Page 22 of Obsessed Heir

Chapter Seven

Abigail

Miss Opal sets her napkin down after polishing off the last bite of the lunch James brought up. “Would you help me move to the bed?”

My stomach roils at the thought of glancing out to the water. Why did Barron have to own a ship? I swallow, trying to settle my unease and focus on getting a good grip on the handles.

I steer her chair from the sliding glass door then maneuver beside the king-sized bed. The plush white comforter and fluffy pillows appear incredibly inviting.

I press down firmly on the chair’s brake pedal. Miss Opal waits patiently as I give a quick push to ensure it won’t roll when she moves. It’s a habit we picked up while she was hospitalized.

With the wheels securely locked, she braces her hands on the armrests and pushes herself up, balancing precariously on her good foot. After a little hop, she leans forward, going faster than I anticipated, and my heart leaps into my throat.

“Miss Opal!” I cry out, dashing around the chair with arms outstretched, ready to catch her. But she’s steadying herself, fingers digging into the plush bedding as she lifts her knee onto the mattress and pivots.

“I’m fine,” she assures me with a strained smile. The tiny beads of sweat shimmering along her brow from the exertion tell another story. “It’s been a while, so I’m a bit rusty on how to get from one place to another.”

Guilt washes through me. “I’m so sorry.” I feel helpless standing here watching her struggle, knowing I could have stopped it from happening. “I should have paid attention when the driver was unloading the luggage from the back of the van.”

“Nonsense,” she chides, waving away my apology. “You know if there’s trouble about, I always gravitate toward it without even trying.” She chuckles. “So this doesn’t come as a surprise, not one bit.”

I can’t argue with her logic. She has an uncanny knack for finding her way into difficult situations. I should have been more aware of what was around her when I walked away to get her passport.

“Still—” I begin, but she cuts me off with a hard glare.

“Don’t blame yourself, dear. This wasn’t your fault.” She brings her legs up then scoots back.

I rush to adjust the mountain of pillows so she can settle in and find a comfortable spot.

“You see? This isn’t too bad.” She runs her hands over the comforter. “I’m in a comfy bed. Nothing’s broken. And the doctor said the swelling should go down in a day or two.”

Relief should wash over me at her reassuring words, but my anxiety needs an outlet. I glance around for something to do, anything to keep myself busy. I need to push the looming prospect of being trapped at sea from my mind.

Her luggage sits forlornly in the corner. I seize the task, grateful for the distraction.

“Let me get your things put away,” I announce, grabbing the luggage rack and smaller case. She doesn’t need to be living out of a suitcase if we’re staying here for a week.

I roll the case to the foot of the bed. Once I set it on the rack, I open the zippered sides with a practiced flick of my wrist. First things first—I have to sanitize every surface, a habit ingrained into me over the past few months.

After Miss Opal got sick and ended up in the hospital, life changed for us. With her immune system compromised, any lapse could have proven catastrophic. We had to make sure everything was clean. Now we don’t travel anywhere without antibacterial cleaning supplies.

I rip open the package and pull out a couple of wipes. Wrapping one around my fingers, I begin methodically scouring the insides of the drawers.

“This is the first cruise for the ship,” Miss Opal points out. “So nobody has been in this room before.”

“We can’t be too careful,” I counter, my voice muffled as I lean into the bottom drawer. I inspect every inch with a critical eye before moving on to the next.

The scent of clean, new wood takes me back to the construction sites where Dad worked when I was a kid. The sound of hammering echoes in my mind. Mexican music. Guys joking. Someone shushing them when I looked up from my coloring book because I didn’t understand the crude joke.

I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing away the unwelcome memory. There’s no place for nostalgia, especially when it comes to memories of the man who abandoned me.

“It won’t take me more than a minute to wipe everything down.” I double down on the cleaning, needing to erase thesmell from the room and my mind. “I’m putting your things in the four drawers at the top so you don’t have to bend down.”

“Thank you,” Miss Opal murmurs.

“You’re welcome.” Once I’m satisfied the dresser has been thoroughly decontaminated, I start sorting through her clothes. Pajamas, underwear, stockings, and casual blouses all go into their designated drawers.

After zipping the suitcase closed, I move the rack closer to the closet. This makes swapping the larger case a lot easier.

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