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“Chocolate?” I ask, and he claps his hands happily. “Adora, do you want ice cream?”
She mumbles something but doesn’t reply.
Pulling up to the ice cream shop, Jerome jumps out, and we head in to get him a cone with sprinkles. When I get back in the car, I see Adora hasn’t moved, and she’s still snoring.
“Your mom must be tired,” I say to Jerome and he nods his head. “Adora.” I lean in, and she opens her eyes. Those eyes that I get lost in, that haunt me, stare back at me dully. “Fuck it! You’re coming to stay at mine. I’ll call my mother, and she can bring your shit over. You can’t even open your eyes.”
How did I not notice it before?She wasn’t really speaking when she first arrived.
“Hmm…” is the only response I get from her.
I call my mother, and she tells me she will bring stuff around after dinner.
As I pull up at home, I shut off the engine, then gently lift Jerome from the car. He’s fallen asleep with chocolate ice cream all over his face. After taking him to the guest room, I go back for Adora, who still hasn’t moved. I pick her up easily and lock her car before I carry her inside the house.
I contemplate putting her on the couch.
It would be the smart thing to do.
Yet, I take no notice of the smart thing and carry her to my room, where I lay her on her side of the bed, removing her shoes and tucking her in.
She stays there for two days.
Only drinking water when I wake her and barely speaking the whole time.
NINETEEN
ADORA
My head hurts.
And that smell…
… I know that smell.
My brain recognizes it straight away.
Joey.
Managing to pull myself into a sitting position, there’s a bandage on my arm.
“We had to give you fluids,” Joey says from the bathroom door, his hair wet and a towel wrapped around his waist.
“Oh my God. Jerome. Is he okay?” My head is groggy, and it throbs, but my first thought is of my son. The second is Joey, who is still observing me.
“He’s asleep. It’s nighttime.”
“How long have I…” I trail off.
“This is your second night here.”
“What? Oh my God.” I go to move, but the pounding in my head stops me.
“You had a viral infection. Knocked you on your ass. The doctor says you should be fine tomorrow, but to take it slow.”
“You called a doctor?” I ask, shocked this has happened, and I’ve slept through it all. “And Jerome?”
“He’s been here, watching TV and eating all the good food. I’m sure he’ll be sad to go home, but that won’t be till tomorrow because you need to sleep.”
