Page 57 of Do Not Disturb
“No.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t want to work at the restaurant anymore.”
He tries again to reach for me, but I shrug him off. “Is this about the kitchen being accessible? Because I told you, I called a contractor and got a quote—”
“I’m not going back to that restaurant,” I say through my teeth. “Not now. Not ever.”
“But—”
“I’m not going, Nick.”
He gets up off the bed. “So what am I supposed to do?”
“There are other people who do the cooking. You can handle it.”
He presses his lips together. “Fine. I’ll take care of it today. You can have one sick day.”
He throws off the towel and starts getting dressed. Once again, I can’t help but think how attractive my husband is. But the scariest part is I feel nothing right now. Not even the slightest trace of desire. And I’m too tired to care.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
THREE YEARS EARLIER
As the credits roll on the television screen, I grab the remote control and flick to a new station. Somehow in the last six months, I’ve become the sort of woman who sits around the house all day, watching soap operas. It’s literally the only thing that I do the entire day. Well, that’s not true. In the morning, I watch game shows. And sometimes I surf the web on my phone. I occasionally eat a little.Occasionally. I’ve become skeletal.
Anyway, there’s not much for me to do anymore. Rosalie’s closed three months ago. It fell apart quickly after I stopped working there.
I hear Nick’s heavy footsteps coming up to the second floor. I glance down on my watch—it’s the middle of the day. Sometimes he’ll come home for lunch, but that was two hours ago. I wonder what he’s doing home.
The thought of it makes me uneasy.
Nick appears at the bedroom door. There are faint purple circles under his eyes, but he manages a thin smile. He doesn’t smile for real very much these days. That’s fair though. He doesn’t have a lot to smile about.
“Hi,” I say.
He glances over my shoulder at the bedroom window. “It’s stuffy in here. You should open the window. It’s a nice day outside.”
“I’m fine.”
But he still pushes past me and walks over to the window. I back up a few inches in my wheelchair. I use the chair all the time now. I gave up on walking several months ago, around when Rosalie’s shut down. The amount of effort to take a few steps isn’t worth it.
Nick throws the window open. I suppose it’s nice outside—the same cool spring day when Nick first took me out to see the restaurant all those years ago. But I’ve lost so much weight in the last two years that the breeze goes straight through me, and I shiver. Sometimes it feels like my skin is hanging off my bones.
“Better, right?” he says.
I nod, because it’s easier than arguing. I’ll close it again when he leaves.
“Maybe we could go outside together?” he says.
I cringe. “I don’t want to deal with the stairs.”
He blows out a breath. “You know, I can convert the dining room into a bedroom. I told you I could—”
“It’s fine. I don’t feel like going outside anyway.”
Nick mumbles something under his breath that I can’t make out. It’s probably better I didn’t hear it.
