“Okay.” Inhale. Exhale. “I was wondering if maybe, you’d like to—?”
“How long has it been?” Thea hugged herself and looked around as if seeing her surroundings for the first time. Her breath shortened. “I don’t know this place.” Her gaze darted to me. “How long has it been?”
“How long…?” I blinked. “I don’t know—”
“Who are you?” Thea’s eyes were wide now, panic bright in their light blue depths. “How long has it been?”
Did she want the time? I started to check my watch, and then it dawned on me. Like a tidal wave of cold water dousing the tiny, flickering flame between us.
Oh, fuck, you jackass. She’s a patient. A resident.
“How long has it been?” Thea shrieked, her voice echoing through the foyer.
“I d-d-don’t know…” I stammered to the pounding of my pulse.
She took a step back from me. “They’re working on my case,” she said. “The doctors. I had an accident. How long has it been?”
I glanced around the empty foyer, looking for help. “I… I d-don’t…”
“Miss Hughes, there you are.”
I spun to see a small woman with dark hair and eyes in a nurse’s pale blue scrubs striding quickly down the hallway. Relief lanced through me. The nurse shot me a curious glance and gently took Thea by the arm.
“Miss Hughes always seems to find her way to the front door.”
Thea turned her wide-eyed gaze to the nurse, whose nametag read Rita. “How long has it been?”
“Two years, Miss Hughes,” Rita said. “The doctors are working on your case.”
“Right,” Thea said, taking a deep breath and clutching Rita’s arm. “They’re going to figure out what’s wrong with me.”
Rita smiled and nodded her chin at the oil painting. “This picture is lovely, don’t you think?”
Thea relaxed and her smile started to return. “Absolutely. Look at the way the light shines over the curve of the apple.” She turned to me. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
I nodded, staring. “Yeah. Beautiful.”
She beamed and offered her hand. “Hi. I’m Thea Hughes.”
“Jim Whelan,” I murmured. My hand rose on its own and took hers, feeling as if I were having an out-of-body experience.
What the fuck is happening?
Thea gave my hand a strong, one-pump shake. “Nice to meet you, Jim.”
Rita cleared her throat. “You must be our new orderly?”
“I start Monday.”
“I’m Rita Soto.” Her smile was warm. “Welcome to Blue Ridge.” She nodded at the empty front desk with a frown. “I see Jules is on another smoke break. Thank you for keeping Miss Hughes company.”
“Sure,” I said, unable to look at Thea any longer; my eyes ached. “I better go.”
“Bye, Jim,” Thea called. “See you again sometime?”
I stopped. It was the exact question I’d been ready to ask her.
You got your answer, you big dummy. Doris cackled in my head. You’re going to see her every day.
Every. Day.
Chapter 2
Jim
I spent the weekend in a rented U-Haul, making the three-hour drive between my shitty little apartment in Richmond and the shitty little house I’d rented in Boones Mill. After my successful interview at Blue Ridge, George Hammett—my new landlord—practically threw the keys at me from the cab of his truck, then screeched away before I could change my mind.
He didn’t have anything to worry about. I didn’t need much. The house was shabby as hell but livable. During two days of unpacking and cleaning, I managed to not think about Thea Hughes for a grand total of eight minutes.
Fuck me. She’s a resident.
A resident.
Stupid of me to not see it. I should have paid better attention.
What was her diagnosis?
Maybe something minor.
Maybe she was recovering…
Then Alonzo’s words rattled in my head: Everyone here is suffering from permanent brain damage. Our job is to help them adjust to their new reality.
Thea Hughes wasn’t recovering and wasn’t going to get better, and I had to adjust to that reality too. She was a resident of Blue Ridge Sanitarium. I was an orderly charged to take care of her, end of story.
End of our story.
I took my attraction to her—an attraction I’d never felt toward any woman—and shelved it away with the speech therapist dream.
Sunday night, I fired up a frozen dinner in my new house’s old microwave. After, I set my guitar on my lap and played Guns N’ Roses “Sweet Child O’ Mine” quietly, so the neighbors wouldn’t hear. I sang about eyes like the bluest sky, belonging to a woman who exuded warmth and safety.
She’s a resident.
I put the guitar away.
Later, I lay in my bed, listening to the crickets grow loud as summer