With a cloth bag hanging off one wrist while he uses his crutches to join me on the porch.
I swipe at my eyes because that’s what it takes for getting rid of the reaction they’re having to the pollen count.
Which is the story I’m giving him if he asks.
He sets the bag on the table in front of me, then takes a seat and pulls another chair over to prop his leg up.
I peek in the bag.
More crackers and seltzer water.
Then I do a double take at his shirt.
Goats are Spoons.
What…?
“My friends are the kind who give you weird-ass clothes when you pass out at their house and wake up and realize you haven’t showered in three days,” he says.
I clear my throat as I help myself to the crackers.
He twists the lid off of a seltzer water and sets it in front of me. Same as yesterday.
“Jet lag?” I ask.
“Jet lag, career-altering injury, pickpocket…yeah. Rough week. What’s your excuse for looking like shit?”
There’s zero heat in his words.
If anything, there’s too much sympathy. “You heard that whole phone call, didn’t you?”
“Enough of it.”
He doesn’t apologize for listening in.
And I don’t care.
“Close friend, I gather?” he asks.
“Best friend. Since I was thirteen.”
“But not anymore.”
I shake my head.
He’s staring out into the yard. I don’t think he’s looking for Jessica to make sure I’m taking good care of her. I don’t think he’s embarrassed to look at me either.
I think he’s justbeing.
It’s oddly comforting. Like I have permission to justbetoo.
I crunch on a cracker. Sip the fizzy water.
My stomach is settling down.
I slide another look at Holt.
He’s good at this caretaker thing.
