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“The answer to that is no.”
Wren’s eyes popped. “Really?”
“Hell yes, really.”
“What do I tell the Amtech folk?”
“How about pick a meeting time that’s not slap-bang in the middle of someone’s evening? And if the next set of words out of your mouth goes, ‘but we always have six-thirty meetings with Amtech,’ I’m going to throw something at you because I’m grumpy, I’ve had about three hours’ sleep and I have vengeance on my mind.”
Wren chewed at her lipstick. “That’s, erm—”
“Awkward. Juvenile. I know. Give me a month and I’ll be back to normal.”
“A month? Did you mean six weeks?”
“Take the zebra you strode in on and get out.”
Wren made what he guessed was a zebra bray as she took off. The Amtech meeting was miraculously rescheduled for a more work-friendly time and Tom got through the day without making anyone in the office cry or hate him any more than they normally would.
The one gap was that there was no message from Flick. He almost called her, to check in, to see if she needed anything, but stopped himself. She might be sleeping. She had other people in her life like the anesthetist she was probably closer to. He was just the temporary roommate, Johnny-on-the-spot.
He left the office at six. Not the first out the door, but he was close. He went home after filling a basket at the market. Flick was exactly where he’d left her nine hours ago, a tiny form huddled in a chair on the balcony, and his heart sank. He should’ve stayed, should’ve checked in.
He dumped the groceries and his satchel and she didn’t react until he was standing beside her chair. “Flick.”
She looked up and blinked. “What time is it?”
Had she truly been there all day? “Oh Jesus, Flick.” She was in the same clothes she’d worn to bed, her hair a wild tangle. He went to his haunches to be closer to her and she launched herself out of the chair and into his arms.
“You’re home early. I’m so glad you’re home.”
He leaned into her to stop himself overbalancing, sending one knee to the ground, wrapping an arm around her back. She smelled like the honeycomb from breakfast. She felt small, brittle, breakable, and he wasn’t equipped for this. “Who can I call for you, Flick? Who do you want?”
She pulled back. “I’m freaking you out?”
“Putting it mildly.”
“I had to think.”
“Have you eaten, slept?”
She shook her head. “I had to feel it all.”
“You have to not pass out.”
She put her hand to his cheek. “I’m okay. I had to rage and cry and mentally break everything in my reach. I’m desperately sad. I can’t fix this. I can’t make something better happen.”
Flick made him anxious, more so than she’d ever done when she was being her usual self. He flattened a hand on her ribs. “You have that here.” I make it happen in a scrolling font.
“I put it there to remind me that I get to control my destiny, no one else. I don’t get to have a say about Drew getting sick, but I do get a say about how it affects me and I need to work through that.”
“I’m hoping that means you’ll think about eating at least.”
“Is that your offer to cook dinner?”
He stood, gave her his hand and she took it and stood too. “I’ll cook steaks.” He’d dance on the table if it would get her to eat it.
“I’d love that. Did you mean it when you said I could stay another month, longer if I need to?”
