“No, you need to be resting. I did set up your physical therapy schedule three times a week. Assuming that’s not a problem.” Charlie comes behind me, placing his hands on my shoulder, slowly guiding me to the couch. He helps position me so my injured leg is extended on the couch, elevated by soft throw pillows.
“Thanks, Mom,” I tease as I settle down. Charlie drops into a chair across from me, pulling his laptop back onto his thighs.
“What food are you craving? My FoodNow! account is seasoned with all the best in the area. Pick a takeout, any takeout.”
“Where is my purse? Let me treat you to Thai. Do you like Thai food?”
“Love Thai food. Love Thai street food. Do you have a favorite?”
We go through ordering, though he blatantly refuses to let me pay. One thing I thankfully didn’t lose track of were my bank accounts, which have some funds, for now. Each time I try to do something: get up to help him or to pay, Charlie is right there, shushing me and taking care of everything. He gets up multiple times: grabs my laptop, then my charger, then my shiny new phone and tablet, and finally water.
“I’m thinking I’ll take this week and work from home to help get you settled. The physical therapist is coming and I want to make sure they have everything they need.”
“Don’t you need to go back to work?” I ask, lowering my computer screen. I struggle to my feet, needing to move, needing to stretch my muscles. Charlie jumps to his feet, but I wave him off. Charlie eases himself back down, watching each of my movements, each wince. I think it’s killing him a little bit to not help. The effort is over as quickly as the need to move overtook me, and I drop back onto the couch.
“No,” he replies. “That’s the glory of my job; I work for my father’s company. I can tell him where to stick it without having to worry about job security. I’m just going to have a few calls. I’m supposed to be in Tokyo this month, but Jack is going in my place.”
“You’ve mentioned him before.”
“We went to college together. He’s a friend and he works at the same firm as me. He’ll do a good job.” There’s something in his voice when he says it.
“You sound jealous?” I ask, tilting my head.
“It’s not jealousy, it’s just pressure. My dad has these dreams of me taking over the firm by the time I turn forty-five. Naturally, when I said I was working from home for three weeks, I became a slacker. I’ve lost my drive. Clearly, Jack is the one who wants my job.” He takes a sip from a dark liquor. “According to my father, anyway.”
Charlie rises, offering me a hand. “I have more work to do. You’re welcome to stay out here and watch TV. I’ll go into my room so if you need anything, I’ll be close by.”
“Where do you usually work?” I ask, taking his hand and rising. I have to learn to accept help from time to time. I have to learn that accepting help doesn’t signal weakness, but an awareness of my limits. He’s been a gracious host, but I want to get out of his hair, out of his face. I want time to dive into my emails. I was lucky that my computer didn’t have a lock on it.
“I have an office upstairs, but I’ll stay down here for you. I would rather be accessible to you.”
I lock eyes with him and feel a flush creep up my face. “I appreciate that, but I’m not a child,” I repeat. I wish Charlie would stop treating me like an invalid who needs to be catered to. I wish he would see past the injuries. There are times when I think he does, when his eyes peruse the length of my bare legs, but insecurity whispers that it’s only a clinical look to see how I’m healing.
He nods, his eyes not dipping from my face. “I know,” his voice is gruff. “Let me give you the formal tour of your room.”
He leads me into my room. Being alone with him in here feels different from when we were alone in the hospital or even in the living room. He walks me to a door that I had discovered earlier leads to a private bathroom.
“According to my realtor this is considered the ‘princess suite’ since it has a full private bathroom. I didn’t exactly have you in mind when I bought this place, but it works. I have some basic hotel shampoo and conditioner, but I can get you more. I imagine this dress isn’t going to cut it. Let me know what you need. My assistant, Ashley, did some research on clothes that are comfortable with casts and braces and everything.”
“Casts, and braces, and slings, oh my. I really don’t need you to get me anything, I can order something online.”
The bathroom is simple, a stall shower with plenty of space for the chair I know I’ll need to order. The whole space is white, just like the guest room which makes sense.
“Please, let me. You can say I’ve done enough as much as you want, but honestly? If you sued me tomorrow, I would pay ten times what I am.”
“I’m not going to sue you,” I say, hobbling back to the bed.
“You would have every right to do so. I just want to do what I can to help you. Have you given any thought to my offer to hire a private investigator?”
I have. I have thought long and hard about his offer and I’ve waffled on it so much. I’ve thought about it late at night when I was awake in the hospital alone, eager to have someone, anyone, to reach out to. I wish that I had someone to text, someone to help to fill in the blanks, but my contacts being empty can’t be a mistake. The lack of texts can’t be a mistake. I would have thought that maybe there wasn’t anything saved to the Cloud, but I did have text messages, ones from FoodNow! giving me updates on my orders, a few text messages about work and one mystery text that I sent.
Don’t ever contact me again.
I don’t know who it was to. The number was erased, and there were no other texts in the chain. Just the one message sent the night of the accident. Was this person the reason I was out in the rain? Did I go out because whoever this was upset me?
“Yes, and I still don’t want you to hire a PI. It feels weirdly invasive, even if it is my own life. Two weeks. No one texted me in two weeks. No one sent me memes or stupid jokes. Someone who I thought was my best friend, who I used to text all day every day, isn’t even in my contacts. I don’t know what happened, but clearly we aren’t in touch anymore. Maybe I need a clean slate. Maybe this is the universe telling me to take it.”
Charlie’s brow twitches in, just a second, before his face smooths. “As you wish. Just holler if you need anything,” he says, turning toward his room.