Page 30 of Caught A Vibe

“My God! Penny! Are you okay?”

I barely have the energy to shake my head, but it’s enough.

He crouches next to me, sliding an arm beneath my legs and another behind my back, and lifts me effortlessly. I float back to my bed and I swear to God, the man tucks me in. As if I wasn’t already struggling to keep my head around him…

“Have you eaten anything today?” he asks gently, with his hand on my forehead.

I shake my head again and wince as my brain rattles against my skull.

“Okay, try to stay awake until I get back. Give me five minutes.”

He leaves and I really try to stay awake, but my eyelids are so damn heavy.

His cool hand on my shoulder wakes me with a start.

“I’m awake! I’m awake. Not sleepy at all,” I say, and promptly prove myself a liar with a yawn.

“Here. Eat some of this and you can go back to sleep.”

I look at the cutting board he’s carried in as a makeshift tray. A small bowl of my favorite ramen, a mug of steaming tea, two Tylenol, and a large glass of water bring tears to my eyes. “You brought me ramen?”

“You said it was your favorite. I put the rest in the fridge so you can have some later if you wake up hungry. Take your medicine and try to eat,” he urges.

I swallow the pills and manage to eat half a bowl, though I can’t taste anything but salt, before I am nodding into my soup. He rescues the tray from my lap and heads for the kitchen. The last coherent thought I have isdon’t leave mebefore sleep drags me under again.

Chapter8

Dash

“Mrrrrow!”

I open one eye a crack and find an orange tabby eyeing me suspiciously from the coffee table. What time is it? I turn my head to check my phone and wince. Sleeping on the couch, using the armrest for a pillow, was not my brightest idea, but nothing about the current situation is ideal. My stomach growls in angry agreement.

“Are you hungry too?” I squint my eyes to read the tag on her collar as I try and rub the kinks out of my neck. “Callie, huh? Let’s see what we have for you.”

Standing too quickly, my back protests and so does the cat, hissing and sprinting out of range. Great. Now I’m scaring cats. What’s next, small children or the elderly? Hopefully not my sick patient in the other room. In hindsight, I can see how showing up on her doorstep unannounced could be a bit creepy, but I hope my actions will prove I am here with the best of intentions.

Callie peeks around the corner cabinet cautiously. Lesson learned: no sudden moves.

I shuffle into the kitchen wearing the same clothes I drove down in and pull a white takeout box from the fridge.

“Do you like brisket?” I pull off a piece of tender beef and hold it out for the cat, who allows my approach but has eyes on her escape route. She sniffs it and decides I’m not an intruder trying to kill her, before taking the meat from my finger. I offer another tidbit and she greedily licks my fingers this time.

Good. Her cat won’t starve.I shred a bit more and put it in a bowl on the floor for Callie, who happily settles in to eat.

I pop a cold brisket chunk in my mouth and decide the cat has good taste. I rummage in the fridge for a piece of bread and some cold caffeine.Jackpot!There is a tortilla and a Diet Coke. Beggars can’t be choosers.

I drink half the can of soda in one long swig to try and wake up more fully before fashioning a brisket burrito and eating it standing over the sink.

It’s strange to be in her kitchen without her. Almost as bad as snooping through her medicine cabinet last night to find the pills for her fever. But if I’m going to take care of her for a bit, I need to know where things are. I pop the last bite into my mouth and begin my survey of her apartment.

The kitchen is immaculate and organized to the nth degree. All of her silverware is sorted by shape and size. She has not one but two wine openers in a clearly designated spot and actual chip clips for closing bags. Like, more than one! I open a cabinet and find juice cups and water glasses, stemless wine goblets and tulip pints for beer, all matching and lined up like little soldiers waiting for her next party.

My stomach drops.

Yeah, this kitchen isn’t clean because she hasn’t used it in a week. It’s clean because this is how she keeps it.

Her pantry reveals neat rows of canned fruit and boxes of pasta and jars of sauce and jelly. No can of long-expired soup gathering dust or half-used bag of lentils spilled in a corner. No random niche ingredient bought on a whim and never used. She buys what she eats, and eats what she buys.

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