Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
“I’m leaving now. It was nice spending time with you.” I squeeze his fingers and stand.
“I’ll eat,” he mutters, pawing at my hand when it leaves his. “D-don’t get all . . .” His pinched expression intensifies. “Don’t get all rankled.”
“I’m not rankled. Just busy.” I chuckle, easing back into the chair and updating his chart while he slurps yogurt, eyeing me without reprieve.
He’s quickly become my favorite patient. I’d say it’s especially true on the days he thinks I’m his wife because he’s incredibly sweet to me. However, it’s more than that. Something deep in his eyes reminds me of a child crying for help. On the outside, he’s a guilty man (even if he was found not guilty by reason of insanity), but on the inside, he’s fragile and innocent.
“Annie, I dried between my toes and clipped my nails. And I didn’t leave my towel on the floor,” he says, surprising me with his sudden interest in chatting after showing little excitement to see me.
“Thank you. Annie would love that.” I finish a few notes on my tablet and straighten the blanket on his bed. What wife wouldn’t love her husband picking up after himself?
A dead one.
“Has the baby kicked?”
“You have a child?” I ask.
“Barbara.”
“That’s right. I think I heard that. On a scale of one to ten, what is your current level of depression?”
“Zero. We escaped the bear.”
I nod. Some days, it’s a ten because Annie didn’t escape the bear.
“Do you have any suicidal thoughts?”
He chuckles, gaze still pointed out the window. “No. Annie would kill me if I tried to kill myself.”
He’s been here so long. I can’t imagine a day he’s in the present and emotionally well. Right now, it’s one or the other but not both.
He glances over his shoulder. “You look as beautiful as you did the day I married you.”
Aww . . .
I want Dwight to get better. I’ve never met his family or friends, but I like to imagine they are waiting for him. Maybe this is the year Barbara will visit him for the holidays. I’ve heard he’s never had a visitor. Perhaps she’ll come with her kids—little grandkids for Dwight. And it will trigger something that will allow him to heal faster and be whole again.
Is it likely? No. But the human mind has barely been touched by science. Even with all the advancements, so much remains a mystery.
“Let’s go to the beach next time,” he suggests.
I glance up from my tablet. “The beach? You like the beach?”
His tongue lazily swipes the yogurt from his top lip while he shakes his head.
“No? Well, I love the beach.”
He winces as he always does when I say the wrong thing—when I say something his wife wouldn’t have said.
After he finishes the yogurt and swallows his medications, I rest my hand on his shoulder. “I’ll check in later.”
“Watch out for bears,” he mumbles, like it’s a passive afterthought. His suddenly lifeless tone matches the rest of his gray, aging body—Dwight’s fifty-five, going on eighty.
“I will,” I promise.
There’s something about him. I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s an unsettling feeling that resides beneath my skin and lingers for hours after being with him.
Four glorious days off.
I pick up groceries on my way home and then change into white jeans and a sleeveless yellow boho blouse for my dinner date tonight. Evette’s in town visiting a friend, and she asked if we could have dinner. She’s been the sweetest, keeping me updated on not only Gary’s whereabouts but Fitz’s too. That’s how I know he hasn’t been home to get the scar salve my friend sent to his house over three weeks ago.
I text Evette when I arrive at the crowded restaurant.
Me: I’m here
Evette: I’m at the back behind the bar
Shouldering through the crowd, I crane my neck to see past the bar.
No Evette.
I look in every direction. She has a head of unmistakable red hair. How am I missing her? Turning for the third time, I catch sight of a man standing next to his chair. Dark jeans and a pristine white shirt. He looks a lot like . . .
“Oh my god.” I cover my mouth.
Fitz grins.
I want to cry, but I’m not going to do that. Instead, my heart might explode, and I will likely die right here in this spot.
Someone bumps into me, bringing me out of my dazed state and propelling me forward a few feet. It’s only been six weeks. But it’s felt like six years.
“What are you doing here? Where is Evette?” I hug him and notice the petite, gray-haired woman sitting at his table smiling at us.
“Evette helped me surprise you. She’s in Missoula. Hope you’re not disappointed.” He releases me.
Of course, I want to know who this woman is, but I can’t stop gawking at him. And I kind of feel like he can’t stop eyeing me.