Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 134212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 671(@200wpm)___ 537(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134212 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 671(@200wpm)___ 537(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
“I can’t take you seriously when you look like that.” Her head falls back and she bursts into fits of giggles. I would scowl. If I wasn’t laughing too.
Part Four
Chapter Ten
I had Luke drop me off at Sainsbury’s so I could collect a few bits to make dinner, and while I was there I picked out Billy’s favorite red wine, a total extravagance at fifteen pounds a bottle, but I don’t let it play too hard on my conscience. I also allowed myself the pleasure of a bottle of white wine, though given the expense of Billy’s bottle, I settled for the cheapest I could find. Wine is wine.
After unpacking the bags and taking Boris for a quick walk around the block, I pour a glass and take a tentative sip. Oh God, that tastes so good, cheap or not. Over the next half hour, I prepare a lasagna and set the table for two, even adding a candle. On my way home, I decided to make a special effort this evening, anything to get Billy out of the bedroom and some food in his tummy. We’ll chat. Talk about . . . anything. The bad days have monopolized the good these past few weeks, so I’m risking meeting annoyance. Or, if I’m lucky, sullen acceptance. I’m not sure which I’d resent more.
Placing the lasagna in the middle of the table along with a bowl of salad, I have one last sip of wine before hurrying up the stairs to get Billy. Pushing my way through the door, I find him in his usual position, on his back, watching sports on the TV. He looks across at me, expressionless, but I still slap a huge smile on my face.
“I have a surprise for you.” I walk over and offer him my hand.
“What?”
“It’s a surprise. You need to come with me.”
“Lo,” he sighs, dashing my hopes. “I’m really not in the mood for surprises.”
“Well, maybe I’m inflating it a bit. It’s not really a surprise, more a treat.” I jiggle my hand. “I’ll help you. Humor me. Please?”
On another sigh loaded with exasperation, he starts to shift to the edge of the bed, ignoring my offered hand. I don’t take it to heart too much. At least he’s coming. Watching him get himself up is painful. He hisses and winces constantly, and I find myself doing the same. He shuffles like an old man, wrapped up in his dressing gown, and I hang back, only a little, to steady him if he staggers.
When he’s finally negotiated the stairs, I move past him, rushing to the kitchen door, and wait for him to join me. He’s out of breath by the time he makes it to me, but I try not to feel too guilty. He can sit down soon, relax, and enjoy a nice meal and a glass of his favorite red.
“Ta-dah,” I sing, sweeping my arm out in the direction of the table.
Billy comes to a stop by the door, taking in the set table.
“I’ve made lasagna. Cheap and cheerful so I could treat you to your favorite wine.” I run over to the table and grab the bottle that’s been breathing for half an hour, presenting it to him on a bright smile. “I’ll pour for you.” I fill his glass.
Billy starts to shuffle toward the table, still taking it in. When he arrives at the edge, I point to his chair. “I put a cushion on it so it’s soft for you.”
“I’m not hungry, Lo,” he breathes, not looking at me.
I don’t let his rejection dampen my efforts. “You can have just a little.” I spoon some of the lasagna from the dish onto his plate. “Wash it down with plenty of wine.”
“I said, I’m not hungry.”
“You must be hungry. What have you eaten today?”
“Nothing.”
“There you are, then.” I take his elbow and try to pull him to his chair, but he doesn’t budge.
“Why aren’t you listening to me? I’m not hungry.” He shakes me off and looks at me, and I retract, feeling injured.
But I won’t give up. We need some time together, even if it’s just to look at each other. “Then just have a drink. We’ll talk.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know. Anything.”
“I’m not in the mood to talk.”
“Then just—”
“No!” In the flash of an eye, he lashes out, swiping his arm across the table and sending everything crashing to the floor. The smash of dishes and glass is deafening, and I jump back on a cry of shock. “I’m not fucking hungry!” he bellows. “I’m not fucking thirsty! I don’t want to fucking talk!” He waves his arms around and starts hacking violently, bracing his arm on the table to steady himself. I rush to his side to help him but get shoved back with a push into my shoulder.