Page 25 of Bred By the Minotaur
Mom thinks for a moment, then heads into the other room to rifle through drawers. She returns with a beat-up old smartphone.
Since I have no way else to contact Phoebe, I decide to simply walk down the street and knock. I think this could help her, but I don’t want to come across as clingy and worry her more.
Not if what I think is true—that she does, actually, quite like me. But that’s what frightens her.
After a few moments, the door opens and it’s Phoebe, dressed in clothes that don’t seem to fit. She lets out an undignified noise when she sees me, then slaps a hand over her mouth.
“I’m still in my pajamas, sorry,” she says, bunching up the baggy clothes in her hand. “I thought you were the postman. I asked for some stuff to be overnighted.”
“Sorry to bother you.” I hold out the phone quickly. “I know last night you didn’t have anything. I thought you could use this until you get a new one.”
She stares down at the phone, and then gingerly takes it from my hand. She’s looking at it like it’s a golden egg.
“Wow,” she says, her eyes scrunching up as if she’s trying to keep from crying. “This is really nice, thank you.”
“Hey.” I calmly reach out and squeeze her shoulder. “It’s nothing. Whatever I can do to help, just tell me.”
Her big blue watery eyes search mine, and then she sighs, closing them.
“I really appreciate it,” she says.
I glance around the small house behind her, where pillows and blankets are piled up on the couch.
“Are you going to a hotel?” I ask. “Insurance should pay for one.”
“I’ve been trying to get help all day, but filing a claim is going to take forever.” She sighs and withdraws from the door. “I should probably get back to it, actually.” She clutches the phone to her chest. “And thank you for this. It’s a real help right now.”
I nod. “Of course. Let me know what happens.”
“I will.”
“If you find you need a place to stay...” I shouldn’t be offering this, because I know she’ll turn me down—but I also want her to know it’s an option. “I have a spare bedroom. For the...” I nod downward at her. “For the calf.”
She blinks, then glances down at her own belly before turning her eyes back to me again.
“You could move in there. I know that I’m, well, a stranger, but...” I trail off, realizing I’ve already said too much.
Phoebe’s mouth works like she isn’t sure what to say next. “That’s a really kind offer, thank you. But I think I’ll be all right on the couch.”
I know right away that I’ve overstepped. In my humiliation, I say a hasty goodbye, then hurry back off down the street as the door closes behind me.
Man, I made an ass of myself.
I stalk back to my driveway, irritated at how I really am like a bull in a china shop. I just don’t know the right things to say. All I know how to be is honest, and I wish I could convince her to trust me, just a little. I want to help hold her up while the world is falling down.
Phoebe
I mean, I barely know the guy. So why did I want to say “yes” so badly? Why did moving into Hank’s spare room sound like the best idea anyone’s ever had?
All I’ve got here at Sandra’s are some misfitting clothes and a couch with sinking cushions. He would have a whole room, a bed, just for me.
There’s no way I could do something like that. He’s right—he is a stranger. We don’t know each other at all, not beyond a few anonymous encounters at DreamTogether.
I file my claim with insurance, and I’m told that at some point, my house will be rebuilt, exactly the way it was before. Whenever they get around to it, though.
“It could take two years,” the woman on the other end tells me.
The next person I speak to denies my claim for interim housing because of some exception on my insurance plan, blah blah, and I want to scream. I don’t, but it’s simmering dangerously close to the surface.
