Page 29 of Falling for Leanne

As I wrapped up the class and gave the assignment, I caught her eye, gesturing for her to stay for a minute. She looked mortified, like she was in trouble. I waited until the room was clear of people, I climbed the stairs in the aisle and sat at the chair beside her.

“I’m so sorry. I know I almost fell asleep, and there’s no excuse for that—” she began.

I took her hand, the one she was gesturing with frantically, and held it.

“Are you okay? Really?” I asked.

“I’m fine. I’ve just got a lot going on. School and work and getting my dad to appointments and rehab and watching his diet and making healthy stuff he might actually eat and trying to keep up with the house and the laundry. I’ve just got to get into a routine and it’ll take care of itself. It’s sweet of you to ask, and I’m fine. I won’t nearly doze off again, I promise.” Her voice was forced brightness, the furrow between her brows and the way she held my hand so tightly told the truth while she tried to lie.

“You can take time off. I told you, it won’t affect your internship at all.”

“No,” she said stubbornly.

“Let me help. How can I help?” I asked, wanting to hold her and let her rest, wanting to shake her and demand that she stop trying to do it all when it was killing her.

“Help?” she repeated, looking honestly taken aback.

“Could I help you find someone who can help with your dad, to take him to the doctor and the rehab appointments? Find somebody to do the cooking and clean up the house?”

Dumbfounded, she looked completely dumbfounded. “You’d do that?” she asked, like I’d offered her the moon and stars.

“Of course, I would,” I said, smiling at her.

She shook her head, her eyes too bright, like with a fever or tears she wouldn’t shed. “I can handle it. I can.”

“I’m sure you can,” I said as gently as I could, “but you don’t have to. Everyone needs help once in a while. It would be a lot on anyone trying to take on the cooking, cleaning, care of a cardiac patient, all their medications and doctor visits and therapies even if you weren’t in school full time and doing an internship. It’s more than one person can do even in the short term. You won’t be any good to your dad if you wear yourself out and end up dehydrated or sick or worse.”

“You mean my eating disorder?” she asked, her voice a little bitter.

“You’ve lost weight. Remember I’ve held your hand before? Your wrists show it—I can feel it. You don’t feel as strong. Your mouth is a thin, tight line today. There’s no softness in your face. What is it, four, five pounds?” I knew it was a risk, admitting how closely I looked at her, how I felt the difference in her palm and fingers and wrist, the hollow of her eyes, the way her collarbone stood out.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” she said.

“I’m not fussing over you. I know I’m intruding on something—personal. But I care about you too much to let you do this to yourself. Your dad wouldn’t want it either. Everybody needs help, especially in a crisis. It doesn’t make you less strong or not a good daughter. It makes you human.”

Finally, she met my eyes, “It—it’s a lot,” she confessed. “I’m pretty overwhelmed. I don’t feel like I’m doing a very good job—"

I scooped up her other hand as well, holding them in both of mine. “You’re not alone,” I told her. “I know it was a lot for you to admit just now. But you were strong enough to say it’s too much. That was the hardest part, I promise. Now, my friend Kyle’s wife is a social worker, Mindy. She might be able to help put you in touch with some resources that can help. Is it okay if I give her your number so she can contact you?”

I held her hands, held my breath. Please,I wanted to say,please let me help you. This is hurting you and I can’t stand it.

Leanne hesitated. I could feel her draw back a little, consider the idea. I could practically hear her protests that those resources were for needy people and people who couldn’t handle when life got tough. I knew I shouldn’t, but I let go of her hands, let them fall onto the desk, and I reached for her face. I tucked her strawberry hair behind her ear and stroked her cheek, tipped her face up to meet my eyes.

“Lee,” I said, wondering when I’d started calling her that, the private name I called her in my mind, “do this for me. Please.”

She nestled her face into my palm like it was comforting, like she wanted my hand there. She bit her lip and then she nodded.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’d like to talk to her and see if she can help us.”

I grinned, pulled my hand away before I could use it to tip her chin up and kiss her. I couldn’t do that, couldn’t take advantage of her vulnerability like that. I just sat there, admiring her, thinking how she kept impressing me.

“I know how hard that was,” I told her. “When you probably wanted to tell me to butt out or fuck off. It’s not easy to let someone in and let them see how you’re struggling. I had to learn that when my sister was sick and admitting that I couldn’t take care of it and solve all the problems myself was harder than any mountain I’ve scaled with or without oxygen.”

Leanne had tears in her eyes but blinked them back. She wasn’t going to cry and wasn’t going to waver or show anything she thought was weakness. She didn’t know, couldn’t know, how I ached to fold her into my arms and comfort her and let her cry on my shoulder. It wasn’t safe to tell her so, to tell her I’d give anything to take her home with me, run her a hot bath, make her a meal, rub her shoulders, hold her while she slept. I wouldn’t trespass at all, not so much as a kiss, but I couldn't say those things to her.

Those things were private and off limits and nothing at all I should think, much less speak out loud to her. I could be grateful she was letting me help, and I could try to stay in my lane and not overstep, not keep finding ways to be in her life or touch her face or hold her hands. She wasn’t mine. No matter how much it felt like she should be. No matter how much I wished she were.

CHAPTER21

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