Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 110492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Doubtfully, he took the bottle and sniffed it. Torri saw his broad shoulders shrug in a “why not?” gesture and then he squirted some on top of his lettuce.
“Good job,” she encouraged him. “Do you, uh, know how to eat them?”
Vic shook his head.
“You…show?” he asked hesitantly.
“Uh…” Torri frowned.
Where was he from that he didn’t know how to eat a taco? But they were getting along so well and she wanted to keep it up—maybe they could be regular mealtime companions and she wouldn’t ever have to sit with Emile and Gloria again!
“We eat?” Vic asked anxiously. “You show?”
“Um, right. Okay, well it’s like this—you have to kind of hold it sideways and tilt your head…”
Lifting her taco, she showed him and then made a motion to him with one hand. Now you try.
Nodding, Vic lifted the taco to his mouth just as she had. He took a bite and then an expression of surprise spread over his face as he chewed.
“Good!” he exclaimed, with more animation than Torri had yet seen him show.
“Well, it’s more like ‘not bad’,” she allowed. “But around here, that’s pretty much the best you can ask for.”
They ate the rest of their tacos in silence—Vic was very involved in putting his second one together just right—before coming to the rubbery cherry Jell-O with chunks of fruit cocktail suspended in its red depths.
Vic nudged his with his spork and watched it jiggle. He did it again and Torri saw he was frowning.
“What’s the matter there, Vic?” she asked him. “Problems?”
He shook his head, a look of concentration on his face, as though he was trying to think how to express himself. At last, he pointed to the rectangle of cherry Jell-O again and raised his eyebrows.
“Alive?” he asked, nudging it again.
“Is your Jell-O alive?” Torri wanted to laugh but then she realized it was an honest question. Poor guy—he really didn’t know. And who was she to laugh at anyone when she was being regularly tormented with visions of space aliens invading the Earth? “No,” she said, smiling at him. “It’s not alive—it’s dessert. Sweet—you eat it,” she added, seeing his confused look. “Watch.” Digging her spork into the Jell-O, she carved out a jiggly red clump and popped it into her mouth. Then she smiled at Vic. “See? Good!”
Doubtfully, he copied her motions. The texture of the Jell-O seemed to give him pause but after a moment he swallowed and smiled at her.
“Not bad,” he said.
Torri nodded back at him. Her face felt wrong—different—then, she realized she was grinning at him. It had been so long since she’d felt happy about anything, that the muscles she used to turn the corners of her mouth up felt dusty and unused. But there was just something about the guileless way the big guy was smiling at her that made her want to smile back.
“Are you from around here?” she asked, without thinking, then bit her lip. He might not want to talk about where he came from—or how he had gotten here. Though he wouldn’t be the first patient to come to St. Elizabeth’s after some kind of presidential attack. John Hinckley Junior—the man who had attempted to assassinate Ronald Reagan—had been a long-term patient on the Violent Offenders wing of the mental hospital.
Of course, Vic hadn’t actually attacked anyone, Torri reminded herself. And he didn’t look upset that she’d asked him where he was from, though he did have a thoughtful frown, as though trying to think how to answer her.
“Not…from here,” he said at last. “Not…not…” He shook his head, looking frustrated.
“It’s okay,” Torri said quickly, putting a hand on his arm to comfort him. “You don’t have to say right now if you don’t want to.”
“Do want to say. But can’t…words…won’t come,” he managed to get out at last.
Torri wondered what his diagnosis was. He seemed to have a really hard time communicating—was something wrong with the part of his brain that produced speech?
“You can tell me later when you find your words,” she said patting his arm again. “It’s okay—don’t let it upset you.”
Vic smiled at her gratefully.
“You are…kind…Torri,” he said slowly.
Torri was surprised—she hadn’t thought he had noticed her being introduced in Group Therapy. He’d been staring out the window so fixedly, she’d just assumed he was in his own little world. But apparently the big guy had been paying more attention than he let on.
“Thank you, Vic,” she said smiling up at him. “It’s nice to meet you.”
He looked like he was trying to formulate a reply, but the scraping of chairs as people got up signaled the end of dinner. Torri showed him how to dump his tray in the slot for dirty dishes and then they left the dining room together.
And though the new patient didn’t say anything as they walked out, she had the feeling that she’d made a new friend.