Page 28 of Stables

They’re twice as long as Libby’s and stick over the edge of the little mat I have next to the wall.

“Oh, you’re fine.” A surge of heat rises up my neck. “I mean, there wasn’t anything to clean up. Libby drags in literal shit, um, poop from the dairy.”

Dr. McCullough’s eyes narrow slightly, and his full lips purse beneath his mustache. “Is she here?”

Wait.

A chill runs through me as I become painfully aware of how much larger and stronger he is than me.

Taking a half step back, I bump into the table with the gun in it. “Um, not right now. But she’s coming back.”

His shoulders drop and his jaw loosens. “Good. You shouldn’t be alone.”

He looks relieved she might be here? I guess that might actually mean he wants me to have company?

That makes me feel a little better.

Until I realize where I’m about to lead him.

“Um. Paisley is in my room. This way.” Walking with as much confidence as my broken body can muster, I head down the short hall to the dark room.

Reaching into the bathroom, I flip on the light there to wash the bed in a soft glow.

Paisley hasn’t moved except to fling an arm out where I had been laying.

Dr. McCullough is surprisingly quiet as he follows me in his socks.

As if he knows he’s towering over her, he kneels next to the bed and drops his duffel to pull out his thermometer.

Paisley doesn’t stir when he swipes it over her forehead. “Much lower tonight,” he whispers.

After I measure out the medicine, he shifts to the side, still squatting next to the foot of the mattress and leaning his elbow on the comforter.

He reaches his arm out with his palm up and I put the bottle into his fingers without a word.

It seems so natural, like we’ve planned this out.

“Here, baby girl. Just a few drops.” Tilting Paisley up just enough to press the dropper to her lips, she sucks the Tylenol down without opening her eyes.

The sickly sweet cherry flavor probably helps make it easier.

“Good girl.” Dr. McCullough’s words may be low, but they resonate in me for some reason.

“She is.” I smoothe her wispy hair away from her forehead and push a pillow between her and the edge.

When I hold my arm out, he slips the bottle back between my fingers.

“Thank you.” I’m glad it’s dark enough that he can't see my burning cheeks.

I don’t think Matt ever helped me with her.

Pretty sure he didn’t want her. She took too much of my attention away from him.

Dr. McCullough stands, then leaves me lingering next to Paisley.

It’s an odd comfort knowing someone else is here who wants what’s best for her. I thought it’d only be that way with Libby.

If my mom was still alive, I know she’d be here.

---