Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
I shake my head and hold my hands out, one still clutching paper towels. “No, no, no, no. You’ve got the wrong idea.”
“I don’t,” she says with a tip of her chin upward. “You’re taking care of my sick brother, who is half naked in his room, and you’re ordering him around, which can only mean you have him by the short hairs. I know my brother, and he would never, ever let anyone cater to him like this.”
The deer-in-the-headlights look is all I can manage in return.
“And I think it’s wonderful he’s let someone else in,” she goes on, still whispering. This tells me she very much doesn’t want her brother hearing this.
Five seconds ago, I was all lie and deny, but now I do sort of a double take on the situation. She’s piqued my interest.
“Let someone else in?” I ask for clarification.
My body takes an unconscious step toward her, clearly showing my curiosity. I should just go back to work and ignore her, but really… am I going to pass up a chance to get some insight into Asher? Not if she’s willing to offer it up without demanding something in return, and she seems like she’s willing to dish with me.
“He’s just been so closed off from everyone since Michelle died.” Her voice is mournful, but I’m not sure if it’s from losing Michelle or her brother in the process.
“He told me she killed herself,” I murmur, feeling a heaviness in my heart for Asher.
Christina nods. “He found her. In their bed. While he won’t talk about it, I think he blames himself.”
“Why would he do that?” I ask, horrified.
“Asher can do anything. Fix anything. But I think he feels like a failure for not recognizing she was in crisis.”
“It’s not always visible,” I say. I know this because I had a friend—not close, but a friend just the same—who killed herself in high school. I’d been stunned. The day she did it, she hadn’t seemed sad or depressed at all. Our school counselors talked to us candidly about suicide and depression, telling us it just isn’t as transparent as people would like to think.
“I know that,” she says. “And he probably does deep down, but still… I think he wanted to remove himself from any attachments going forward. He moved out of their house and into this apartment. Since then, he’s not taken a single interest in developing friends or a romantic relationship.”
“We don’t have a romantic relationship,” I feel compelled to admit.
She smiles slyly as she pushes off the couch. Stepping into me, Christina says, “You have something, and that’s good enough for me right now.”
Right now?
What does that mean?
I have no clue because she turns and heads to the kitchen, snagging up her purse and keys. I get a beautiful smile from her when she turns back to me. “Maybe you and I could have lunch sometime. Talk some more.”
“Um… yeah,” I mumble, but that thought terrifies me. I don’t want to do anything to overstep my bounds. The last thing I want is Asher pissed at me.
With a wave, Christina breezes right out the door. I stand there for almost a full minute before I jolt with the realization I’m at work and have shit to do.
I return to the windows and finish the living room.
After, I head to Asher’s bedroom, completely satisfied when I see him conked out. After I quietly gather the tray from the table, I leave the room. I just manage to pull the door shut with one hand while balancing the tray on the other, when my phone loudly rings from my back pocket.
I snatch it out, quickly answering the call without even seeing who it’s from.
“Hello,” I say quietly as I head toward the kitchen.
“Hi, Miss Madigan?” a female voice says.
“Yes?”
“This is Anne Marie calling from Dr. Yonkowski’s office. It’s time to schedule your bi-annual follow up with him.”
There’s no stopping the chill in my veins at the reminder, despite the fact I probably have nothing to worry about. “Has it been six months already?”
“Sure has,” she chirps. “You been doing all right, honey?”
“Um… yeah. Had a few colds this year—one just last week. Otherwise, I feel great.”
“Your immune system is going to struggle a bit,” she says, telling me something I’m already aware of. “I recommend zinc.”
“Zinc. Got it.”
“Okay, let me pull up the doc’s schedule,” she says, and I can hear her fingers tapping on a keyboard.
She offers me up some dates, the soonest of which is three weeks away. That’s fine, though, as this is just a regular follow-up and there’s no urgency.
She promises to send me a printed reminder letter before we hang up, but I still put it in the calendar on my phone.
Monday, November 19, 2:00 PM
Las Vegas Hematology and Oncology.