Chapter 8
The clock on the nightstand said 9:47. The third dose was due at ten.
I heard her in the hallway before I saw her. The soft scuff of her shoes on the hardwood, the faint clink of glass against the bottle. I'd been watching the red numbers flip for twenty minutes, trying not to count them. We'd settled into a pattern after the second dose — she'd made me eat half a piece of toast, waited, then handed me the pill without touching my hand. It had felt like a truce.
She knocked once, light.
"Come in," I said.
She pushed the door open with her shoulder. She had the glass of water in one hand and the pill bottle in the other, still in the light blue uniform, cap straight, ponytail neat. But her face was different. There were dark smudges under her eyes, and she moved slower.
She didn't come to the bed. She went to the armchair by the window — the same chair I'd told her to use that first night after she'd slept on my bed — and set the glass down on its side table. She stayed standing next to it.
"Ten o'clock," she said. She unscrewed the cap and shook one small white pill into her palm.
I looked at the chair, then at her. The distance was deliberate. She was keeping the line we'd drawn.
"You haven't sat down all day," I said.
"I sat at lunch."
"For five minutes." I shifted in the wheelchair, which I'd parked beside the bed. My legs ached from the transfer exercises I'd insisted on doing alone that afternoon. "You look like you're going to fall over."
She gave me a tired, small smile. "I'm fine."
She held the pill out. Not extending it toward my mouth like that first time, but holding it flat in her open hand for me to take. I reached over and picked it up. Our fingers didn't touch.
The glass was cold when I took it. I hadn't eaten yet, and she knew it. There was a plate on the dresser with crackers and a little cup of peanut butter she'd left at eight. I hadn't touched it because I didn't want to prove her right again.
"You need to eat first," she said quietly, nodding at the plate.
"I know."
I wheeled myself to the dresser. It took effort. My arms burned. She didn't move to help me, and I was grateful for that. I ate two crackers with peanut butter. They stuck in my throat. I chased them with water, then put the pill on my tongue and swallowed. She watched the clock, not me.
"Thank you," I said.
She exhaled and finally sat down in the chair. She sank into it like she'd been waiting to. Her shoulders dropped. She tipped her head back for a second and closed her eyes.
I noticed the blanket folded over the foot of my bed — the thin gray one my mom had brought when she visited. The room had gotten cold. The heater clicked off and on, but the window let in a draft.
"There's a blanket," I said. "If you want it. For the chair."
She opened her eyes. "I don't need —"
"You've got goosebumps," I said.
She looked down at her arms. The sleeves of her uniform were short. She hesitated, then nodded once. "Okay. Thanks."
I tossed it — or tried to. It landed short, on the arm of the chair. She pulled it across her lap. It was too small to really cover her, but she tucked it around her knees.
Silence settled. Not the tense silence from the first night, but a tired one. The clock flipped to 9:58.
"Why'd you take this job?" I asked. The question had been in my head for days. "Live-in. Night shifts. You can't be making that much."
She picked at a loose thread on the blanket. She didn't answer right away. The breathing in the room was slow — hers, mine.
"My dad," she said finally, voice low. "His hours got cut at the plant last fall. County plant. Mom cleans houses, but it's not steady. My little brother's still in high school." She glanced at me, then away. "Agency paid more for overnight. Live-in premium. I told them I could do nights."
"You needed the money."
"I needed them not to worry about me asking for money," she said. "It's different."
I understood that. The difference between needing help and not wanting to be the reason someone else has to give it.
"How old's your brother?" I asked.
"Seventeen. He wants to do community college. Auto tech." She smiled a little, real this time. "He thinks my uniform looks like a costume."
"He's not wrong."
She laughed, quiet. It was the first time I'd heard it. It faded fast. Her eyes were already heavy again.
"You should get some sleep," I said. "In the chair. I'll wake you if I need anything."
She shook her head slowly, but her body was already giving in. She curled her legs up under the blanket, head against the wing of the chair. "I'm supposed to watch until you fall asleep. That's the overnight."
"Then watch for a minute. Then sleep."
The light was still that dim warm low light from every night. The glass was empty on the table beside her. The pill bottle was capped.
May you like
Her breathing evened out. Her hands folded under the blanket. She wasn't on my bed. She was three feet away, in the chair, with space between us that we both could see.
I stayed awake. I watched the clock turn to 10:14, then 10:30. I listened to her breathe and to the house settling. I didn't need anything, but I kept watching anyway, holding the line we'd finally drawn.
