28. Jessica

28

JESSICA

A fter several days of spending all of my time in bed, I was getting restless. I wanted to get out of the four walls that boxed me in. I didn't understand how Dylan's mother did it. She stayed in her rooms all the time.

The day nurse came in and helped me to the bathroom. As we were walking back to the bed, I noticed my feet didn't hurt nearly as badly as they had been. I wasn't ready to take a long walk, but I certainly thought I'd be able to take on more than simply walking to and from the bathroom.

Once I was back in bed, she helped me to get comfortable.

"Do you think I could go downstairs later today? I'm getting sick of the view," I announced.

She stood and pursed her lips as she thought.

"Your feet did look pretty good when we cleaned them and re-bandaged them yesterday. Downstairs, huh? Remember, you'll have to come back up when you're done, so…" She wasn't giving me a yes or no answer.

"You're here. You can check to see whether my feet can handle it, right? There's a sitting room at the bottom of the stairs. I just want to go sit there and work on a project. Be somewhere different, get different perspective." I continued to plead my case.

"How do they feel?" she asked.

"They don't hurt as badly as they have been." I gave her a wishful smile.

"Let's see how you're feeling after lunch."

I had to accept her judgement. After lunch, I'd probably take a nap, and then I'd have more energy later in the afternoon. I settled in for a mid-morning movie. It still made me giggle that the TV looked like a framed painting whenever it was turned off.

Dylan actually noticed that I had a new piece of art on the wall every night when he came home. And he was coming home late. I knew that was my fault. The issues I had caused with Ryan were keeping him at work. He wouldn't tell me what he was doing, only that it wasn't my fault. I had a hard time believing it.

I didn't want to complain that I was missing him, but I was. And I tried to not pester him too much, but I couldn't help it. I kept texting him during the day. Not with big issues, just letting him know what I was doing.

As the movie started, I had my phone in my hands. I typed with my thumbs. Watching Max's favorite dinosaur movie without Max. What have I become?

A few minutes later, Dylan responded. Sounds like you might be expecting Max to join you?

Hard to watch an R-rated movie not knowing when he'll decide it's time to hang out with me. We got that Mrs. Coleson woman again from the agency today. Max doesn't really like her .

Dylan didn't respond immediately, but he kept the conversation going when he did. How do you know? What did he say?

Max wouldn't say anything. He gets sad when she is here. She is not Anna. Max likes Anna. I like Anna , I texted.

Anna wasn't available , Dylan texted back.

Anna hasn't been available since the last time Max saw your mother. I think Clara ran her off .

I worried I'd overstepped when Dylan didn't respond. The longer I waited, the guiltier I felt. I finally set my phone down and tried to let the movie distract me. But I kept looking over at the phone. Finally, he responded. I grabbed my phone to read his message.

Sound theory. Why did Clara not drive you away?

That was an easy answer. Because of you. That and I'm really stubborn.

I'll see you tonight . His sign-off let me know he had to go back to work and I needed to stop texting him.

I love you . I sent before tossing the phone back down onto the mattress. He may have been able to tell me to stop texting him, but I was still going to get the last word in.

Max didn't come to visit me until after lunch. The visit felt strained with Mrs. Coleson standing over us. "If you want to take a break and grab your lunch, you're welcome to leave Max here with me," I said.

"I already had my lunch when Max ate. I'm fine," she responded.

We played with the plastic dinosaurs until a mysterious chime sounded. Max froze and slowly turned toward Mrs. Coleson.

"What was that?" I asked.

"We keep to a schedule, don't we, Max?" she said.

Max looked up at me with his big, expressive eyes. He didn't want to leave. He looked so sad.

"Max is welcome to stay for a few more minutes," I said. I couldn't see why we had to stop. He was slowing down. He'd be done on his own soon enough.

Mrs. Coleson wasn't having it. She seemed like she probably got along with Clara.

"Max, it's time for your nap. You can see Jessica later if she's up for a visit," she said.

"Maybe we can have dinner together?" I wanted to say ‘when your daddy gets home,' but Dylan hadn't been home in time for dinner for a couple of days. So, I kept my mouth shut. I didn't want to raise Max's expectations and have him be disappointed later. I also didn't say anything about it being my nap time too, because there had been many times that Max and I had sacked out together. And I wouldn't have minded a napping buddy. I didn't think Mrs. Coleson would have approved.

After they left, my nurse helped me to the bathroom again and then gave me some pain pills that made me sleepy, so I took my nap.

When I woke up, I was ready to run out of the room. Unfortunately, my feet were only good for a slow and careful stroll. I made it downstairs without too much drama, but I was really glad to get my feet up on the sofa when I arrived.

The nurse helped tuck a pillow under my legs. "I'll get you some water. Anything else I can get you?"

"I left my crochet project in the bedroom. Could you grab that?" I asked.

She left, and I also realized I had left my phone. Oh, well, I wasn't going to call anyone, and Dylan had already texted me earlier. I needed to leave him alone.

I had nothing to do but examine my cuticles and stare out the windows.

"Jessica, what are you doing out here?" Mrs. Anderson's voice caught my attention.

I looked up. "I could ask the same thing of you," I said. "I got tired of being stuck in bed in the same room."

"Well, that sounds exactly why I'm out here," she said.

Somewhere behind her, Clara snorted. I tried not to roll my eyes.

"I'm taking a short walk. I think my doctors would like me to walk a little more," she was explaining when my nurse showed up with my crochet work.

"Thank you," I said as I accepted the bag.

"What are you working on?" Mrs. Anderson asked.

"I'm getting a jump on my Christmas list." I pulled out the beginnings of a blanket. It didn't look like much, just some browns and greens in large color blocks.

"Is that a dinosaur for Max?" she asked. She was perceptive.

"It is. What are you working on?" I asked. I didn't want to assume she was still working on the same blanket she had been for weeks.

"I started a new sweater. Clara, would you go fetch my crochet basket?" She slowly turned to look at Clara.

"Would you like to join me?" I asked, gesturing at the empty chair next to the couch I was taking up.

"You know, a change of scenery would be nice. I think I will," she said as she slowly made her way to the chair and slowly sat down. "How are your feet doing?"

I made a face at the bandages. "They hurt. I probably shouldn't have walked down here, but I was desperate to get out of that room."

"I thought you had been desperate to get into that room," Clara muttered.

I was done with her. "I can hear you, you know? You aren't subtle. You've already driven another nanny that Max liked away, and she was only a temp. She would have been gone as soon as I recover."

"Clara, there is no need to be rude," Mrs. Anderson barely scolded her.

"I'm not being rude, I'm just stating the obvious," Clara huffed.

"No, you're being rude. That whole ‘I'm just telling it like it is' bull is just an excuse to be passive-aggressive. It's not caring. It's not truthful. You're being cranky. We've talked about this," Mrs. Anderson said.

"I don't like new people," Clara said. "It takes me a while to warm up."

I snorted. "No, that's rich. I've been here for months and you're still rude to my face. Max has been here his entire life, and you treat him like he's a gnat. I'll agree you don't like new people, but there is no way you take time to warm up to them because you don't even try. And don't pass this off as being shy. I don't know what I did to piss you off, but I'm done with it."

Her eyebrows lifted, and she looked almost pleased. "Does this mean you're leaving?"

"Clara!" Mrs. Anderson called out.

Clara's expression changed dramatically. Her eyes narrowed with an almost smile suddenly went round with surprise.

"Clara, explain yourself," Mrs. Anderson demanded.

Clara opened her mouth to say something, but then her shoulders slumped and she seemed to drop a good inch or two in height as she let out a deep sigh. "I'm defensive because I never know when Mr. Anderson is going to replace me. How do I know that you" —she glared at me— "aren't poisoning him with lies about me?"

It was ridiculous and I stifled a laugh. I knew this was serious, but the ridiculousness of it was too much. "Are you serious? I've been looking after Max. When would I have time to come up with lies about you? Your real actions are damning enough. I don't need to make up anything."

"See, this is what I mean. My real actions? I'm only doing what's best for Mrs. Anderson," Clara said.

"Lying and yelling at Max are what's best?" I asked.

"If he doesn't visit, the nanny can't make up stories about me and get me fired," Clara explained.

"So instead, you make up tales about the nanny?" Mrs. Anderson asked. "Oh, Clara, what have you been doing?"