Page 150 of Mess With Me

The point is you have people who care about you. Who want you around a little longer.

But I don’t say any of that. Tears well in my eyes. I blink them away, knowing Chester will just start worrying about me if he sees me crying. “Why didn’t you tell us?” I ask. “We could have helped you. Taken you to your appointments. Gotten you more help—”

“I don’t need any help. There’s nothing to be done about it now.”

I swallow hard on that goose egg. Again and again. But it’s no use. The tears come, and they don’t stop coming. I reach for Chester’s hand. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

Chester shakes his head. His eyes are wet, too. “Don’t be sorry, sweetheart.” He takes my hand, resting it on the bench between us. His hand is thin but warm. “There’s plenty to cry about in this world.”

We stay like that for a long time. Long enough that the light starts growing dim and, despite everything, my stomach starts to rumble.

“We should get some food into you,” I tell him.

“You, too, by the sounds of it. Good lord, girlie.”

I laugh at that, a teary-eyed laugh that breaks my heart and soothes it—if only for a moment—all at once.

* * *

While we’re waiting for the casserole to heat up in the oven—thank God I remembered to bring that—I pick up some of the papers Chester pulled out of the pocket of his gown.

The flyers have titles likePain ControlandWe’re Here to Help.Words likeprogressive illnessandmanaging your comfortfloat through the air after I’ve put them down.

“They want to move me to a home in Greenville,” he says. “But this is home.”

I excuse myself and head to the kitchen, mumbling something about setting the table. I refuse to break down while he’s only a few feet away from me. I take a few big, deep breaths that only sort of work at calming me down.

I so desperately want to talk to Griffin, but I don’t have my phone, and I refuse to leave Chester’s side.

When I come back out with plates and utensils, smiling brightly, Chester’s still seated at the table where I left him. Only now, he’s staring down the hallway.

“You okay?” I ask, then feel stupid for asking.

He smiles at me, making my heart splinter. If this is how I feel, having only known Chester for such a short time, I can’t imagine how it’s going to affect Griffin, who’s lived next door to him for a decade.

I’m suddenly glad Griff isn’t here.

“I’m not gonna go,” Chester says.

“What?”

“To the home. I think I’ll stay right here. But maybe if you’re not too busy…” He trails off.

“Anything,” I say, trying to fight off tears again. I want to argue with him. To tell him to listen to the doctors and go back to the clinic and stay with us as long as he can. But all that can wait. Right now, I’ll do anything this sweet man wants.

“Maybe if you’re not too busy, you can stay with me tonight.”

In the kitchen, the oven’s buzzer goes off.

“I’m here, Chester,” I manage to get out. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll sleep on your couch tonight. And tomorrow we’ll get someone here who can help you look after things.” I dry my eyes. It feels good to think about practical matters. A nurse. A housekeeper. I know Griffin will move a whole team in here if that’s what it takes.

But Chester shakes his head. “None of that right now, sweetheart. Let’s just worry about tonight. And gettin’ some food in ya.”

I smile. “Okay, Chester.”

But as I head to the kitchen, I can’t help following where his gaze has returned: down the hallway. Because there, in the dim light cast from the dining room, I see what he’s looking at.

The door to the spare bedroom at the end of the hall is no longer closed.

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