the little noises Abigail makes, and I keep jerking awake to make sure she’s still breathing if she ever gets quiet. I haven’t had anybody but myself to take care of in a really long time. It feels nice to have spent yesterday evening and most of the day today with Mitchell, and then to get to spend time with Abigail too. Really nice.
Before Melanie died, she’d been the one in the relationship who slept like an octopus. It was like she was all arms and legs, and at least one of them had to be wrapped around me at all times. She loved to cuddle and to fall asleep in my arms. And although I pretended to hate it, I’d loved it too. I’d loved knowing that I’d wake up slick with sweat after having her pressed against me. I’d loved knowing that she was always there next to me, no matter if she was mad at me or if she loved me desperately that day.
The closeness with someone else is what I miss most now. This night spent in Abigail’s bed has left me with regrets, even more than normal, about how my life has turned out. By now, I was supposed to have a steady, successful job. I was supposed to have vacation time built up. I was supposed to have a home with a white picket fence and two or three children. Then it all changed. I had four damp cinderblock walls in a prison cell, with stinky men walking around all the time. It was terrifying at first, but I’d gotten through it.
Abigail moans in her sleep, kicking her feet so that the covers fall off the bottom of the bed. She’s done that several times tonight. I keep pulling the sheet back up, just for modesty’s sake. To be honest, I’d be turned on any other day, but she’s so miserable right now that I can only feel sorry for her.
Abigail’s phone rings on the nightstand. She doesn’t make a move to grab it. I see the word “Gran” on the screen, so I use Abigail’s thumb to unlock the screen, then I walk into the other room and answer it.
“Hello?” I say as quietly as I can.
“Ethan, is that you?”
“Yes, ma’am.” My voice is little more than a whisper. “Abigail is still asleep. She had a restless night, and she’s still running a fever.”
“Did you stay all night?” she asks.
I don’t know how to answer her without it sounding bad, so I opt for the truth. “I was afraid to leave her since she had such a high fever. I’ve been waking her up every few hours to get her to drink something and take fever reducers.”
She snorts out a laugh. “The girl sleeps like a starfish, all spread out. I’m surprised she left any room in the bed for you at all.”
“Oh, no ma’am,” I rush to say. “It’s not like that.” But I know I’m lying, and I hate it. I kind of have a no lies policy in my life. Lies help no one. “I mean, I just stayed there so I could be close to her. To keep an eye on her.”
“Ethan,” she says, her voice serious, “Abigail is a grown woman. She can decide who she wants in her bed.”
That’s just it. She didn’t decide she wanted me in her bed. I just kind of assumed the spot. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, make sure she eats something when she wakes up. If you’ll make some toast points, you might be able to con her into dipping them into the chicken soup that has the little pasta stars in it. You did get some, didn’t you?”
“Yes to the chicken and pasta stars. Toast wasn’t on my list.” I look around and see a loaf of bread on the counter. “But she has some bread. I can