“If there comes a time when I need your assistance to go to the bathroom . . . then kill me.”
She slipped from the room, waiting a short distance away. “Doing okay in there?” she asked through the closed door after a few minutes. “I’m wondering if I need to bust in to check your pulse.”
“I still have a pulse.”
“Good to hear.” Nervously, she undid then reformed the bun on top of her head as a few more minutes ticked by.
“Remy.”
She scurried forward. “I’m here. May I open the door?”
“Yes.” He was swaying a little and looked on the verge of passing out.
She helped him back to the mattress. Once there, breath labored, he laid his wrists on his defined abs. “Remy. You know I’m not going to . . . make it on six Advil—”
“This subject again?”
“If you leave the bottle with me . . . I’ll take responsibility for my dosing.”
“You can’t be responsible for your own dosing right now. You’re not in your right mind.”
“Yes, I am. And I’m clearly old enough to . . . make my own decisions. How old do you think I am?”
“A few years over thirty?”
“Old enough to handle a bottle of Advil.”
“Michael didn’t condone a higher dose.”
“Michael’s a child.”
“He’s an adult.”
“He’s not as adult as I am.” He set his jaw at a challenging angle.
“You can’t even remember your name.I’mthe only adult of sound mind present—”
“Tell me how to sweet-talk you into giving me more drugs.”
“I’m immune to sweet-talking.”
At this he appeared confused and disgruntled, as if he couldn’t imagine a scenario in which a woman wouldn’t succumb to his sweet-talking. “I’m in pain.”
She clicked off the bedside lamp. “I’ll do everything I can to arrange a virtual appointment for you tomorrow with a doctor who can prescribe drugs. Until then, good night.”
He responded with a growl.
Remy made it several feet down the hall before realizing she was going the wrong direction. She stopped, reversed course, and settled at the desk in her office adjacent to the living room. Books filled every inch of the bookshelves lining the space. Her mom, dad, and older sister handled the business and marketing side of her art, and thus she mostly used the computer here to watch movies and shows, check her meager email inbox every few days, or research information.
She’d come to the laptop this time for the latter reason. Research. If Jonah’s wife and the rest of his loved ones—kids?—hadn’t yet realized he was missing, they soon would. She needed to save them that anguish. But how?
She brought up a web browser and hunted for news stories from today about a missing man, a crash at sea, a private plane lost by air traffic control.
She found nothing.
She leaned back in her chair, chewing the inside of her cheek.
He had only two things on his person that might help her identify him. The wedding band and the watch. Could one of them be inscribed with his name? Why hadn’t she thought to check this sooner?
