“It wasn’t like this!”
She nodded her understanding.“Edible THC can be very strong, and reactions vary.Some people experience anxiety and disorientation.The important thing to remember is that the high doesn’t last forever.The feeling goes away.”
“Right,” he said, wiping his sweaty palms on his thighs.
“This is temporary.”
“It’s temporary.”
“Breathe.”
He breathed, and massaged his sore shoulder.
“Why did you have surgery?”
“I had a… torn tendon.”The bullet had done some damage as it passed through, but he’d been lucky with the minor complication.A few inches lower, and it would have nicked an arterial valve.Or, you know, his heart.
“Are you taking pain meds?”
“Mostly over-the-counter stuff.”
She rotated her left arm with a thoughtful nod.“Tendons and muscles in the shoulder are connected to chest muscles.As you heal, the soreness can feel like increased pressure and lead to shortness of breath.”
This reasonable explanation eased some of the tension inside him.Maybe the surgeon had explained this to him, and he hadn’t listened.Post-op, he’d been drifting in and out of consciousness in the recovery room.
Vanessa drank the beer he’d abandoned and glanced around the cabin.She seemed unfazed by his freakout, and not concerned that his lungs would collapse.She’d said his vital signs were normal.This was temporary, like a bad trip.
Breathe, he told himself.Just breathe.
The little girl continued sleeping on the beanbag in the corner.She had the cloth doll clutched under one arm.Vanessa surveyed the living room with interest.She nodded her approval, even though the cabin’s furnishings were sparse and outdated.Her backside caught his attention, because it was right there in front of him.The thin fabric of her pants outlined her sweetly rounded shape.
“This is nice,” she said.
He murmured an agreement, but he wasn’t looking where she was looking.
“Are you hungry?”she asked over her shoulder.
“I don’t think I can eat.My throat’s too dry.”
“Drink your water.”
He drank.
She returned to the couch and flopped down beside him.“You said you have nephews.”
“Yes.”
“No kids of your own?”
“No.”
“Have you ever been married?”
“No.”
“Any pets?”
He shook his head.He’d had a German shepherd, Gracie, who’d passed away last year.The retired police dog had been an excellent companion.When he pictured her in his mind, a wave of sadness struck him.Throwing the ball for Gracie had been one of his favorite ways to relieve stress.No wonder he was a wreck.
