“Your cheek looks better. Lift your chin, please,” he says.
I’m unsure if it’s a question or a demand. I rankle, but do as he asks, slightly raising my head.
“Irma had a good collection of tea, but if you need a fresh supply, I have ginger and lemon. And honey,” he adds. “It will help your vocal cord.”
His expression is sympathetic but not pitying. I’m grateful for it. Because I don’t think I deserve that.
“I’d appreciate some honey,” I say, offering a hint of a smile. “Hopefully, I’ll be in good enough shape to get to a grocery store in the next few days.”
“I’m sure you will,” he says, nodding. “Until then, start texting me more words than thank you. I told you I don’t mind bringing what you need. I meant it.”
“I don’t want to be a burden.”
“Then don’t be.” He states it casually, no heat or snideness behind it. “Be my neighbor and accept my help while you need it. It’s how it works around here.”
“I can try.”
“That’s all any of us can do,” he muses. “It’s baked ziti tonight. Paige’s favorite. We’ll drop off a plate with the honey.”
“Thank you.”
“Dad! It’s too heavy!”
Grady nods at me, then walks over to where Paige is trying to drag the full bucket that’s nearly as tall as she is. He easily lifts it, and she comes running up to me.
“What’s your name?”
“Lou,” I answer the girl with dark curls the same color as her father’s hair. Her eyes, the same light caramel.
“Can I call you Lulu?”
“If you want,” I say, smiling widely.
“Dad just built me that greenhouse.” She points to the small structure and then to another area of the yard. “I already had the garden over there. It was my grandma’s, cuz they used to live here when my dad was little like me. But I need a greenhouse to grow all the things because we don’t get a long summer. Someday, I want a house where it’s hot all the time so I can grow stuff all year.”
Her arms swing wide as she talks animatedly.
“What’s your favorite thing to grow?”
“Strawberries, but I eat all of ’em myself. I like lots of tomatoes, though they’re his favorite. He eats them like they are apples,” she says, crinkling her nose in disgust. “Dads can be kinda embarrassing.”
“I heard that,” Grady says, passing us by with the bucket and ruffling her hair. “You make sure you thank Lou for letting us disrupt her day.”
“I’ll make sure,” Paige says to him before she looks back up at me. “Do you want a Band-Aid? I have ones that have stars on them. They’re cool, not like those ugly ones my dad likes.”
“Paige,” he warns softly.
“It’s okay,” I reassure him. She’s a kid, and she’s only trying to be kind. “I’m not sure it would help much, but it would be prettier than this bruise, huh?”
“It’s not so bad,” she says with a shrug. “But I always feel better if I can’t see my ouchies. I’ll go get you some. Be right back!”
“Sorry about that,” Grady says after she’s out of earshot.
“It’s fine, she’s a sweet kid.”
“Does your hand need redressing?” I look at him inquisitively, and then to my hand, when he adds, “I have the qualifications, I promise.”
“How?”
