“Oh, don’t thank us,” she said. “Whit had three crews in here fixing things up. We just handled all the flowers and food.”
“Food?” I asked, my brows drawing together.
“Oh, honey,” she said with a laugh. “What kind of neighbors would we be if we didn’t smother you in food in your time of adversity? You’ll probably want to freeze some of it. Iris made enough peach cobbler to feed an army!”
We left Henry perusing his new books, and I walked Pearlie to the door, still stunned by everything they’d done to welcome Henry home. Before she could go, I threw my arms around her and hugged her tightly.
“Now, now,” she said, patting my back. “It will all be okay, baby. Don’t you worry.”
I nodded and released her, blinking back fresh tears. “Yes, ma’am.”
She turned to leave but paused and faced me again. “Whit is a good man,” she told me. “But he wouldn’t have done this for just anyone, Zellie.”
My cheeks grew warm, remembering what Whit had told me about his father. I prayed Pearlie didn’t think I was playing Whit just to get what I could from him and then would take off in the middle of the night.
When I said nothing, she patted my cheek. “Well, I’ll let you get settled. You’ll definitely be more comfortable now, but let us know if you need anything. Whit will be back in a few days.”
I went to check on Henry and only then realized the window air conditioning units were gone. There was a soft click, and a rush of cold air hit me in the face.
How in the world had Whit managed to get the air conditioning installed while we were gone? That must’ve been one of the work crews Pearlie had referenced.
Grinning, I sat down on Henry’s bed and texted Whit:
Thank you. For everything.
I added a heart emoji and sent it before I could change my mind.
A few seconds later, he responded with just a terse:
You’re welcome.
My heart sank a little, realizing I’d been hoping for something more personal. Maybe I’d misread things. Maybe he’d just taken the opportunity to do repairs while we were out of the apartment and there wasn’t anything else behind it.
After reading a few books with Henry and settling him down for a nap, I finally made my way to the kitchen and laughed. Food was piled high on the counters, in the freezer, in the refrigerator… I hadn’t known therewereso many casserole recipes. And in the refrigerator door were seven sippy cups filled about halfway with a mixture of some sort.
A note was taped to the first:One per day. Add yogurt.
Smoothies.
There was no message of rebuke from June, no “I told you so.” Just instructions she knew I would now follow. My pride wasn’t worth Henry’s pain.
I sighed and picked up one of the cups, gave it a shake, then set it on the counter so I could give Henry one with his supper that evening. I still didn’t know exactly what was in the concoction June had been giving Henry without my knowledge, but it had clearly helped him.
Exhausted, I went to my own bedroom and stretched out on the bed. That’s when I noticed a book on the bedside table that hadn’t been there before. Frowning, I picked it up, running my fingers over the cover. It was old but well cared for. I opened it and stared at the cover page, unable to believe what I was holding: a first edition volume of poetry by Lord Byron.
Later, as I gingerly paged through the delicate tome, my phone buzzed with a text notification. My heart lifted when I saw it was Whit again.
I hope you enjoy your present. From my personal collection.
I look forward to discussing with you.
Grinning, I curled onto my side and dozed off while reading the poems I loved so well.
Maybe Pearlie was right. Maybe everything would be okay after all.
Chapter thirteen
“Help me, please,” I sobbed, banging my fist on the door of the little shack in the woods. “Help me!”
