He laughs and shakes his head and comes over to sit on the bed next to me. “Even if that was true, it wouldn't work. It has to be your personal signature or it doesn't count. This is good for you. It keeps you active with the company, which is very important right now.”
I know he's right, but I still don't know half of what I'm signing off on.
I feel significantly worse a few days later. I've gone from sleeping all the time to not sleeping at all. I'm exhausted and jumpy, but every time I close my eyes I feel like I'm falling and I keep jerking myself awake. I can't keep much food down either. That's likely due to exhaustion, too, but knowing that doesn't make it feel any better. Adrian tries his best to rush home after he leaves the office and I can tell my problems are causing him to have troubles of his own.
He's irritable. Adrian is never irritable. Sure, he can be frustrated or aloof sometimes, but this is beyond that. I keep apologizing, but I can't pull myself together. The doctor keeps calling to reschedule the appointments I keep making. Something is wrong with me. Something more than grief or shock.
Adrian has bad news when he comes home. We lost one of our bigger clients today. One of the documents I had signed was for an approval that went against one of the constraints of their contract with us. I never would have signed off on something like that.
“It's my fault,” I whisper.
He looks at me, his mouth drawn tight. “How is this your fault? You haven't been up to handling everything. You can't be expected to remember every single word of every single contract.”
“It's too much for you to handle on your own,” I say louder. “I need to get back to the office.”
“You can't stand up for longer than a minute, Larken,” he scoffs. “How are you supposed to lead a board meeting or schmooze a client if you're stumbling around and confusing words?”
A spark of anger, the first I've felt in weeks and weeks, narrows my eyes. “That isn't fair. I've had a hard time since I lost my father.”
“Your father died over three months ago, babe. I don't think that's it.”
I lick my lips, my brows pinching together. “I don't know what else it could be.”
He gives me one of those indulgent smiles that I hate so much. “Maybe the stress triggered something.”
“Maybe,” I agree. “I don't understand why the doctors keep canceling appointments.”
“You've canceled a few,” he tells me. “Maybe you're afraid to find out the truth. Either way, I'm here. I'll take care of you.”
I just look at him. I don't remember canceling any appointments. I wouldn't. “When did I cancel an appointment?”
He gives me another of those smiles. “A couple weeks ago. They called me to confirm because you canceled on the app. They were concerned because you've missed so many appointments.”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“It's alright, babe. You don't need to get upset. You always get sick after you get upset. I have a great dinner planned for us tonight. I've been thinking about hiring a home nurse to be here with you when I'm at work. It would make me feel better.”
“I have to see a doctor, Adrian,” I press. “I don't need a nurse.”
“You need some kind of help, Larken. I can't be here all the time.”
“I know that,” I snap. “I don't need you to be here all the time.”
“Really? Then go downstairs right now and make dinner. I'll stay up here and wait.”
I gape at him. “I don't understand why you're acting like this.”
“Because you need a doctor, but you cancel every appointment I make. You can't take care of yourself but you refuse help. You're confused. Unstable. I'm doing everything I can with your father's company, but I have to run things by you because that's what is specified by the lawyers and the will.”
I only grab onto one part of that. “I'm unstable?” I hiss. “I'm unstable? There is something wrong with me and you won't take me to a hospital or a doctor. I don't even know where my phone is to call an ambulance for myself.”
That's very unfortunately true. I have no idea where my phone is. It disappeared a while ago. I've spent so much time crawling around the house searching for it.
“You told me to get rid of it, Larken.”
I shake my head. I would never do that.
“You did,” he insists. “You were tired of all the calls after your Dad died and you told me to get rid of it.”
