Page 19 of If All Else Sails
“But Jacob made some compelling arguments.”
“Like?”
The arch of my foot gives a deep throb, a tiny punch of pain, and I lean more of my weight against the wall, hoping Josie’s sharp brown eyes don’t notice. I should probably be sitting, but it’s hard to get up sometimes. And I’m not about to have Josie witness me trying to heave myself off the couch.
I wait. She doesn’t say anything, twisting the bottle in her hands, strangling the plastic with a loudcrunch, then tugging at a loose string on her shorts. When she pulls, the hem starts to unravel.
“He says he’s worried about your health.”
“It’s fine.”
“And your mental health.”
“It’s even better.”
“You’re not going to your appointments.”
I sigh. “I hate doctors.”
“I’ll choose not to be offended.”
“You’re not a doctor,” I snap, immediately wishing I could suck the words right back into my mouth.
This is the story of me around Josie. I say the wrong words in the wrong tone every single time. Things likeYou’re not a doctor, which managed to make it sound like I was belittling her career as a nurse. That’s not what I meant, but if I try to explain, I know I’ll somehow make it worse.
“I’m a nurse,” she says. Slowly. Patiently. But still with irritation bubbling under the surface.
“I know,” I say.
I know she’s been an elementary school nurse in Fredericksburg and loves her job. I know this because I keep up with her through Jacob. Culling information from him while trying not to look desperate for every scrap about her life is a skill I’ve honed.
But the way I sayI knowsounds like I’m doubling down on my not-a-doctor insult.
Josie ignores this and continues. “He wants me to stay for a few weeks. Or...a month.”
I blink.
Jacob wants her to—no.
No, I will not have Jacob send his sister as a replacement for the two people I already sent away. I don’t want to see anyone right now. I don’t want help of any kind. I don’t want to hear platitudes and false encouragement that sounds like it’s been pulled straight off a motivational poster.
I don’t want to appear broken.
Especially not in front of Josie.
“What’s your medical experience level?” I ask. This time I intend to sound rude. Ineedto be rude if I want her to get offended and leave. “Are you equipped to handle postsurgical care?”
She holds my gaze, though the pink in her cheeks burns a brighter red. “I deal mostly in skinned knees, upset tummies, and hurt feelings. Oh, and lice.”
“I don’t have lice.”
She holds up a finger. “Yet. I’ve learned that with lice, it’s best to say you don’t have liceyet.”
A bead of sweat rolls down my temple, getting lost in the scruff on my jaw.
The other people Jacob sent were easier to scare off. They actually seemed afraid of me, whereas Josie is used to my abruptness. My sharp words, which pain me to say on purpose to her, are not having any effect that I can see.
Guess I need to push harder.
