Mom’s face pinched. “Dr. Honeycutt is excellent—”
“No.”
Caroline sighed and mounded her hands on top of her crossed legs. “I hate that you’re both lonelyandfeeling poorly out here on this remote piece of land. A husband would be such a comfort to you at a time like this.”
Genevieve grunted. Morphine would be a comfort to her at a time like this.
“Come home with me, and I’ll take care of you.”
“No, thank you.”
“Then I’ll pack a bag and stay here with you until you’re well.It’ll be just like that time when you were three and I nursed you through pneumonia. That’s such a sweet memory. You slept in my arms.”
“No.”
“But—”
“I’m staying here, Mom.” Her uneven inhale ached. Having to hold up half of a conversation was taking more out of her than she had to give.
God! Please give me the strength to make it through this.
Please, please, please.
She felt nothing in response but distress and heard nothing in response but her mother’s voice.
On the fifth day of detox, Genevieve transitioned from intense anguish to moderate anguish.
For the first time, she moved from the bed to the love seat. She sat, curled up on its end, sipping cucumber water and nibbling saltines. Desperate for something to distract her from her discomfort, she binge-watched one cheerful romantic movie after another on her computer. Ever again achieving the health and happiness of the smiling people onscreen seemed as possible as jumping to the moon.
Knock, knock, knock.“Supplies.”
The next day she crafted social media updates. Her followers expected her to post several times a week, and sickness only granted a person a small amount of leeway. When walking through a difficult time, one simply micro-blogged in vague terms about hardship, then concluded with deep and meaningful thoughts.
For a while now, she’d suspected that she’d run out of deep andmeaningful things to say. But her people awaited content, so she shared pictures of the cottage that made it look like an idyllic escape instead of the dungeon it had actually been for the past six days.
The next evening, when Genevieve spotted Sam’s truck bouncing toward the cottage, she rose and gingerly crossed the space. As soon as she heard the newest delivery land on her porch, she swung open the door. “Supplies, I presume?”
He regarded her with surprise as he slowly straightened. He wore a black baseball cap with overlapping letters on the front, a gray T-shirt, jeans. His no-nonsense, hard-wearing clothes assured her he was a man whoworked.Hard. And not behind a desk.
“Supplies,” he confirmed.
“I wanted to let you know that I’m finally feeling a little bit better.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“Thanks for the text correspondence and for the daily deliveries.”
“You’re welcome.” He took a step back. “G’night.”
She darted out a hand. “Actually. Sam. I was hoping you’d stay for a while and ... visit?”
He looked like she’d proposed he eat dirt.
He was so taciturn! And his social skills were questionable. But he’d also been kind enough to check on her via text messages and spend his money buying her food. “I haven’t conversed with a non-family member in a week. I’m an extrovert, and the isolation is starting to make me a little crazy. So ... hang out with me for a bit?”
He hesitated. “All right.”
“I’ll try not to take your lack of enthusiasm personally.” She chuckled ruefully.
