Page 50 of Waiting for Gilbert

At some point the dim outline of her Toyota and the dark cottage returned to my line of sight. She’s been out there forty-five minutes. This isn’t normal. Or healthy. Concern for her wellbeing overpowers me. I switch off the utility light in the kitchen, shove my arms into my coat, and walk out the door before I talk myself out of it.

She’s slumped forward in her seat with her head against the steering wheel. Is she breathing? Adrenaline spikes my chest, and I rip open the door. Cordelia doesn’t move.

“Hey.” My breath fogs the night air. “You alright?”

I squat down to her level as she turns her face to me. Her lips are tinged blue. “Go away.”

“Uhh, no. No, I will not.”

“I’m fine.”

I hook my hand under her arm and attempt to tug her from the car. “Don’t tell me lies, ma’am. No sane person sits outside in this weather.”

The mew of a lonely kitten leaks from her mouth, but she doesn’t pull away. “Not you too.” Her legs are criss-crossed on the seat, snow boots abandoned on the floorboard. “I’m not crazy,” she says while struggling to uncross her legs.

“Of course not. That’s why you planned to sleep in your car and die of hypothermia.”

“Lemme alone.” Her words are weak-willed enough that I’m seriously worried. This isn’t Cordelia. “I can take care of myself.”

“Prove it.” Anger nips at my words. How long would she have stayed out here? Despite her bold claims, she leans into my hand.

“My leg’s asleep.”

My patience gives out, and I scoop her from the car. Cordelia squeaks but doesn’t fight when I cradle her against my chest.

“It’ll be much too hard—” I knock the car door shut with my boot. “—to find a new renter when—what was it you threw at me? When word gets out that I’ve murdered you?” With her hands flung around my neck, I carry her to the front door. “Securing a tenant who bakes pies and cookies and is game for midnight runs to the hospital is a difficult feat.” As is opening a door with a woman in my arms.

Her lack of snappy comebacks astounds me. “Cordelia.” I wait for her to look at me. “Hey.”

She burrows her head against my shoulder.

A package blocks the entry, and I kick it inside the dark room. Once I have her situated in a kitchen chair, I turn up the space heater and refill her electric kettle. Her head pillows in her arms on the table.

Is this where I leave? She’s inside. She won’t die. Obviously she’s not feeling well, but she’s an adult and can take care of herself. If she needed my help she’d ask for it. After all, she’s not my responsibility. Not my family. We’re hardly friends.

Except. Yes, we are. One swipe through our texts proves that much. Even if we’ve only been friends since two a.m. five days ago.

If I were in her place what would I need? My mind blanks. I’ve never stayed in my truck until my lips turned blue and my feet fell asleep. If I did, I’d be so embarrassed that I’d insist on being left alone.

Not gonna happen.

I rifle through her cupboards and drawers until I find a box of peppermint tea and prepare two cups. Two will make it less awkward. Two friends having tea. We don’t have to talk. I’ll just sit there until—until I decide she’s okay. Makes perfect sense.

She doesn’t move when I pull out a chair and sit beside her. Did she fall asleep? Is she hiding from me? Maybe I should just go. I wish I hadn’t put her down. Then at least she’d be warmer. And I liked holding her. Next time I’ll bring her inside and sit with her in my lap.

Next time?

Two friends having tea. Even if one of them is pretending to be asleep. This isn’t strange at all. I dig my phone from my front pocket for backup.

Gilbert: Hey

Nathan: Sup

Gilbert: Nvm

Nathan: Aight

That was dumb. I don’t need Nathan’s advice about Cordelia. Although I’d like to know how worried I should be. Is this sleep-it-off level girl drama or something more serious?

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