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“Mercedes? Would you like to go for a walk?”
She blinks, slowly, so slowly. She drags her gaze from the window to me as if she’s just realized I’m here. Just noticed I closed the window. She takes a breath in, looks away, and shakes her head. She gets up, makes a point of walking in the narrow space between the chair and the wall to avoid having to pass close to me, and gets into bed.
“It’s early for bed,” I tell her.
“I’m tired.”
“You need to eat dinner.”
“Tomorrow.” She turns her back to me and pulls the blankets up high.
I pick up the boxes and walk around to the other side of the bed so I can see her face. “I have a gift for you,” I say, trying to inject a smile into my words.
Nothing.
I set the large, embossed gold boxes down on the bed. They’re from a specialty shop in town. I’m sure she recognizes them, but her eyes are still blank.
“I didn’t see any riding clothes in your closet, and since you used to enjoy it, I thought I’d order you some. I hope I got the size right. And if you don’t like something, we can, of course, exchange it. They’re especially made for you.”
Nothing.
“Would you like to open them?” I ask, irritation creeping into my voice.
“Tomorrow.”
“I went to a lot of trouble, Mercedes.”
She closes her eyes.
I stand, hands clenching, unclenching as I pace. “What do I have to do to get you back?” I ask, my voice low. Calm.
Nothing. No acknowledgment at all.
“What do I have to do, Mercedes?” I move to stand right over her bed and look down at her.
“I’m tired. I want to go to sleep.”
“At least open your gift.”
Mercedes is a clothes horse. She loves fashion. Loves high-end clothes. Has a million designer, specially made dresses, shoes, bags, jewelry, you name it. More than any woman can ever need. In another life, I think she’d be over the moon to receive the gift I have for her but this version of Mercedes? Nothing.
“Goddammit!” I rip the bow off the box and hurl the top across the room, tearing the tissue paper as I lift out her jacket, the pants. “At least look at it!” I yell, throwing her covers off and grabbing her arm, startling her. Finally. Finally fucking startling her enough to get a reaction. Any fucking reaction.
Her eyes fly open as I drag her up to sit, and she opens her mouth to scream when I realize what I’m doing and let her go. I turn from her, stalking away, hands pulling at my hair.
“What the fuck do I have to do to get you back?” I ask, no longer calm or quiet.
She’s watching me, and it takes all I have to remain where I am. To not go to her and shake her out of this catatonic state.
“This has to stop. You have to get out of bed every morning. You have to wash yourself. You have to brush your hair. Dress in clean clothes. You have to fucking eat.”
She blinks, then looks down at the clothes, the jacket half in the box. She touches it. “It’s nice. Thank you.”
I nod.
She gathers the blankets up and lies back down. “I’m tired now. I’ll try them on tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Fuck tomorrow!”
