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“Here’s your discharge papers. Your follow-up appointments are all listed on this front page. We highly recommend you continue your therapy sessions as outlined by Dr. Kerns, and Dr. Erickson has been assigned as your primary care physician. She’d like to see you back here in a few weeks to see how you’re healing. Do you have any questions?” she asks as she hands the papers to Doe.
Doe just shakes her head. Interesting. Is her nonverbal response because she’s overwhelmed by the information or because she doesn’t want to speak to the nurse? I’ll have to test this out once we get her settled in. See if she opens up around Tavers or his wife, Mindy.
“Alrighty then. You’re free to go, hun. Take care of yourself and make sure you get plenty of fluids and rest.” She gives a kind albeit quick smile and leaves the room.
A few quiet seconds tick past before I break the silence. “Shall we go, then?”
She nods stiffly, and the motion makes my heart sink. I hope like fuck she’s not regressing back into her shell. I hold my hand out in front of me, gesturing for her to leave first, but I don’t let her get far. As soon as she clears the doorway, I’m right there at her side, slightly to her back right. Close. Closer than I should be, but at the same time, it doesn’t feel close enough. This poor woman is scared to leave the damn building. I almost feel like I should simply carry her out. The doctor’s words pop into my head again. Let her be independent. I don’t know which’ll be harder—living with her under my roof or letting her take care of herself. After all, I failed Aislin, so I feel like I need to make things right by helping Doe. But helicoptering over her isn’t the way to do it. She needs to grow on her own.
We take the elevator down while I have these thoughts, and when we exit, I stop her by the receptionist’s desk. “Wait here.”
She gives a simple nod, and I jog out the doors to my truck.
We didn’t share much conversation on the short ride from the hospital to my place, and by the time I pull into my driveway, she only looks slightly less like she wants to bolt. I hit the garage door opener, the door opens, and I drive inside. I couldn’t help but glance at her as we hit my street, the area where she was picked up, and all the way to my house, looking for any sign she recognized the location. Not a flicker crossed her face. Even as I passed the house I’m almost positive she was sneaking into and turned into my drive, she kept a neutral expression. But after I kill the ignition, and when I move to unbuckle my seat belt, I catch the look on Doe’s face out of the corner of my eye. She looks stunned.
“Everything okay?”
“Huh? Yeah. I, um, I don’t think I’ve ever seen something like that before.”
I tilt my head. “An automatic opener?” I ask, and she nods, prompting me to make a mental note of this.
“Do you remember something?” I push carefully.
She shakes her head and unclicks her belt. “No. Not a specific memory. I didn’t expect you to push a button is all.”
Before I can respond, she opens her door and hops out. I snag her bag and follow. When I close my door, I stop. This is because she’s standing in front of the door to the house rocking up and down on the balls of her feet. A tiny grin cracks my face. “Everything okay?”
“Is there a button or something?”
“A-a what?”
“A button. To make the door open.”
The grin grows bigger. “No, sweetheart. You have to turn the knob.” I step forward, angling my arm between her and the door and insert the key into the lock. With a quick twist, the door creaks open.
“Oh,” she mutters. “I thought…Well, you used a button outside, and all the doors at the hospital just seemed to open on their own.”
“Those are called automatic doors. A lot of businesses have them. They’re more handicap friendly for people in wheelchairs or using canes or crutches.”
“Makes sense… oh!” Her frown instantly flips into an expression of uncertainty as Betsy trots forward and butts her head against Doe’s thigh. “Is this your dog?”
“Yeah, that’s my girl Betsy.” I smile to myself as I cross the room into the kitchen and snag us two waters from the fridge.
“She’s big.” Doe drops to her knees right there in the entryway and rubs her hands up and down Betsy’s back. When Betsy starts licking her chin and face, Doe giggles.
That sound. Damn. My heart plummets into my stomach, and the smile slowly slips from my face into a more serious expression. Weeks I’ve spent with this woman and I don’t think I’ve heard her laugh before. It does something to me, knowing that my dog brought her that. A small ounce of joy after everything she’s gone through.
“She’s sweet,” I murmur back, shaking those thoughts from my head. I extend a bottle toward her. “Here. Doctor’s orders. You need to keep up on your fluid intake.”
At the word doctor, the playfulness slips from her face. Fuck. “Right. Thanks. I’m kind of tired; can you show me somewhere to rest?”
I curse myself inside. “Of course. Let me show you to your room.”
I walk her down the hall, giving her the very brief tour and pointing out my room on the end, the bathroom to the left, and on the right, her new room. “This is where you can stay,” I say, pushing the door open and gesturing for her to go inside.
She walks in slowly and does a turn, taking in the entirety of the room. “It’s so big. I don’t think I need this much space.”
I look around, trying to see the space from her eyes. It’s not a room I’d call big by any means. I can barely fit a queen bed and dresser comfortably. I just managed to squeeze an armchair near the window for an extra place to sit. But no way in hell is this space big.
