I told myself this was reasonable. She needed calories. Head injuries required fuel to heal.
The fact that I had driven the twenty-five minutes from Pine Hollow into town with a tight feeling in my chest, desperate to see her, had nothing to do with it.
I got out of the truck and locked it. Checked the handle once, then again. The street was already awake. A woman walked agolden retriever. A man loaded lumber into the back of a pickup. Normal Adirondack town morning.
I was more eager than I should have been.
What was I going to do when this ended?
The doctor would clear her. She would drive again. She wouldn’t need me anymore; she hardly did now. She would say thank you with that careful tone that meant goodbye.
I climbed the stairs before I could dwell on that longer.
Before I knocked, I heard Markie through the door. “DOG.” A pause. “HEEL.”
Something scraped. A thud.
“WEIRDO.”
I stood there, coffee in hand, and felt something warm settle in my chest at the sound of it.
Dog.
Yesterday, I had argued that point, but today it felt like a term of endearment.
Rolling my eyes at myself, I knocked on the door.
There was a beat of silence, then footsteps that sounded steadier than they had the day before.
The door opened.
Zoey was dressed in an oversized sweatshirt and leggings, hair still slightly unruly, ankle wrapped but bearing weight. She looked more stable. More herself. Her gaze went immediately to the coffee.
“You brought offerings,” she said.
“I sure did.”
She stepped aside and let me in.
The apartment seemed smaller in daylight. She’d opened the windows, and a strip of sunlight cut across the floorboards. Markie perched near the doorway of his enclosure, feathers slightly fluffed.
“DOG,” he said again, softer this time.
“Morning,” I told him.
“HEEL.”
“I’m not heeling,” I muttered.
Zoey smirked, looking me up and down. “You absolutely are.”
Shaking my head, I set the food on the table and started laying it out in a neat line. Containers spaced evenly. Utensils aligned. Napkins stacked just so.
She leaned against the counter and watched, her crutches against the wall.
“What’s in the cup?” she asked.
“Maple latte.”
