Chapter 31
Theo
Four days had passed since Mrs. Chen’s surgery, and we still didn’t know why she needed the procedure—whatever it was—in the first place.
Jeremiah had called the hospital every day check on her, but she’d been frustratingly vague about the details, insisting only that “everything went fine” and that she’d be “right as rain in no time.”
Today she was finally coming home. Jeremiah suggested we bring her dinner when he went over to feed Cuddles. That seemed like the neighborly thing to do—and honestly, I was curious to see how the ongoing drama between Jeremiah and his canine nemesis was progressing.
“Button, remember that Mrs. Chen just had surgery,” I said as we crossed the street, carrying a casserole dish that contained what I hoped was an appetizing tuna noodle bake. “She’s going to be tired and probably sore, so we need to be really gentle and quiet, okay?”
“I can be quiet,” Debbie protested, then immediately proved herself wrong by calling out, “Mrs. Chen! We brought you food!” as soon as we reached the front porch.
Cuddles trotted up to the gate with what could actually be described as enthusiasm, her tail wagging the moment she spotted Jeremiah.
“Well, look at that,” I murmured, watching in amazement as Jeremiah reached over the fence to scratch behind her ears. “You two have come a long way.”
“We’ve reached an understanding. I offer unending bribes and food, and she leaves my uniforms alone,” he said, grinning as Cuddles leaned into his touch. “Haven’t we, girl?”
As if to prove she still had standards, Cuddles gave his hand a gentle nip that made him yank back, but her tail never stopped wagging and her ears remained relaxed. It looked like more of “that’s enough for now” than the aggressive “get away from my territory” of their early encounters.
Mrs. Chen appeared in the doorway wearing a bathrobe and moving with the careful, measured steps of someone whose body had recently been through trauma. Her face was pale, and there were dark circles under her eyes that spoke of pain and medication and interrupted sleep.
“You didn’t have to do this,” she said, though her smile was genuine as she ushered us inside. “I could have managed.”
“Nonsense, you need to get off your feet, missy,” Jeremiah scolded warmly. I couldn’t believe the transformation between woman, dog, and delivery man. “And when’s the last time you had a proper meal?”
“Define proper,” she said with a weak laugh.
The living room had been rearranged to accommodate her recovery.
A nest of pillows and blankets lay spread on the couch, a TV tray table sat within easy reach, and what looked like enough prescription bottles to stock a small pharmacy were lined up on the coffee table like toy soldiers prepared to shoot any infection that dared approach.
“Mrs. Chen, are you feeling better?” Debbie asked, her voice dropping to what she probably thought was a whisper but was really just slightly less than her normal volume.
“Much better, sweet pea, but I’m still real weak. I think those drugs knock me out more than the surgery. But thank you for asking.”
We settled her on the couch with the casserole and some fresh bread I’d picked up from the bakery, setting everything up on the TV tray so she could eat comfortably, but even the minor effort of sitting upright and making conversation was taxing her.
“This is delicious,” she said after a few bites, though I noticed she was eating slowly and in small portions. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”
“It wasn’t any trouble,” I assured her. “My little monster has to eat. I just brought her—and her offering—across the street.”
She managed about half the serving before setting down her fork with a sigh. “I hate this,” she said quietly. “Being weak, needing help with everything. It’s not who I am.”
“It’s temporary,” Jeremiah said gently, reaching out and patting her weathered hand. Something about the simple gesture sent a warmth through me. I couldn’t stop staring at him as he worried over the ailing woman. “You just had surgery. Your body needs time to heal.”
She nodded, but I could see the frustration in her eyes. Mrs. Chen was used to being independent, used to taking care of others rather than being taken care of.
After about twenty minutes, she was visibly drooping, her eyelids heavy and her posture sagging against the couch cushions.
“We should let you rest,” I said, starting to gather the dishes.
“I’m sorry,” she said, sounding embarrassed. “I used to be able to entertain properly.”
“You don’t need to entertain us,” Jeremiah said. “You need to sleep and get better.”
Mrs. Chen looked at him with an expression that was both grateful and hesitant. “Actually, Jeremiah, I have a favor to ask. Another one, I guess.”
“Anything,” he said immediately.
“I know you’ve been taking such good care of Cuddles this week, and I can’t tell you how much that’s meant to me, but .
. .” She paused, looking frustrated with her own limitations.
“I’m not going to be able to handle her for at least another week or two.
The doctor says I need to take it easy, and honestly, just getting to the kitchen exhausts me right now.
She’s a good girl, but without walks and attention, she can get rambunctious. ”
Jeremiah chuckled. “My shirts know the truth in that.”
She smiled weakly as he gripped her hand.
“Of course I’ll keep taking care of her,” Jeremiah said without hesitation. “As long as you need.”
“Are you sure? I know it’s a lot to ask, especially with your work schedule—”
“Mrs. Chen,” he interrupted gently, “it’s not a lot to ask.
Cuddles and I have worked out our differences, haven’t we, girl?
” He glanced toward the window where the dog was staring out at the yard.
On cue, her tail thumped against the hardwood floor.
“Besides, it gives me an excuse to check on you every day.”
“You don’t need an excuse for that,” she said softly.
“I know, but it makes me feel useful.” He smiled. “Plus, someone has to make sure you’re actually eating and not just living on those protein shakes your neighbor keeps bringing over.”
Mrs. Chen laughed, the first genuine laugh I’d heard from her all evening. “Those things are terrible. They taste like chalk mixed with artificial vanilla.”
“Then it’s settled. I’ll be here every morning and evening until you’re back on your feet.”
“What if Cuddles tries to eat you again?” Debbie asked with obvious concern.
“Then Theo and Debbie will come rescue me,” Jeremiah said, winking at me over her head.
“I’ll bring the first aid kit,” I promised.
As we made to leave, Debbie planted herself in front of Jeremiah with the determined expression she wore when she’d made an important decision.
“I’m not done with Willie Wee yet,” she announced. “He has to come home with us.”
I looked at Jeremiah, who was trying not to smile. “Button, maybe Willie Wee has other things to do—”
“No, he doesn’t,” she said with the absolute certainty of a five-year-old who’d already worked out all the logistics. “I want to watch another movie with him. We haven’t finished all the Disney movies yet.”
“All the Disney movies?” Jeremiah raised an eyebrow. “How many are there?”
“A million,” Debbie said seriously. “Maybe more. So we have to watch them all.”
Mrs. Chen chuckled softly from the couch. “Go on, you three,” she said. “And honestly, Theo, knowing you’re right across the street makes me feel better.”
Twenty minutes later, we were settled on my couch, a bowl of popcorn with extra butter in my lap and Debbie wedged between us, this time for Moana.
She’d chosen it specifically because “it has adventure and music and a chicken,” which apparently covered all the essential elements of quality entertainment.
“You know,” I said during the opening number, his arm draped along the back of the couch behind Debbie, “I’m starting to think she’s going to work her way through the entire Disney catalog with you.”
“That’s the plan,” Debbie said without taking her eyes off the screen. “And then we’ll start over with the Pixar movies.”
I caught Jeremiah’s eye over her head and saw the same contentment there that I was feeling.
My fingers found the back of his neck, and the thin line of his lips curved upward as he leaned back into my touch.
This was becoming routine—the three of us on my couch, sharing movies and quiet evenings, creating the kind of domestic peace I’d never really believed was possible.
And that it all started with a misdelivered vibrator and a golden retriever with anger management issues just made it that much more hilarious . . . and perfect.
“I can live with that,” Jeremiah said, settling back against the cushions as Moana began her journey across the ocean.
“Me, too,” I said quietly. When our eyes met again, I saw the same hope there that was flowering in my own chest.