Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 177(@200wpm)___ 142(@250wpm)___ 118(@300wpm)
I arrive at the Simmonses’ house in less than five minutes. Brenda meets me at the front door and murmurs, “He’s probably going to be angry I called you.”
“I’m not worried about that,” I assure her as I follow her up to the main level of the house. We turn left and move to the end of the hallway where their master bedroom is located.
The blinds are closed, and the interior is dim. Brenda moves around the bed to where Jim is lying on the far side and turns on the bedside lamp that has been draped with a fringy shawl to keep the light subdued.
She touches his shoulder and gives a gentle shake. “Jim... Calliope’s here. She wants to check on you.”
Jim’s eyes flutter open, and he takes in a breath. I can hear the wheeze from across the room. He narrows his gaze on his wife a moment before his head turns my way. “I’m fine,” he mutters and then looks back to Brenda. “You didn’t need to bother her.”
“Let me just take a look at you, Jim,” I say as I move around the bed. Brenda steps out of my way, and I lean over, placing a hand on his forehead to see if he’s running a fever.
In this moment, I’m only a family friend taking a look to render a non-medical opinion. I can’t operate as a nurse, as his condition is outside my field of expertise. While I don’t mind helping the family with decisions and talking things through, I can’t give any type of expert opinion on his condition. Brenda probably doesn’t really understand that, and I might need to clarify it at some point.
“He doesn’t seem to be running a fever,” I murmur and then drop my hand to his shoulder. “How hard is it to breathe, Jim?”
As if to prove nothing’s wrong, he sucks in a big gulp of air and lets it out. “I’m fine. See.”
I know he thinks he just performed a monumental feat for me, but even I can see that his lungs aren’t filling to capacity. It’s not a good sign. But now that I’ve seen him, I also don’t think he needs immediate medical intervention. His color looks good, and he sounds pretty strong, actually.
Jim pushes himself up to lean against the headboard and wipes at his eyes as if to clear the sleep from them. “Listen...yes, I’m feeling a bit tired today. Doc said that would happen. But I’m just trying to rest up for the game tonight.”
“Game?” I ask, turning my gaze to Brenda.
She gives a small shake of her head. “Technically, it’s Rafe’s first game with the Cold Fury. He’s actually been at the arena this morning for his first team practice and getting to know the guys. He should be home any moment to hang out for a bit before he heads back for the game.”
“And I want to watch the game on TV, so I’m just trying to get some rest,” Jim gripes. “And I can’t do that when the two of you are hovering over me. Now, I’m tired and want to nap a bit more.”
“Fine,” Brenda exclaims, holding up her hands in defeat. “Rest. I’ll wake you up for lunch in a bit, okay?”
“Okay,” he mutters and then gives her an apologetic smile. “And sorry I’m a grump.”
“I’ve lived with your grumpy butt for almost thirty years,” she replies affectionately. “I’m used to it.”
Brenda and I leave the room, and she shuts the door behind us. “Want a cup of tea?”
“Sure,” I reply, not really having anything else to do today except clean my kitchen. I’d actually planned to hang out at my place and read a book or watch some TV. I’m pretty low-maintenance on my days off and enjoy chilling more than anything.
I sit at the table while Brenda puts the kettle on. She’s the one who got me into drinking tea years ago when I was still in high school. It always made me feel so adult and part of her family to sit at the table and sip as we talked. Of course, back then, we talked a lot about Rafe because he was the center of both our worlds.
“Is this it?” Brenda asks as she comes to join me at the table while the water heats.
The question may seem vague, but I get what she’s asking. She wants to know if we’re at the beginning of the end.
Before I can answer, the front door opens, and Rafe calls out in an exaggerated Cuban accent a la Ricky Ricardo, “L-u-u-u-c-y... I’m home.”
I can’t help but smile, and my gaze meets Brenda’s. Rafe always used to do that when he came home from school in the afternoons.
“In the kitchen, honey,” Brenda calls back to him.
We can hear Rafe bounding up the stairs, and as he comes into view, his eyes immediately lock on mine. Of course he knew I was here, my Pathfinder is in the driveway.