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Chapter Twenty-One
Niko
“Hello?”the small voice answers, sounding nervous.
I smile. “I see you remembered how to use the phone.”
Today was my first day back to work and her first day on her own. Two days ago, in anticipation of me returning to work, I bought her a prepaid phone in case she needed to get in touch with me. I had to teach her how to use it; something else about her I found strange. In the world we live in today, it’s almost unheard of for someone her age not to know how to use a cell phone—even the simple one I got her. Hell, I’ve seen kids as young as seven and eight carrying around the devices.
“Niko?” she asks, drawing my attention back to her.
“Who else would it be?” I cock my brow even though she can’t see it.
“I-I don’t know,” she stutters.
I sit back in my chair and prop my feet on my desk. “How are you doing?”
“Umm… okay, I guess.”
She’s lying. I can hear it in the tremble of her voice. She’s terrified but for some reason doesn’t want me to know it. While I’m proud of her bravery, it still bothers me that she feels she has to lie when she obviously isn’t okay.
“It’s okay to tell me the truth, Doe, and it’s okay to be scared.”
I tell her this, but I still hate that she is. I want to take all her fears away, shove them in a box, lock it, and lose the key.
“I’m okay. I promise.”
I sigh, knowing she’s not telling the truth but not willing to question her further on it. For whatever reason, she wants me to think she is. She’s strong, and I’m beginning to think stubborn as well.
“How’s Betsy?”
“She’s fine,” she answers, and I’m pleased to hear the smile in her voice this time. “She’s lying beside me asleep.”
“Good. Keep her with you,” I tell her. “I’ll be home this evening around five thirty.”
“Okay.”
I hang up and glance down at my watch. Six more hours until I can head home and ease the ache in my chest by seeing her in person.
* * *
My feet beatagainst the concrete steps leading away from the precinct, and I head straight for my truck. Anxiety and worry have my movements rushed while impatience and nervousness have my gut twisting into knots.
I’ve spoken to her twice today, and both times she said she was fine, but I knew better. Each time, I heard the uncertainty and fear in her voice.
For the past week, she’s been doing well. Her memories haven’t come back, but she’s been talking and opening up more. She’s also learning how to cope with being near other people. Or rather, with me. We’ve spent a lot of time together since she’s been out of the hospital. If I don’t go next door, then she comes over to my house. We have breakfast together most mornings then sit and watch television. Betsy normally sprawls out between us with her head on Doe’s lap. Sometimes, we’ll sit out on the back porch, and she’ll read to me. The first couple of times she read to me in the hospital, her words were stilted, and I had to help her at some parts, but she’s gotten a lot better. She likes to read. I see it in her eyes. They’re more alive when she’s reading than any other time.
I’ve also been trying to teach her how to cook. It’s during those times that I subtly shift my body closer to hers. Not to push or frighten her, but to let her get used to being near another body. She still tenses at times, and her eyes flash to me, but she doesn’t scurry away like she did before. I always ignore the slight movements and let her work at her own pace to overcome her fears. This morning before I left for work, Doe came over to cook me breakfast. She told me last night she wanted to try to cook on her own. She said she wanted to do something nice for me because I had taken her in when she had no one. Her words hit my chest hard. Her gratitude isn’t necessary. I tried to explain she didn’t need to do anything for me and that what I was doing for her was just a kind thing people do for others sometimes. I know that it’s more than that, but I didn’t tell her that because I don’t know why I have such a strong need to care for her and make sure she’s okay. All I know is it’s something I have no desire to ignore.
We’ve also been working in Mom’s old flower garden. Two days after her release, I left her on the back porch while I went inside to make us sandwiches. As I was standing at the counter facing the backyard, I watched as Doe got up from her seat and approached the flower pots Dad had attached to the railing of the porch for Mom years ago. Although the flowers weren’t as pretty and full as they had been before my parents moved away and I took over the place, the look on Doe’s face as she gently touched the soft petals couldn’t be described as anything other than enthralled. I don’t know what it was that captured her attention so much, they were just flowers, but they completely mesmerized her as she bent and smelled each flower she came across. I stood there for a long time just watching her, fascinated by how simple flowers could bring such a soft look to her face.
Later, after we finished our sandwiches, I took her to Mom’s old flowerbed in one corner of the yard. I told her it would take some work since it was overrun with weeds, but if she wanted, we could restore it and make it pretty again. The smile she sent my way at my suggestion had my heart squeezing in my chest. I had to look away and clear my throat before I could tell her we could go to the nursery tomorrow to get everything we would need. Every day since then, she’s spent time out there making sure not even the smallest of weeds has started to grow. I enjoy watching her among the flowers. The lost and desolate look her face normally carries vanishes. She no longer looks sad, but free and unburdened.
I’m almost to my truck and pulling the keys from my pocket when my name is called from behind. I barely hold back the urge to turn and snarl at the person who’s preventing me from checking on Doe, but I don’t. Instead, I turn and face Tavers, holding in my impatience but unable to wipe the scowl from my face.
“What is it, Tavers?”
He comes to a stop ten feet from me, shoving his hands into his pockets.
