Page 10 of Caring for Cailin
“Okay, I made some cheese and pepperoni sandwiches,” Memphis announces as he comes back into the living room. “The package of ham in the fridge was out of code.” From his expression, it’s clear he’s not thrilled with the sad state of my refrigerator. “And I found some fruit salad in the cabinet. For a little boost of natural sugars.”
As he sets a plate on the coffee table along with two glasses of water, I say, "I'll go to the store soon. During the day, so I
Shoot. I don’t want to mention my brush with not-Dario. Then Memphis will get all worried and he’ll think I’m not doing as well as I claim to be. Which I am, normally. Just not when I happen upon artsy-looking older men with white hair.
“Anyway.” I hurry to cover my slip. “How’s Gus doing? I hope he’s not missing you too much.”
Memphis arches a brow. “So youwhat?”
I take a bite of sandwich to stall. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?”It’s skeptical.
Would it be so bad to tell him you got scared?that little voice in my head asks.Maybe he’d even stay longer, instead of leaving tomorrow.
But then he’ll think I’m still weak, broken Cailin from a year ago,I explain silently.He won’t see me as the strong—okay, sort of strong—woman I’ve become. And he’ll never,everconsider anything more than friendship.
My argument makes sense until I see the worry in his eyes. “It wasn’t a big deal. I went to the grocery store on Sunday and I saw this guy?—”
“A guy?” Memphis sits up straight. “Did he bother you?”
“No.” I put my hand over his. “He didn’t even look at me. It was all in my head. I just saw him, and he reminded me a little of Dario. So I panicked and left.”
Understanding softens his gaze. “I’m sorry.”
“It was stupid. I knew it wasn’t him.”
“It wasn’t stupid.” He wraps his fingers around mine. “Not at all.”
“I knew it wasn’t him, though.”
“That doesn’t matter. PTSD can trick your brain into seeing danger where there isn’t. That doesn’t make you stupid.”
“I’ve been doing really well, though,” I insist. “I’ve been going to my weekly counseling sessions, and my jobs, and I even looked into joining a gym. I’m not just sitting at home, hiding from imaginary enemies.”
Memphis shifts on the couch so he’s partially facing me. “You’re doing amazing, Cailin. Don’t ever feel like you have to explain yourself to me. How far you’ve come in only a year… I’m so damn proud of you.”
But I don’t want you to just be proud of me,I want to say.I want you to look at me as a woman and not just some little sister to take care of.
I don’t tell him that, though.
After a few seconds of silence, he picks up my plate and hands it to me. “Eat,” he urges. “And I’ll tell you about Gus.”
“HowisGus?” I met him while he was staying in L.A. with Memphis, but I’ve only seen photos in the ten months since then. “Has he caught any more mice?”
Memphis chuckles. “Last month he got one. It was in the basement. Not sure how the bugger got in, since I sealed everything up last spring.”
“I’ve heard that mice can fit through an opening the size of a dime,” I reply. “Back when I was a kid, I had a pet mouse that escaped. My dad searched everywhere for it. After three days, he finally found it inside a dresser. We couldn’t figure outhowit got in there.”
“Was the mouse still alive?”
“He was. Little Mickey lived for another two years after that.”
“That’s nice.” Memphis absently strokes his thumb across my palm. “Having a memory like that with your dad.”
“Yeah.” I pause. “How is Marian? Is she still in Sacramento?”
He nods. “She is. Just got a promotion, and she’s thinking about adopting a dog.” He glances around the apartment. “Have you given any more thought to getting one?”
