Brad hesitated before raising hishand and knocking on the door. The sun shone down onto the wet pavement, and the humid air hung heavy around him. He stepped back to make sure she could see him clearly, knowing she’d look through the fisheye peephole.
After about thirty seconds with no answer, he rang the doorbell. Through the stained glass on the side of the door, he saw movement. Seconds later, Valerie opened the door.
He could tell from her heavy eyelids and disheveled hair that he’d woken her up. That realization gave him a pang of regret. “Hey,” he said gently, “sorry to disturb you. I was worried about you.”
She opened the door wider and gestured for him to come in. When he walked into the living room, he saw the pillow and blanket on the couch and the cup of tea on the table. Valerie walked past him and crawled onto the couch, grabbing the blanket and wrapping it around her shoulders. She sat against the corner of the couch with her legs crisscrossed and the blanket covered her legs and waist. She hadn’t spoken yet.
He sat on the other end of the couch. Some food program played on the television, but she had the sound so low he could barely hear it. “I texted a few times and, when you didn’t answer, I just wanted to check to make sure you were okay.”
With a raised eyebrow, she said, “You could have just called instead of sending me a text message. It might have woken me less abruptly than the ringing of my doorbell.”
She reached forward and picked up her teacup. He noticed she grimaced when she took a sip. Without asking permission, he stood and took the cold cup from her then went into the kitchen. A box of cinnamon tea sat next to the electric kettle. Making sure it had water in it, he turned it on then opened cupboards until he found the teacups. Dumping the cold contents of her cup into the sink, he made them both a cup of tea, then carried the two steaming cups into the living room, setting hers on the table in front of her.
The cinnamon scent from the steam filled his nostrils. The aroma felt out of place on a warm spring day. It reminded him of fall, cooler temperatures, and football season.
“Thank you,” Valerie mumbled, reaching for her cup.
Brad loosened his tie and relaxed against the opposite arm of the couch. “You feeling better?”
“Yeah.” She took a sip of tea and swallowed before she said, “I had dinner at your parents’ last night. I left just before the storm hit, but it was already raining when I got home. I slipped getting out of the car and fell on my hip.”
Concern made him sit forward. “Are you okay? Can I take you anywhere?”
Waving a dismissive hand in his direction, she shook her head. “I landed in the grass. I don’t even think I bruised anything. I just twisted weird trying to protect my fall and hurt my back in the process.” She set her cup on the table and pulled her blanket-covered legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. “You have to understand how messed up my muscles are. I’ll always have problems and I’ll always be in some level of pain.”
Intellectually, he knew that. It didn’t stop him from wanting to fix it. “What do you do for the pain?”
She shrugged. “I ignore the prescription medication sitting in my medicine cabinet and instead do things like yoga and take baths with Epsom salts.” Absently, she rubbed at the scar on her chin. “Most of the time, I pretend it’s not there.”
As if finally waking up, she reached for her phone. When she looked at the screen, she raised an eyebrow. “Six texts, Brad? Really? Do you treat all of your architects who take a personal day this way?”
“Only the ones I happen to care about,” he murmured, then felt his cheeks heat.
“Care about, huh? Is that why you’ve ignored me for over a week?” She tossed her phone back onto the table and settled against the cushions with her tea. “I feel very cared for. Pampered, even.”
Guilt had him bite back. “You know what? I suddenly remember how you tend to wake up in a bad mood. Sorry I bothered you.”
He started to stand, but she said, “No, I’m sorry. You’re right. The doorbell scared me. Waking up that way put me on edge.”
His eyes narrowed. “Scared you? Why would the doorbell scare you?” He thought about how she triple-checked that she’d locked her door, how she checked the house when they got home from the restaurant. “Are you okay?”
He could see that her eyes welled with tears, but she blinked them back. “No, I’m not okay.” She pressed her palm between her eyes. “I’ve not been okay for five years, Brad. I’ve lived with a form of PTSD that has me terrified whenever I’m alone. Wherever I am, whenever I am. I have worked with therapists and doctors and medication and diet and exercise and I finally just accept that I am afraid. Probably because a two-hundred-pound man threw me off a balcony after years of emotional and physical abuse, and I just wasn’t strong enough to stop him.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw and he realized he clenched his teeth. He purposefully relaxed his jaw. “So, what did all the doctors and therapists figure out? Is it the knowledge of what could happen, or the knowledge of helplessness about it?”
Unexpectedly, she smiled. “I appreciate the fact that you aren’t coddling me right now.” She inhaled the aroma of her steaming tea, then said, “The conclusion is a little of both. I know what can happen and I know how helpless I am.”
“I see.” His mind whirled with solutions and possibilities. “Do you have a counselor here in Atlanta?”
“Not yet. I planned to call my therapist in Savannah and see if she had a recommendation.”
With a nod, he said, “Okay. Good.” After clearing his throat, he asked, “Will you do something with me?”
She held eye contact while she took a sip of her tea. “What?”
He leaned forward and fiddled with the handle of his teacup but did not pick it up. “Come to a concealed carry class. My mom wanted to take a concealed carry class, and I told her I’d do it with her. It might be something good for you. We’re going this Saturday morning at eight.”
After several seconds, she finally asked, “You honestly think someone as paranoid as me should carry a gun?”
