5. Winona #3
“There’s plenty of that too. Help yourself.”
After a few trips back and forth between the front room and the kitchen and an overuse of the intercom, I have discovered the microwave and learned how to turn on the oven. I find a tray and carry our meal in to Declan in the front room.
“Guess what?” I announce, setting the tray on the coffee table.
“What?”
“It’s time for your pain meds!”
“You sound ecstatic,” he deadpans.
“I’m just happy for you.”
I pick up two of the bottles, shaking out a pill from each into the caps and then handing those and his kale smoothie over to him.
“I apologize for that drink in advance.”
“I’m used to these,” he says. “They’re really good for you.”
“They’d have to be the cure to cancer and the secret to eternal life for me to drink one. I’m not a fan of swamp water.”
He chuckles again and his face softens just the slightest.
Then he lifts the pills to his mouth and takes a swig of the drink. He doesn’t flinch, but I make a grimace strong enough for the both of us.
There’s a knock at the door and then the sound of it opening.
“Hey,” a man’s voice carries through the hallway. “It’s Patrick.”
“In here!” Declan shouts.
Patrick rounds the corner, carrying an overnight bag.
“I’m here to stay with you,” he says.
Declan’s face grows hard again. I busy myself taking my food off the tray and passing the tray to Declan so he can balance it over his lap with the little legs that extend underneath.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Declan says. “Did Mom put you up to this?”
I avoid his eyes and Patrick’s. Instead, I take a seat in the chair next to Declan’s couch and pick up my fork, digging into the lasagna. It’s really good.
When I hum around a bite, Patrick and Declan’s eyes snap over to me.
“Sorry,” I say around a mouthful. “This is really good. Want some, Patrick?”
“No, thank you,” he says. “I just ate.” He glances at his brother, sizing up his condition, his eyes lingering on Declan’s ankle, which is currently in a splint.
“Sorry about him,” Patrick says. “He’s not used to accepting help. Or being out of commission. Typical first-born.”
“I can accept help,” Declan defends.
“Great. Because that’s what I’m here to give,” Patrick says.
“Declan,” I say with a softness intended to keep my comment between him and me, even though Patrick can clearly hear me. “Maybe Patrick needs to stay with you. He’s concerned. Let him do this.”
Declan looks at me. Then he looks back at Patrick. “Yeah. Okay. If you’ll feel better being here. But don’t think you’re making a habit of it. I’ll get around soon enough.”
“We know you will,” I say.
Patrick silently mouths the words, “Thank you.”
I smile softly at him. Then I finish my lasagna, rinse the plate, find the dishwasher, which is also hidden, and leave Patrick with some basic instructions.
“Are you all set?” I ask Declan before grabbing my messenger bag.
“I’m fine,” he says. Then he looks up at me and corrects his word choice. “I’m going to be fine. I’m not in pain and I’ve got what I need.”
“Good. I’m scheduled to be back here tomorrow.”
“I’ll see you then.”
I turn to leave and Declan surprises me by asking, “Can I have your phone number?”
I turn back around and ask, “Why?”
He smiles, obviously amused by me again. “I’m not asking you out. I just want to send you the door code so you can let yourself in if I’m sleeping—or whatever.”
My face heats. He’s not asking me out. Of course he’s not. I didn’t think he was. But I did wonder why he would need my number.
I drop my bag, pulling out my cell. He recites his number and I send him mine. The front door is shutting behind me when a text comes through with the door code and the words, “Let yourself in. No need to knock.”
I climb into my car and blow out a long breath.
My cell pings again.
It’s a Winona for Hire request. I’ll get to that later.
When I get home, Cass is already there.
“How was it?” she asks when I walk into the kitchen—a normal kitchen where you can see all the appliances and the waters aren’t lined up like little clear-liquid soldiers.
“Well …” I stall, unable to find the words to explain what it was like helping Declan.
“Overwhelming?” Cass asks.
“Yes. At first. And … Well, they have an intercom. And their refrigerator is hidden. And Declan is a wall of muscle.”
She laughs hard. “You are one of a kind. You know that?”
“So I’ve been told. Patrick’s there tonight—against Declan’s wishes.”
Cass smirks lightly. “You definitely got the friendlier O’Connell.”
That’s a funny thing to say. Did I?
“Declan seems friendly.”
“Well, that's good considering you'll be spending a whole lot of time there over the coming weeks.”
I will, won't I?
I picture the neighborhood. Those two looming gates. The scrollwork on the gate to get onto their property—and the double-high doors in that imperial entryway. The marble floors. The intercom. All that luxury will be the scenery of my life for the foreseeable future.
And then I'll go back to normal.
Just a regular woman, secretly feeding a stray cat and taking on goat-sitting jobs as a side hustle.