Page 11 of Curious
“Yeah, I know,” I say. “It’s a work in progress.”
It’s a wreck, is what it is. A lot of my house is down to the studs, and there’s no ceiling, because I’ve been redoing the ductwork. The place is a disaster zone. In fact, some disaster zones might look better.
He’s still dressed for work, much more put together than he was yesterday. I inspect his face. He seems to not have too much bruising, although I suspect he’s wearing makeup to cover it up.
“How can you live in here?” Shelby gestures around, looking confused.
I shrug. “My bedroom and bathroom are okay. And I have a fridge, a microwave, and a hot plate. And a dishwasher.”
He lifts up his hands. “Oh my god, Camden. This isn’t safe.”
“I’m a contractor. I know how to be on a construction site.”
“But you don’t need to live in one.” I’m vaguely expecting him to shake a finger at me, though he doesn’t.
“Things are always a little uncomfortable while they’re in process. When it’s done, it will be great.”
When I get the money to finish it.
When I can work again to make the money.
When my ankle is healed enough to walk on.
“How are you feeling?”
“Not great,” I admit. “I went to urgent care,” I add, “and I can’t afford the treatment they outlined except the recommendation of keeping off it.”
“Is it really that bad?”
I swallow hard. “They told me it’s twelve weeks until I can put weight on that foot. It’s fractured in two places.”
“Twelve weeks?” He inhales sharply, then tilts his head and squints at me. “Did you at least get crutches while you were out?”
I shake my head. By the time I left the doctor’s, all I wanted was to go home and lick my wounds.
Shelby holds up his hand. “Don’t go anywhere.” He spins on his heel.
“Where am I going to go?” I mutter at his retreating back.
When he returns forty-five minutes later with a rented pair of crutches from a medical supply store, along with a boot, I get a weird feeling in my stomach that has nothing to do with what I last ate. He’s laden with bags from a grocery store and a restaurant as well.
“Thank you,” I say, and my voice sounds husky.
“You’re welcome,” he says with brisk efficiency. “I also brought you some Gatorade and soup. It’s Greek lemon chicken, and there’s some pita bread, too. I know you’re notthatkind of sick, but we all want hydration when we’re feeling bad.” He hands me the container of soup, a plastic spoon, and a warm paper bag that smells heavenly, then sets the Gatorade on the coffee table. He gestures at my wrapped ankle. “Having an untreated fracture can’t be good for you. You’re going to end up like that giraffe with the crooked neck.” He moves to the kitchen, or what will eventually be the kitchen, and starts putting some boxes of cereal and pasta on the counter and cut-up fruit in the fridge.
I wrinkle my nose. “What are you talking about?”
“When I was a little kid, I went to the Santa Barbara Zoo, and there was a giraffe with a crooked neck. I think it got hurt and never healed properly. It lived a long time, but still … I don’t want you to have any issues with walking. Especially since you use your body for work.”
A jolt of panic tears through my body faster than I can hide it, and I can tell Shelby sees. “I don’t want problems like that, either,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady, “but it’s tens of thousands of dollars that I don’t have right now. All because I stepped wrong.”
Shelby shifts his weight. “But isn’t your health priceless?”
“Yeah, but … I guess I’m just hoping it heals on its own.”
“What if it doesn’t, though? And besides, you should have health insurance in general. Someone needs to check your blood pressure and whatever else.” Now he’s really getting going. “I’m going to start looking for low-cost health insurance for you.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
