Page 114 of Over the Edge

He must be sleeping. Or in the bathroom. Or perhaps his condition had worsened and he’d gone to the doctor.

Peeking out from the alcove, she surveyed the porch. It was cold enough to leave food outdoors, but unless she could find a secure spot, an animal might get to it before Dr. Oliver did.

And a parade of raccoons across his porch wouldn’t endear her to—

The door rattled, and she stepped back.

Problem solved.

The therapist peered at her, bleary eyed, from the dim interior. “Lindsey?”

“Yes. Sorry. Did I wake you?”

“I was going to get up anyway.” He blinked, as if to clear his vision. “What can I do for you?”

“I don’t want to invade your turf, but I brought you a casserole for when you’re feeling better.” She lifted the container. “The heating instructions are on top.”

“That was very kind of you.” He leaned forward as she held it out, but as he took it and straightened up, he swayed.

Lindsey surged forward and grabbed his arm to steady him, her pulse picking up. He must be really sick. “Maybe you should sit down. Or I’d be happy to drive you to an urgent care.”

“Thank you, but I’ll be fine.”

Fine didn’t come close to describing his wan appearance.

“At least let me help you to a chair.” Getting up close with flu germs was a risk, but walking away from someone in obvious need of assistance was wrong.

He hesitated. “I can get to a chair, but a walk to the kitchen may be beyond me. If you could put this in the refrigerator for me, I’d appreciate it.” He held out the casserole.

“I’ll be happy to.”

As she took it, he retreated a few steps and sank onto a chair in the foyer. “I’ll be okay after I sit for a minute and clear the sleep from my brain.”

Not based on the flush in his cheeks and the beads of sweat above his upper lip, but she’d already butted in more than she should have by showing up at his door uninvited.

“Is the kitchen in the back of the house?”

“Yes.” He waved a hand that direction.

She dispensed with the chore fast, giving his fridge a quick inspection as she slid the casserole inside.

A few containers of takeout leftovers, eggs, juice, jam, cold cuts. Not much else.

Her casserole would come in handy after all.

Back in the foyer, she found him standing again, one handbraced on the back of the chair. “Thank you for stopping by. I’m sure the food will be delicious.”

“You’re welcome.” She paused. “Is there anything else I can do for you before I leave?”

“No. I don’t want to delay you. You probably have plans for the evening.”

“Not until later.”

“Still, I don’t want to give you my germs. Whoever you’re meeting tonight will be nervous about catching the flu if you stay too long.”

“No worries on that score. No one even knows I’m here. But if you don’t need anything else, I’ll head out. You look like you should lay down again, anyway.”

“I think I will.” He started to turn toward the door to let her out. Lurched sideways.

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