Page 47 of Tourist Trap

“You’re not going to die, Claire.”

“So you’re denying me my last wish?”

“I’m not denying you anything,” I say, but when she doesn’t speak, I turn to her, her eyes closed, her tongue lolling out of her mouth. She opens one eye, then smiles and goes back to her dead face. “Do you even know how to be normal?”

“I can’t answer. I’m dead. There’s only one thing that would bring me back to life,” she stage whispers.

“Jesus Christ. I—” I stare at her, her tongue still out, her eyes closed, and a smile tipping at the edges before I sigh, giving in. Whatever. What does it even matter anymore, pretending?

“Of course I like you, Claire. How could I not? You’re…Claire.”

“I knew it!” she says, springing to life with a wide smile and turning to face me. “I knew you liked me.”

“You need to rest,” I say, determined to change the subject. “Lay down. Relax.”

She looks at me for a long moment before she smiles in a way that I know means trouble before she shifts her body until she’s lying along the couch, and before I know it, her head is in my lap.

I freeze, unsure of how to respond, but don’t get the time to overthink it when she turns to her back to look up at me.

“Watching a movie is on our list,” she says.

“Then I guess today we’ll be checking it off, won’t we?” I ask.

She smiles, then turns again to face the TV. Without meaning to, my hand moves, fingers shifting to her hair to push it back and over her shoulder, then repeating the move. As I sift through her hair, she lets out a small, contented sigh, and my heart skips a beat.

* * *

“This is nice,” she says quietly as she moves a fry through ketchup before eating it.

When I asked her what she wanted for an early dinner after she slept through what would have been lunch in my lap, she told me she wanted french fries and dino nuggets.I’m pretty sure it was another step in hermake Miles have more funscheme, but I couldn’t find it in myself to argue with her.

So I called up Grant and asked him to make a quick run to the store for us and then baked her dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets and frozen french fries.

And honestly? Better than I thought.

“What is? Having a concussion?”

She shakes her head with a laugh, tossing a plain fry at me. I grab it off the table and pop it into my mouth.

“No, you dummy. I told you I don’t have a concussion. I just mean…” She waves her hand around the kitchen where we’re eating, then to the plate. “This. You taking care of me.”

“I’m sure you’ve been taken care of before, Claire.”

I’ve heard many stories over the years about her family, her two older sisters and her brother, and her parents, all of whom are apparently very close. Still, she shrugs.

“By my mom. By my family. People who are forced to tolerate me, who have it ingrained in their mind that they have to care of me. But not…other people. Not a guy.”

With that, with the hint of shame in her words, my brow furrows as I look at her fully, reading between the lines.

“You’ve never had a boyfriend take care of you?” I don’t know why I ask it since I know Paul wasn’t thetake-care-of-someonetype, and I regret it instantly.

“Don’t give me that pitying look, Miles Miller, or I might start crying about how depressing my life is,” she says with a laugh, playing it off as is her way. When she sees my face, which is probably a mask of panic and guilt, she lets out another giggle. “I’m just joking. I’m not going to start crying, at least not right now. But what about you? Ever had a lady friend take care of you?”

I mull it over, then shake my head. “Nope. Never had the opportunity.”

Her brow comes together, and she stares at me, confused.

“Is that a dig on never getting beamed in the head with a baseball by a little kid?”

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