“I will. Have a good night, James. I’m praying for you.”
“Thanks.” He ended the call, more restless than he’d been in months.
He paced the length of his room, a caged tiger locked in a habitat not his own. That had been his existence for two years, and he didn’t know how to escape. He knew he couldn’t continue like this indefinitely, but why was it so hard. Until Grant dropped his bomb, James had felt better than he had in a long time, but now he’d dropped immediately back to a low.
“Help me, God,” he cried out, not for the first time. “I’m tired, and I can’t do this without you.”
His breathing returned to a normal rate. His nerves steadied, and the fog cleared from his mind. He was going to get through this. There would be setbacks, and days he’d want to give in, but he experienced a renewed strength of spirit.
He wanted to go somewhere or do something. Logging into Ellington Castle’s website, he went to the schedule of activities—more up to date than the paper in his welcome folder as he, Cece, and Anya had found out earlier today when they’d convinced him to take a pastry decorating class with them only to find out it had been rescheduled.
None of the events at the castle caught his attention, but he saw an advertisement for karaoke at one of the cafes in town.That was so far out of his comfort zone, but oddly, he wanted to go. Why not?
He’d stop by Cece’s room first and invite her and Anya if they didn’t have plans already. While there, he could give her the small gift souvenir he’d purchased for her at the garden tour yesterday.
Once he freshened up and put his shoes on, he walked down the hall and knocked on Cece’s door.
“Leave it at the door, please,” she answered. Her voice sounded muffled and stuffy.
“It’s me, James. Are you okay? Did you catch a cold?” He was worried about her, though she’d showed no signs of sickness earlier.
“I’m fine,” she called out.
He wasn’t convinced, especially when he heard no footsteps coming to the door.
The elevator dinged and the doors opened. A server from the café pushed a cart down the hall.
He came to a stop in front of Cece’s room.
“I’ll take it in,” James offered, handing the man a generous tip.
“Thank you.”
When the server walked away, James knocked on the door again. “I have your room service.”
“Leave it by the door. I’ll get it in a minute.” Her words were barely intelligible.
It hit him. She was crying.
“Do you want me to have Anya come up,” he offered, figuring she would be more comfortable talking to a female about whatever had her upset.
“No.”
He couldn’t be more uncomfortable than he was at the moment, but walking away while she was clearly upset didn’t feel right. “What can I do to help?”
Footsteps plodded toward him, and the door opened. He trained his face not to react at her messy hair and tear-streaked face. She held her hands out for the tray without saying a word, then took it into her room and sat on her bed and lifted the lid, revealing four different types of cake slices.
Did he go in?
She took the fork and dug into the double chocolate slice. “Want some?”
He didn’t, but he took that as his invitation to enter. From his experience with Crystal’s illness and death, he’d learned that people would talk in their own time, and sometimes, they just wanted someone to sit with them.
Entering the room, he gently closed the door behind him, but left a small crack open.
She’d moved onto what looked like an Italian crème cake. She handed him a fork. “Try a bite. It’s delicious.”
Drawing from his own experience and understanding that by him joining in with her grief activity, he took a bite even though he didn’t have a sweet tooth at the moment.
