I manage a nod, then walk to the door and flick off the light.
Chapter Eleven
Pain pullsme out of a dream at 2:01. The instant my eyes open, the ache spreads like fire up my leg and into my hip and ribs, like it’s tunneling inside my bones.
Panting, I grope for the bottle of Advil and the water Linden left for me, my fingers shaking. Once I’ve swallowed a clump of the pills, I lay back and try to calm myself with some deep breaths. A tear slips past my temples but I quickly swat it away. The pain is only physical. I can endure. It’s a small price to pay for being alive.
It will get better.
Maybe I shouldn’t have refused the prescription pain meds, but I hated how foggy-headed and listless they made me feel. And itchy. They were necessary for a time, and I’m grateful, but I’m done feeling like a zombie.
While I work to steady my breathing, I picture swimming in the lake and the calm, cool water washing away all my worries. I imagine the bright stars reflecting off the black surface like the sparks from a thousand tiny flares. The haunting melody of a loon announcing the dawn.
The house creaks. Is Linden awake? Then I remember he’s outside. Does he ever get cold sleeping out there?
During my fever dreams in the hospital, was it his fingertips stroking my sweaty brow, his calm voice telling me everything was going to be okay? It’s impossible to reconcile this version of him with the inconsiderate jackass who has disturbed my peace with thezing!of his table saw orthwack!of his hammer, the version that laughed so hard when I threw that fake snake at his head he had to brace himself against the side of his house.
Don’t tell me those pranks are his version offlirting.
Or did the scuffle outside The Limelight flip our whole Feuding Neighbor situation inside out? Is it because he’s a firefighter, and rescuing and helping people is second nature to him? I don’t love the idea that he sees me as some kind of damsel in distress.
I can rescue myself, thank you very much. Though what if he hadn’t been working next to me planting baby trees? What if I’d been alone?
When I wake again, pale light is streaming in through the windows, and my phone is buzzing. The pain in my leg and hip is hot and angry but it’s a little better than last night. That’ll change when I start moving.
“Hello?” I croak into my phone.
“I only have ten minutes,” Quinn says in a rushed clip. In the background are boarding call announcements and conversation snippets from passing travelers. She’s got a quick flip in L.A. this morning. “How are you feeling?”
I release a full breath. “Better.”
“How’s your caretaker?”
I rub my temple. I don’t know how to talk about this, especially with Linden probably within earshot. “He made me dinner and tucked me in.”
“With an orgasm?”
I cringe.Good thing she’s not on speaker.“No.” It comes out like a groan.
“It’s the least he could do,” she teases.
My stomach pirouettes. “I think saving my life more than covers it.” And I don’t blame Linden for a freak accident that could have happened to anyone.
Quinn huffs a dramatic sigh. “Text me later.”
We end the call and I draw the covers back. The scent of coffee and something buttery is writing a love letter to my stomach.
Using these crutches gives me a new level of empathy for people with injuries. The doctor told me that without the anti-venom, I would have surely lost my leg, if not my life.And without my good health insurance, I’d be in debt for the next twenty years. I shudder thinking about the horrible ways the poison would have shut down my organs one by one and liquefied me from the inside out. I should not have googled it.
After a visit to the bathroom, I wash my face in the sink and pull back my hair, but it’s dry and frizzy thanks to the hospital’s industrial-strength shampoo. Today, I will insist on going home so I can take a shower in my own bathroom. Though the idea of navigating the many sets of stairs and the uneven ground between Linden’s house and mine makes my me want to curl up right here on the floor and take a nap.
Back in the guest room, I wrestle with my shorts, then I have to rest for a full minute before I have the energy to put on my bra and pull on a hoodie. When I swing into the kitchen, Linden is ladling pancake batter onto a cast iron griddle, filling the air with the scent of sizzling butter and sourdough. There’s a cup of coffee next to him. I scan the kitchen counter for the coffeemaker. It’s half full.Hallelujah.
“Morning,” Linden says as I continue toward the coffeemaker. “How are you feeling?”
Today’s shirt is pale gray with a pink winged pig and NEVER SAY NEVER printed below. He’s wearing dark Levis and his feet are bare on the polished wood floor.
“Not terrible.”
