Page 34 of Someone to Watch Over Me

“I’m sure. PTSD is a bitch that way.”

“Definitely.”

“The good news is that Tom is on the road to recovery, and history didn’t repeat itself.” She takes a tentative glance toward him in the living room. “This time.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s hard not to be worried about what the future holds for him after this.”

Great. Something else to worry about. “The doctors said he should make a full recovery, right?”

“Yes, but they said that about our aunt after her first incident. She dropped dead two years later from the same thing.”

This must be how Alice felt when the trapdoor to Wonderland opened under her.

“Lexi?”

It takes half a minute for me to realize she’s still talking to me. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

“I asked if Tom told you about what happened to our aunt after she had the bypass surgery.”

“N-no, he didn’t.”

“It’s got to be a lot for you to hear after everything.”

All at once, I begin to wonder why she’s saying these things. Does she want me out of his life? Is that her goal? Because I’m not sure how to respond, I don’t say anything. I simply stare at her without blinking until she looks away.

“I should get going. Call if you need anything.”

“We’ll be fine.”

“Okay, sounds good.” She retrieves her purse and keys from the counter and goes to say goodbye to Tom while I remain riveted in place, still processing the information she so casually imparted.

I hear her leave and force myself to get it together, to push the anxiety aside to do what needs to be done for him, the way he’d do for me. I have no doubt about that. He’s always doing something for me, even though I’ve told him he doesn’t have to. He says he does things like make my lunch because he wants to, not because he feels he has to.

As much as I loved Jim, and I loved him with my whole heart and soul, he wasn’t one for making lunches or cooking meals.

“Lex? Are you still here?”

I take a deep breath, force a smile and return to the living room while the chicken finishes cooking.

The first thing I notice is that the blanket over him has shifted, revealing a pair of tan hospital socks with the grippy bottoms like the ones Jim wore every day of the last two years of his life. I grew to hate those socks and everything they represented. On the table next to him, the collection of prescription bottles is another triggering reminder of days gone by, even if the number is half the quantity of Jim’s.

“Hey.”

I glance at him.

“Everything okay with Cora?”

“Yeah. All good.”

“I hope she apologized for what she said to you the other day.”

“You heard about that, huh?”

“Yes, and I hit the roof. I filled her in on a few things she didn’t know.”

“She was very nice just now. I appreciated the apology.”

---