In my defense, I’d slept through dinner the night before and hadn’t managed dinner the night before that, either.
I parked in the lot, then headed inside, going directly to the elevator that would take me up to the floor where Elliot’s room was, bringing the bags of food with me. I left the shake in the cup-holder on Elliot’s side of the car—it wouldn’t melt outside, and I didn’t want to try to carry too much.
He was dressed when I got there, sitting in a wheelchair, wearing a pair of navy blue sweatpants, a grey t-shirt with a Packers logo, and an unzipped hoodie with the Hands and Paws logo stitched on one side. The most eye-catching part of the outfit was the pair of brand new fuzzy slippers on his feet. They were shaped like paws.
“Where did those come from?” I asked him.
He grinned that lopsided grin I loved so much. “Ma,” he replied. “I told her Taavi would think they were cute.”
“He probably would,” I agreed, unable to decide if they were cute or just ridiculous. “But Hart wouldhatethem.”
Elliot’s grin got wider. “I know.”
I shook my head. They knew each other much better than I knew either of them. I wondered if I’d ever feel like I knew Elliot better than anyone else. He was a deeply private man—I didn’t mind, exactly, but I often wondered what he was thinking or wished he would say more about even the mundanity of his day.
If I meant as much to him as he did to me.
“Did they discharge you already?” I asked him, passing over the Culver’s bag.
He sniffed at it appreciatively. “Not quite. They wouldn’t until you were here to officially take charge of me.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled, feeling guilty for having slept so long.
He reached out a hand, and I took it. “Don’t apologize,” he said softly. “They’re waiting on the doctor, anyway.”
I nodded.
Elliot squeezed my hand. “Thank you,” he murmured.
I frowned. “For what?”
“This.”
“Lunch?” I asked, confused.
“That, too.”
I was about to ask another question when a nurse came in, his scrubs a bright pink. “Are you the legendary Seth?” he asked me, his eyes crinkling up over his mask.
I felt my neck flush darker. “I’m not sure how legendary I am,” I mumbled, embarrassed. I didn’t know what Elliot had said—or maybe it was Judy or Marsh. Or Nurse Anna.
This nurse just smiled, then turned to Elliot. “Ready to go?”
“Absolutely,” he replied.
The nurse returned his attention to me, then offered a tablet. My eyes skimmed over the discharge paperwork, finding the line where I agreed to take responsibility for Elliot for the next forty-eight to seventy-two hours and scribbling an awkward signature with my finger.
The nurse—whose name was Jeff—sent me out to get the car, so I moved at a pretty quick pace in order to make sure Elliot wouldn’t have to wait for long under the overhang because it was absolutely freezing outside.
I kept insisting to Elliot that it was inhumane for people to live places where it was regularly below freezing, but he just laughed and teased me for being a Southerner.
I’d been wearing my parka regularly for about a month. Most of the people I worked with had switched over, as well, in the last week or so, but Elliot was still wearing a heavy fleece as his coat, although he had actually gotten his parka out a few days ago and put it on the coat rack by the door.
I blew on my hands as I climbed into the Cruiser, then started it back up. With a sigh for my rapidly cooling lunch, I put the bag in the back, determining that I’d heat it up in the oven when we got back to Elliot’s place, then drove over to the patient pick-up area, glad I hadn’t been inside long enough for the interior of the car to cool down too much.
Fortunately, I beat Elliot and Nurse Jeff to the front—by about a minute and a half—and I’d been able to get myself around to the passenger side to help Elliot in, allowing a clearly-cold Jeff to head back inside.
Elliot had clung to his Culver’s bag, and immediately went back to eating cheese curds the second he was in the seat and I’d closed the door.
