Page 28 of Handle with Care
“Oh no, I’m sure it’s fine. Perfect, even.”
“Alright, I’ll ring you through.”
And she does while I fidget with my wallet. It’s been at least ten minutes since I left Will. Maybe fifteen. He’s fine, I tell myself. I mean, it can’t be his first migraine. But he looked so awful, and we’re far from his home and shit. I don’t know what brought it on, but I hate seeing him like that. My stomach twists.
After an eon, she passes back my card, and I hurry off back to Will. When I get back to the Land Rover, he hasn’t moved. Is he sleeping?
“Will?” I ask softly.
“Mm.” He sounds miserable. “Sorry.”
Not sleeping, then.
“Don’t worry about me,” I tell him sternly. “I’m worried about you. We’re staying here. I found a place for us?—”
“You don’t need to do that?—”
“It’s fine. C’mon.” I go around to his side and open the door. He moves reluctantly, squinting at me. I give him my sunglasses, because I’m not sure where his have gone, and he takes them,grateful. “Can you make it up the street, or do you want me to drive?”
“Please don’t drive my Land Rover.”
He’s so plaintive I have to laugh. At least it’s still Will. “’Kay. Let’s go, then.”
I help him out, taking his arm. Adding to my catalogue of firsts, it’s the first time I touch him, and he leans into me for a moment before I let go. He stumbles into the bright afternoon before he gets his footing.
“Take your time,” I tell him. “No rush.”
Will straightens, looking the most out of sorts I’ve ever seen him.
“This way.” I start to walk and turn to glance over my shoulder.
He walks slowly, unsteadily.
“Shit, Will. C’mon.” I don’t care who’s watching or what he thinks, but I put my arm around him and his arm over my shoulders, and he limps his way to the inn. I don’t know why he’s limping, but he’s obviously miserable. I take him to the base of the narrow stairs that lead up to the rooms over the pub. He takes off the sunglasses, and I look at him in the dim light. He’s still squinting, washed out.
“Can you do the stairs?” I ask belatedly. The staircase isn’t wide enough for us to easily go side by side up. So much for seventeenth-century period features. “I don’t think there’s a lift.”
He groans, then nods. “It’s fine.”
Will white-knuckles the hand railing and starts up the stairs. I put a hand in the small of his back. “I’m right here,” I tell him in my most reassuring voice. “I won’t let you fall.”
He stumbles, each time he does stopping my heart. When we finally get to the top, I quickly put my arm around him again and guide him to the door that has the number seven on it. I try the key, and the door opens.
It’s definitely not like the hotel rooms I’m used to back home. This is tiny, with slanting, low ceilings. There’s a small window, but the room’s nicely decorated, and it has a double bed with a pristine white duvet and floral quilt at the foot of the bed?—
Wait.
There’s only a double bed.
Forget that.
“Here,” I say comfortingly, leading him over to the bed. “You can lie down. I can help you take your shoes off?—”
“No. Don’t do that.” He sits heavily on the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes. He steps on the heels of his shoes and slides them off his feet. Will presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, trembling.
“I can go to Boots and get you something. I mean, we’ve got nothing but time, no rush. The room’s ours for the night. I mean, I’ll cancel my plans?—”
“Shit, you have plans?—”
