So fucking help me, Whit was right. I’m falling for Phoebe James.
Just then, her phone buzzes. She glances at it, and her eyes go wide in alarm.
“Everything ok?”
“Yea...actually, no. I, um, I need to call someone. It might take a while. Can we, um--” she points to the table, and I help her stack her papers and her book before she shoves them unceremoniously in yet another pouch.
“No problem. Go. That call must be important.”
She looks up at me.“It is, but this paper--my last one was so bad. And it’s due Monday, before I’ll see you again. Could you...would it be okay if I emailed it to you? Or could I text you? I’m not sure that’s part of your tutoring services, but…” She looks down at her phone again and I can almost feel the worry rolling off of her in waves, worry over this class, as well as whatever is on the other end of that phone call.
Without thinking, I say, “Come to my house tonight.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose--”
“It’s cool. My roommates will be around for a bit, but they’re good guys. We can work on your paper and you’ll have plenty of time to get it the way you want it before you have to submit it.”
“Ok, yea. Thank you. That’s great.”
“Give me your number and I’ll text you my address, ok? Or I can meet you at your dorm?”
“No, no. I’ll come to you. If…” Again, she looks down at her phone. I want to take it from her, check the messages, and slay whatever demons are coming through the line, though I’d bet everything I own those demons have something to do with my mother and the retrial she’s trying to orchestrate.
“Whatever it is, we’ll handle it. If you can’t make it tonight, we’ll meet up Saturday or Sunday, ok?”
Her relief is palpable. “Yes. Thank you. And thank you for the coffee.”
“No problem.”
“I mean it. You’re being really nice, and--”
“Seriously, it’s nothing.” I wave her off, though she has every right to be confused. Half the time we’re together, I’m cold and distant. The other half? Well, the other half, I’m trying not to be completely charmed by her.
“Well, thanks,” she says. I figure she’ll turn to leave, but instead, she turns to Ian and asks if she can make a call in his office. He obliges happily, and she and her many bags disappear into the backroom. For a minute, I wonder if I should stick around, but Ian’s here. He’s got her.
It’s not really my place, anyway.
And if she knew who I was, she wouldn’t want my help anyway.
***
Phoebe
I sit in the comfy swivel chair in Ian’s “office.” Really, it’s just a closet without a door that they use for doing paperwork and making the schedule. But, it’s quiet and private, so I can call Sam. I need to leave for work soon, but I can’t go until I talk to him. For most people aCall me when you get a chance. Nothing’s wrong--just need to talk for a sec.text doesn’t hold a lot of weight. For me? I’m about two seconds from taking a Xanax.
His phone picks up right away. I waste no time with pleasantries. “What’s wrong?”
“Kiddo. Didn’t you see that part of my text where I said, ‘Nothing’s wrong’”?
“I did. But I don’t believe you. People only ever say nothing’s wrong when something is, in fact, wrong.”
He sighs. “It’s all under control--I promise. Your mom had a bit of a scare today, but she’s fine. Her blood pressure took a nosedive and she felt kinda woozy. I left school on my lunch break to check on her, and when I got home--to her place--she was a little spacey. She passed out a couple minutes later, so I brought her to the hospital. They think it’s the new meds she’s on, but they’re going to keep her overnight just to be sure.”
Panic runs through my veins like ice cold water. “What hospital are you at? I’m going to call into work. I should be there in an hour and a half, tops, if you’re at Mercy.”
“Phoebe, no. We’re good. I promise. I didn’t call to panic you. I just wanted you to know. She’s fine. She’s right here with me, okay? I’m not leaving her side until I take her home tomorrow. And I’ll text you an update later tonight, ok?”
I hear muffled sounds on the other end of the phone, and then some shuffling.
