I glance at his parents and Mrs. Kinkaid. They’re standing in the archway between the living room and kitchen, catching up with one another.
“Believe me, you don’t want me as a nurse. You’re the EMT in this relationship.”
“You know I’ve always wanted you, Hallie.” His answer hits me straight in the heart.
The three parents walk into the kitchen, but they’re still right there. This isn’t the time for a heart-to-heart.
Greyson’s mom shouts out to us. “You’ve got enough casseroles in here to feed you for the rest of spring!”
He shakes his head.
“People love you,” I say, as if it isn’t obvious.
“It’s what this town does.”
“And they’re doing it for you.”
Greyson nods, barely acknowledging the truth. People love him. He matters to this community.
I run upstairs, grab a few pillows, and come back down. I’m carefully adjusting Greyson’s leg when his parents come out and join us, each of them taking a seat in one of the side chairs.
Mrs. Kinkaid stops, resting her hand on the back of the couch and looking down at Greyson. “I’m just a few minutes away. Call me if you need anything. I’ll be back later this evening to check in on you.”
Greyson opens his mouth, probably to tell her she doesn’t need to come back, but she cuts him off. “Don’t tell me not to come back here, Greyson. I’ll be back and that’s that. I won’t settle unless I check in on you.”
“Come back this evening,” he tells her, seeming to resign himself to the fact that he’s going to have people coming and going for a while.
Or maybe it’s her. She gets a pass in his life because of Zach.
I catch Greyson’s eyes and smile over at him. He’s always doing that—giving himself up for others.
“Thank you, Lindsey,” Mrs. Stone says. “I rest so much easier knowing you’re here in town looking after him.”
“You know he’s like my third son. It’s no trouble,” she says easily. “Besides, he’s usually the one taking care of me. It’s about time the tables turned and he lets me do something for him.”
Mr. Stone tells Greyson, “I guess we’ll go see a little league game. Do you need anything else before we get out of your hair?”
“I’m good, Dad. Thanks,” Greyson says.
His mom stands and leans in to hug Greyson. “Love you, son. We’ll come up next weekend unless you need us sooner.”
“I’ve got what I need,” he tells her.
Greyson pushes off the couch, lowering himself so he’s flat on his back.
Then he asks me, “Can you adjust the pillows, Hallie?”
I walk over and rearrange the pillows under his leg. His eyes start to droop.
“You look tired,” I tell him.
“Yeah,” he says. “I wanted to talk, though.”
“We will,” I say.
“You should go to the game,” he mumbles.
“I don’t want to leave you alone,” I admit.
