Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Zach cocks his head to the side. “Because?”
Nibbling at my lower lip, I shrug. “Because there’s this intense intimacy between the two of you. The second you walk into the same room as Suzie and me, I instantly feel like I’ve overstayed my welcome.”
He frowns. “My wife is dying. That’s not …” Zach's head inches side to side.
“It’s intimate. It’s personal and private. I don’t think I really know what that’s like, but I do know that when you walk into the room and she looks at you … the earth turns a little slower on its axis. All these unspoken words seem to hang heavily in the air. I can barely breathe when I’m in the same room with the two of you.”
Zach blinks several times before his throat bobs with a hard swallow. “Maybe you’re the oxygen in the room. Maybe it is a little hard to breathe around us. All I know is whatever you two discuss makes her smile, even on the days I know she’s in pain. And that comforts me in ways I can’t express. So don’t ever feel like you’re intruding.”
Surrendering as my last ounce of pride evaporates, I shove a few things into a plastic bag and hand it to him. Then I retrieve Harry Pawter, his litter box, and the partial bag of litter—some of which has spilled onto the floor of my car. “It’s not about the cancer.” I head toward the house. “We rarely talk about the cancer. I think I make her feel normal. Normal makes her smile.” I stop and wait for him to open the door because my hands are full. “I think her other friends reek of grief and pity. Even when they don’t mention the cancer, I bet she can see it all over their faces.”
He pushes down the door lever. “How do you look at her?”
Tightening my hold on a squirmy Harry Pawter, I shrug. “Probably in disbelief that she treats me as an equal. Not as hired help. Not as a young, stupid woman who hasn’t had the same life experience.”
Zach maintains a blank expression like my answer needs some time to sink into his brain and make sense. Suzie doesn’t want anyone’s pity for her cancer just like I don’t want anyone’s pity for my homelessness. I don’t know … maybe she will understand. Maybe I should have told her my whole situation before now. I don’t know what it’s like to have someone trustworthy in my life, so my default mode is to distrust everyone.
I clear my throat. “I’m going to fill his litter box and jump in the shower. Then I’ll tell Suzie. I’ll tell her. And if she doesn’t suggest I stay here, you don’t say one word. Okay?”
Zach relinquishes a tiny nod before pushing the door open.
After a long and much-needed shower, I dry my hair and slip on a sundress. Turning the corner to make my way to the kitchen, a pile of things inside the guest bedroom catches my attention.
It’s my stuff. Everything from my car is neatly piled at the end of the bed.
Zach told her. I’m going to kill him.
He did exactly what I asked him not to do. I head down the hallway, hoping I find him before seeing Suzie, but I spot him outside. Opening the door and softly closing it behind me, I stomp my bare feet to the driveway where he’s using a Shop-Vac to clean out the inside of my car.
“What are you doing? And why did you tell her? I asked you to let me tell her!” I flip the switch on the vacuum to shut it off.
Zach tosses a glance over his shoulder, confusion on his face until he sees me. “Why did you shut it off?” He backs out from the rear of my car.
“Why did you tell her?”
“I didn’t. She’s sleeping.”
“Then why did you haul all my stuff inside? And why are you cleaning out my car?”
“Christ …” He tosses the hose aside and sits on the bumper, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Because I know my wife. And instead of waiting for her to wake up and tell me to do exactly what I’m doing right now, I figured I’d get a jump start on it,” he mumbles behind his hands before dropping them to his side. “What are you afraid of? Someone helping you? Have you not heard the proverb ‘Pride goeth before a fall?’”
After a few seconds of silence between us, I slowly shake my head. “This is so…” I whisper “…humiliating.”
“Hey, look at me.”
I force my gaze upward.
“Having epilepsy is not your fault. The shitty healthcare system—or lack thereof—in this country is not your fault. Okay?”
I know it’s not my fault, but it’s still my problem. And things that feel like problems start to feel like mistakes and faults.