“What are they doing?” Beside me, Justin throws his hand out at the TV. Then he turns his glare on me. “Why did you do this to me?”
Okay, that gets a smile out of me. Seeing Justin’s love-hate obsession withVirgin Riverplay out has been fun.
“Glad you’re loving it.”
He grumbles, but doesn’t disagree.
I’m glad he’s having fun with it, even if nothing can hold my attention. And I’m tired of the couch. Normally I love my couch, but I’ve spent all my time there lately. We went for a walk a few days ago, but I swear it hasn’t stopped raining since. And I can’t get my bandage wet, so here I am.
Cranky.
Meh.
I need… something.
Pushing myself off the couch, I aim for the kitchen, but I’m not really hungry, and nothing sounds good. So, I end up back in the living room. But I don’t want to sit down, so I walk through the kitchen again. I do my little roundabout three more times before Justin pauses the TV and stands up.
“Do you need something?”
“Fresh air, the wind on my face.”
“Jade…”
“I need to write. I need to do something, anything. But yes, if I could pick one thing, I need to write. I’m going insane. All I want to do is get the words that won’t leave me alone out of my head. I want to let them live and breathe and find their story.” I start pacing, the anxious energy inside me all spilling out. “And all I keep thinking is, what if, for some reason, this didn’t work? Or it gets worse? What if I have to go through this over and over and it never gets better? What if I had to stop writing?—”
“You will never have to stop writing. I will find you the best dictation software on the planet. I don’t care how expensive it is. Or if you want me to and can trust me with it, I’ll help you write. It’s different from dictation, and I can learn to type faster. We can figure it out.”
“You only care because you want to know what happens in the Marianos series.”
That was a bitchy thing to say, and I know it. I shouldn’t be taking my crankiness out on him, but… maybe a part of me needs to know that’snotwhy he’s doing it. I need to know the truth behind his words. If he cares the way he seems to.
He walks over and rests a hand on my cheek, unfazed.
“No, I care because I hate seeing you unhappy. And if I can fix it, I will. If I can’t, hopefully I can pay someone who can.”
My face crinkles, relief flooding me, and also guilt.
“I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to deal with me like this.”
“Like what?”
“Cranky, angry, and incapable of doing basic things by myself.”
Now his other hand is on my cheek as he cups my face. “Darlin’, I signed up for this. It’s what a marriage is. Good, bad, I don’t care. I’m here. Let me take care of you.”
Stupid tears fill my eyes. Whenever he says stuff like that, it feels real. It makes me long for this to be real. And then I feel guilty again because I’m not giving him nearly as much as he’s giving me.
“Stop stressing,” he whispers. “Relax. I know there are a lot of things youwantto do, but let’s find something youcando.”
“Any suggestions?” I ask.
“Actually, yes. I don’t know how you’ll feel about it, but I think it could be a good use of your time if you’re willing to try.”
Now I’m just confused.
“Okay…”
“Come with me.”
