Page 16 of Wolf's Chance

“I don’t remember you asking me anything.”

I watched her eyes flare wide with temper before she pinned me with a glower. “You are full of shit, Caleb. Caleb what?” When she saw my blank face, she let out an exasperated sigh. “What’s your last name,Caleb?”

“You think my name isn’t Caleb?”

Willow’s glare narrowed so fast I wasn’t sure her eyes were still open.

“You awake?”

She kicked me in the shin. I started to laugh as she had a meltdown in front of me. “What is your last name?” The way she ground out the question, I could practically hear a period punctuating each word.

“Foster.”

“Caleb Foster?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Willow resumed walking. “Don’t call me ma’am.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I heard her huff of displeasure and followed behind her, noting when the steam left her sails once more. “So, ME. Chronic…tiredness?”

Willow sniffed. “Chronicfatiguesyndrome. It’s an illness, extreme exhaustion. It doesn’t get better with a simple nap. The fatigue is rarely gone, to be honest, and no matter how much rest I get, I’m always fighting fatigue.”

“I didn’t know that,” I admitted.

Willow shrugged and I could tell she was uncomfortable. “Physical and-or mental exertion makes me worse.”

Nodding, I watched as she drooped in front of me. Scooping her up in my arms, I ignored her protests as I carried her along the sidewalk. “Drawing helps relax you?”

“I never said I draw.”

“You had charcoal on your hands earlier.”

Willow looked at her hands, studying the dark smudge under the nail. “Did I?”

“You did.”

I didn’t meet her searching stare and carried on walking. “Can it be cured? Your illness?”

“No. Managed.”

“You said that earlier, how do you manage it?”

“I pace myself, I keep a well-balanced regime, not too much of one thing. I eat well and healthily. I try to stick to a sleeping pattern. Basically, I have a routine.” She plucked at my sleeve and snorted. “And I do everything I can to avoid stress.”

Glancing down at her, I grinned. “How’s that working out for you?”

“I’m failing.”

Yeah, me too. “Medicines?”

“I don’t take anything.” Willow returned to studying her thumb. “I’ve been low,” she admitted softly. “But I haven’t depended on medication for my low moods, not saying that was the right thing, maybe I should be taking something more regularly, but for me, I don’t. I sometimes take Tylenol for the headaches, but if I stick to my routine and patterns, I get by.”

She got by. It didn’t sound like living to me, and I must have shown what I was thinking, as I heard her sharp intake of breath.

“I don’t need your pity.” Her voice was quiet but hard.

“I don’t give out pity,” I corrected her. Setting her down on her feet, I steadied her as she regained her balance. “I’m also not a mind reader and don’t know where you live.”

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