Page 7 of Fire Island
Fuck me. The thought of any woman handling me, surprisingly, has no effect. I drop the blankets, and she sets them right before asking me my meal preferences for the day. Nothing she rattles off the list sounds entirely appealing, so I go with traditional choices. Fish and vegetables. Meatballs and spaghetti.
At least I won’t need her to feed me...
The bursting flavor of fresh tomato floods my senses.
Odd.
I don’t have time to analyze the thought as the nurse goes about her hourly observations. When she’s done taking my temperature, blood pressure, and so on, she reminds me wherethe nurse call button is and how to operate the television in the room via the corded remote to my left.
“Ah, thanks,” I grunt at her back as she leaves me to my solitude.
She’s gone without a word, and my focus drifts to where I last saw Irry. But the window is now empty. No scolded doctor. No feisty little sister.
The man is an island.
And the island is the man.
But who is taking care of the lighthouse?
“That’s it, good.” The young, tall rake of a guy to my right nods, a hopeful smile plastered over his face.
I repeat the motions he set for me. Tests, all of them. My mobility—the subject of this inquisition. So far, so good. I’ve walked up and down the rails with no assistance. Passed every reflex test.
Next, the mental assessment.
And as I turn back to find Iris leaning on the doorframe, a resting place close to my own heart, something in my gut flips. Like I should be the one leaning, doing the watching...
“Shouldn’t you be at the café?” I call toward the redhead holding up the doorjamb.
She pushes off and moves to where I stand in the clothes she brought me. “Nope. Paige has it covered.”
“Who?”What?Did I lose my memory on that sorry excuse for a boat?
Iris sighs. “She’s new, started this week. Paige, you know her, Errol’s granddaughter.”
“Good lord, Irry. Dancing with the devil now, are we?”
She huffs a laugh. “Yeah, well. She’s a good kid, works hard. Is taking a break before she starts college in a year or two.”
“You paying her?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Of course.” She slaps my arm. Skinny guy snaps his head up from his tablet, and Iris meets his stare with a glare. “Toughen up, bud.”
“Montgomery, this is my sister, Iris.”
Monty, the nickname I gave him two minutes ago, looks more afraid than enthusiastic about meeting my little sister.
“I was looking to take in a boarder in my spare room above the café, too, help pay for the new Fresnel, but no bites yet.” She shrugs the handbag on her shoulder up, eyes studying my face. For a reaction? When she finds none, she looks around the physical therapy room like she might discover something I can’t see.
I don’t say a word, and she turns back with the fake smile she’s been giving people since the day our parents died. “Anyhoo, I’d better be getting back. I dropped your phone and a change of clothes on your bed. Text me when you get your results, will you?”
What’s that all about?
She’s back to looking down at Monty. Poor guy’s face is crimson, his eyes trained onto the screen.
“Yep, should be all good here,” I say.
Iris nods. Her smile is soft, but it doesn’t reach her eyes the way it usually does. Like something is up, and she’s not telling me what it is.
