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“Mom and Dad say she’s doing pretty well, all things considered.”
“She is. She’s had a few nightmares this week, and of course there’s always the voice to contend with, but she’s coping.”
Ian shakes a bottle of homemade vinaigrette. “You’re good for her.”
His compliment surprises me. And it feels good. “We’re good for each other.” And it’s true. I truly enjoy being with her. It doesn’t feel like a job. It feels natural. Like I’m hanging out with a friend.
Ian gives me a curious look as he tries to read between the lines. But there’s nothing to read. There can’t be.
I shrug. “I keep her out of trouble, and she keeps me employed. It’s a win-win.”
Ian laughs as he hands me a platter of burger toppings and a bag of buns. “You carry that up. I’ll bring the salad.”
* * *
The bruises on her face are fading nicely, and it won’t be long before they’re gone completely. The hope is that by the time she returns to campus on Monday, they’ll be pretty faint.
Layla’s name remains plastered all over the news, her privacy nonexistent. News of Sean’s violent death doesn’t seem to be dying down either. I can just imagine all the questions she’s going to get when she returns to campus on Monday. Unfortunately, she’s just going to have to deal with it.
In the evenings, we watch movies in her room, or we walk on the treadmills in the workout room at her house. We play games. She kicks my butt at Scrabble every time, but I usually beat her at Monopoly. She’s got a better vocabulary than I do, but I’m better at strategy. Yahtzee can go either way, as it’s mostly a game of chance.
Layla manages her diabetes extremely well. She’s pretty good at estimating her carb consumption. Occasionally, she has blood sugar lows, or highs, but we usually catch thosebeforethe alarms go off on our phones.
Ruth and Martin have been sending glowing reports back to Shane, who in turn pats me on the back—figuratively. The reason I know this is because I’ve been hearing about it from Shane himself.
“Keep up the good work, Jason,” he tells me during a weekly status phone call. “Her parents are thrilled with the progress she’s making. They say they can’t remember a time when she was so relaxed, and they attribute that to your influence. Just keep doing what you’re doing.”
* * *
It’s Sunday evening after dinner, the night before she’s scheduled to return to campus. It’s only eight o’clock, and she’s got a couple of hours to kill before bed.
We climb the stairs together, side by side. We’re walking so close that occasionally one of us will accidently brush against the other. When we touch, I feel things I shouldn’t feel.
When we reach her bedroom door, she says, “I’m probably going to watch some Netflix. What about you?”
We’ve been spending nearly every minute together the past few days. I’m thinking I should give her some space. “I have some reading to do.”
“For work, or for fun?”
I shrug. “A bit of both.”
“I guess I’ll see you in the morning, then,” she says.
I don’t know if it’s my imagination, or wishful thinking on my part, but she sounds reluctant to part company. I know the feeling.
“Text if you need me,” I tell her before I head to my room.
I take a quick shower and change into sweats. Then I get comfortable on the bed, resting against a stack of pillows propped against the massive headboard. I’ve probably only been reading twenty minutes or so when I hear a quiet knock. “Come in.”
The door opens just enough for a pretty face to peek inside. “Can I come in?”
“Sure. You’re always welcome.”
Layla steps into the room and closes the door, her phone clutched in her hands and earbuds in her ears. She smiles apologetically. “Can I hang out with you?”
My first response is to redirect her back to her own room. I’m not sure how her parents would take it if they found Layla and me alone in my bedroom. But when I see that her earbuds are in, I suspect she’s having issues with the voice. She’s probably feeling anxious about returning to campus tomorrow.
I can’t turn her away. She’s clearly looking for companionship. “Sure.” I pat a spot beside me on the mattress.
