“Have any of your memories come back?” she asked.
“No.”
Her forehead lined.
“You’re concerned about my lack of memories,” he stated.
“Nope.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“Michael thinks the hypothermia is the cause of your confusion and that it'll soon clear.”
“I’m no longer confused and I’m over the hypothermia.” He wanted to be honest so that neither of them could hang on to pipe dreams. “My ribs and head are killing me, but I’m thinking straight.”
“I see.”
Weren’t nurses supposed to be calming and poker-faced? His nurse wasn’t either of those things. She was clearly nervous about his lack of memories, which was making him feel more stressed, not less. “Are you a high-strung person?”
“When tasked with keeping strangers alive, yes.” She clapped her hands together and gave them a rub. “Ready for breakfast?”
“Only if it’s a breakfast of Advil.”
“I’m lucky to have such a hilarious houseguest.” She gave him a smile too sweet to be genuine. “I’ll bring Advil but I’m also going to bring actual food since you didn’t eat anything yesterday. How about an egg’wich?”
He wrinkled his nose. “Which is?”
“A frozen breadless breakfast sandwich. Quick and nutritious.”
“No, thank you.”
“Frozen breakfast burrito?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t think I like frozen food. So . . . anything that isn’t frozen?”
“You might want to try frozen food,” she shot back, “seeing as how you don’t remember your former life or your preferences.”
“I know I don’t like frozen egg’wich.”
She rolled her eyes. “An apple? Oatmeal?”
He looked toward the window. “That will be fine.”
“Very good, Duke.” She gave a pretend curtsy. “I’ll be back with your laundry and your breakfast right away, Duke.”
He sighed. This woman took scissors to his patience. Had God stuck him here with her as punishment? If so, what had he done to deserve this?
She sailed back in and left a stack of clothes on the end of the bed. Curtsied again and disappeared.
He fantasized about wrestling the Advil bottle away from her. With his size, it would be child’s play to take it from her in his usual state of health. But now? The trip to the bathroom had almost killed him.
He spent several minutes recovering, then attempted the job of changing his clothes. It was more painful than running a marathon, but he managed to strip off the ugly pajama bottoms and replace them with his own track pants. He tried to put on his T-shirt but gave that up almost immediately. No way could he get his arms above his head to slide it on.
Remy opened a lap tray over him, then made a few trips back and forth until she’d assembled oatmeal, slices of apple, coffee, water, and Advil. She carried in a wooden chair and sat near his elbow. “Can you feed yourself?”
