“Okay. We can work on that, but that’s not what I was asking about.”
“I knew that’s not what you were asking about. I don’t really want to talk about it. All I do is talk about my feelings—it’s all I’ve done for the past many hours. I’m exhausted. Please don’t take it personally.”
She paused for a moment and then said, “Your hair looks good.”
“One of the Old Ladies used to cut hair.”
The door to the hospital room opened and Freddy came in, carting a plant in a clay pot. It was tall and thin, but very leafy. She wasn’t in her usual 1950s garb. She was dressed way down in a pair of skinny jeans, slouchy sweater, and subdued makeup. Her platinum blonde hair was pulled up into a messy top knot, the too short tendrils pushed behind her ears.
“Hey,” she greeted, looking from me to Amanda. “I know visiting hours are almost over, so I won’t stay long.”
Amanda glanced at me for confirmation, and I nodded.
“Holler if you need anything, Linden,” Amanda said. “And by holler, I mean use the call button, it’s easier.” She shot Freddy a smile on her way out. And then Freddy and I were alone.
“Nice plant,” I said, breaking the ice.
“Yeah, I heard plants really liven things up.” Her mouth quirked up into a grin as she set the leafy plant on the bedside table.
“Yeah, I heard that once too,” I said.
Her eyes landed on the cardboard to-go container with a Pinky’s sticker on the top.
“Strawberry rhubarb pie,” I explained. “I’m saving it for a midnight snack. The Old Ladies brought it to me earlier.”
“Oh. Oh, I see.” Her eyes surveyed me from my head to toe. “I’m digging the hair.”
“It wasn’t my first choice, but it was either this or leaving it the way it was. And leaving it wasn’t an option.”
“Mia told me,” she said softly. “About the state she found you in.”
“You’re not here to apologize, are you? Because I’m done with the apology side of my life.”
“Why would you think I was going to apologize?” She finally took a seat next to the bed, realizing we were about to dive into it.
“Because that’s what people do when they don’t know what else to say, or they have some sort of misplaced guilt. Mia doesn’t feel guilty, and it happened right outside her bar. So, you shouldn’t feel guilty about helping her out that night and leaving me alone.”
“Okay,” she whispered.
“I really mean it, Freddy. Don’t waste any time feeling guilty. There’s too much other stuff to worry about, okay?”
“This was because of the club, wasn’t it,” she asked after a long moment of silence. “What happened to you, I mean.”
“Yes.”
“Yeah.” She sighed. “I thought so.”
“How attached are you to your life?” I asked her suddenly.
“How attached am I to my life? What a weird question.”
“Freddy,” I began.
“I like it here. I like it here a lot. I enjoy my job, I finally feel like I have a good group of friends, and I’ve got the casual thing with Bishop.”
“Damn it,” I muttered.
“Why?”