4. Chapter Four
Chapter Four
Larken
Adrian is doing his best to keep me from hearing him send Regan away. He sounds perfectly reasonable, considering I haven't been out of bed longer than ten minutes at a time since the last time she was here. I don't even know how long ago that was. Adrian is just letting me sleep and that feels like the best thing to do.
“I brought her a basket of her favorites, Adrian,” Regan argues. “Just let me take it up to her and I'll go. I know she doesn't feel like having company, I just want to check on her.”
“She's fine and sleeping, Regan. I'm taking care of her, I promise. I just don't want her to wake up if she doesn't have to. She's grieving and needs to rest. I'll have her call you when she wakes up, alright?”
I can hear Regan's forceful sigh all the way up here. “Fine,” she clips. “Fine. At least give her this. And make sure she calls me.” Then the door closes and I hear her car door slam before the engine starts.
Adrian doesn't immediately bring the basket upstairs. Maybe he thinks I actually am sleeping. I've only been downstairs a handful of times in the past couple of weeks, maybe now is a good time to venture down. Maybe I'll feel more like myself if I make myself be myself. I can get out of bed. I can put one foot in front of the other and walk downstairs to get the basket Regan brought. And I'll call her afterwards to thank her. I can do these things.
I sit up on the side of the bed and ignore the way my body protests and the way my head swirls. I probably should be eating more than I am, which is another reason to make the effort to go downstairs. There are treats in that basket. Regan knows what I like best. She's been giving me the space I need to process and grieve, but she's still finding a way to take care of me. Logically, I know I'm not truly alone. I have Adrian and I'll always have Regan. It's just hard right now.
I stand up, putting my hand on the heavy headboard to help me balance. I haven't missed enough meals that I should be this shaky, but I've also been sleeping a lot. I need to take better care of myself. Dad wouldn't be impressed with my current state, not at all. I can hear him now telling me to get my jumping beans in gear. The memory of his voice saying those words to me hurts as much as it feels good. How long is it going to be like this? I don't think I have any more tears to cry, but the sob still feels like a knife when I choke it back.
Downstairs.
I'm going.
And I'm going to eat whatever is in that basket.
Then I'm calling Regan.
And I'll feel better.
I shuffle to the bedroom door and twist the knob. The light from the bathroom is spilling into the hallway and I move toward it. Small steps. After I pass the bathroom I come almost immediately to the top of the stairs and I grip the rail.
Downstairs.
The basket.
I'm fine.
Except I'm not. A sudden wave of dizziness crashes down on me and I have to sit down on the second step before I fall down the rest of them.
“Adrian!” I call, resting my head against the wall. “I need help!” I close my eyes and will the spinning to stop and call much softer, “I'm sorry. I'm dizzy.”
Within a minute he's rushing up the stairs and scooping me up into his arms. “It's alright, Larken. I've got you.” He carries me upstairs and puts me right back into bed, then he tucks the blankets in all around me again.
“I'm sorry,” I whisper. “I just wanted to come downstairs. I heard Regan.”
He brushes my hair back from my face and looks down at me with the sweetest expression. “She came by, but I thought you were asleep. What happened on the stairs?”
I close my eyes and allow myself to enjoy the way his hand feels pressing against my forehead. His skin feels much colder than mine. I don't think I have a fever and I don't feel sick other than the weakness and dizziness, but the coolness of his touch is wonderful. “She could have woken me up. She's always allowed.”
“I know,” he sighs. “What happened? You said you were dizzy?”
I nod. “I was doing okay and then everything started spinning. I don't know. I don't feel sick.”
“Hmm,” he cups my cheek and then tilts my chin up so that I open my eyes and look up at him. “Let me get you something. I'll bring you a snack and maybe some tea. Does that sound good?”
I nod. It doesn't, but he expects me to think it does. “Adrian?”
“Yeah, babe?”
“Thank you for taking care of me. I promise I'll be better soon.”
~
I am not better. Not sooner or later. Weeks have gone by and I'm still dizzy. Weak. Groggy. Every time I move or try to walk, it feels like I'm fighting against water, and my head feels like I'm in slow motion. It's like this all the time. Adrian says I'm still in shock due to losing my Dad, but I'm beginning to think that isn't it. And I'm starting to lose patience with myself. I can't let this go on any longer, but I can't seem to pull myself out of this fog.
Adrian is afraid to let me go downstairs by myself. I don't blame him. I'm just getting dizzier and dizzier. I think there's something wrong with me, but every time I mention calling the doctor Adrian assures me that it's just part of the grieving process. He's been home less and less with him carrying my weight at the office. I couldn't possibly handle the company in my current state and he's doing his best. He brings me a stack of papers every Friday to sign. I'm supposed to read through them, but it feels like there's a wall of smoke between the words and my mind and I can't focus on them or process them the way I need to. It's so much easier, and quicker, if Adrian just gives me the rundown and I sign what needs to be signed or tell him what needs to be different before I can sign off on things. I don't know what I'd do without him.
I've got a stack of them in front of me right now. I have no idea what they are. Pay raises. Internship agreements. Office supply orders. Maybe a new hire or a new client. I've been looking at the words for what feels like twelve long years. I have to pull myself out of this. I'm supposed to be running Vincent Solutions. That's what my father wanted. That's what I should be doing, not sleeping or hiding in bed all day. I know it has to be exhausting for Adrian, too. Going back and forth taking care of me and the company is too much for him. It isn't fair.
I look over at him sitting at the desk. He's texting someone. He's been texting a lot recently. The thought of him possibly cheating on me played through my mind for half a moment before I discarded it. Adrian isn't that kind of man, he'd ask for a divorce before he'd cheat. “Hey,” I call softly.
He looks up at me and smiles. “Hey.”
“It might save time if you signed all these,” I sigh. “I'm trying, but it feels like I'm trying to read through mud.”
He laughs and shakes his head and comes over to sit on the bed next to me. “Even if that was true, it wouldn't work. It has to be your personal signature or it doesn't count. This is good for you. It keeps you active with the company, which is very important right now.”
I know he's right, but I still don't know half of what I'm signing off on.
I feel significantly worse a few days later. I've gone from sleeping all the time to not sleeping at all. I'm exhausted and jumpy, but every time I close my eyes I feel like I'm falling and I keep jerking myself awake. I can't keep much food down either. That's likely due to exhaustion, too, but knowing that doesn't make it feel any better. Adrian tries his best to rush home after he leaves the office and I can tell my problems are causing him to have troubles of his own.
He's irritable. Adrian is never irritable. Sure, he can be frustrated or aloof sometimes, but this is beyond that. I keep apologizing, but I can't pull myself together. The doctor keeps calling to reschedule the appointments I keep making. Something is wrong with me. Something more than grief or shock.
Adrian has bad news when he comes home. We lost one of our bigger clients today. One of the documents I had signed was for an approval that went against one of the constraints of their contract with us. I never would have signed off on something like that.
“It's my fault,” I whisper.
He looks at me, his mouth drawn tight. “How is this your fault? You haven't been up to handling everything. You can't be expected to remember every single word of every single contract.”
“It's too much for you to handle on your own,” I say louder. “I need to get back to the office.”
“You can't stand up for longer than a minute, Larken,” he scoffs. “How are you supposed to lead a board meeting or schmooze a client if you're stumbling around and confusing words?”
A spark of anger, the first I've felt in weeks and weeks, narrows my eyes. “That isn't fair. I've had a hard time since I lost my father.”
“Your father died over three months ago, babe. I don't think that's it.”
I lick my lips, my brows pinching together. “I don't know what else it could be.”
He gives me one of those indulgent smiles that I hate so much. “Maybe the stress triggered something.”
“Maybe,” I agree. “I don't understand why the doctors keep canceling appointments.”
“You've canceled a few,” he tells me. “Maybe you're afraid to find out the truth. Either way, I'm here. I'll take care of you.”
I just look at him. I don't remember canceling any appointments. I wouldn't. “When did I cancel an appointment?”
He gives me another of those smiles. “A couple weeks ago. They called me to confirm because you canceled on the app. They were concerned because you've missed so many appointments.”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“It's alright, babe. You don't need to get upset. You always get sick after you get upset. I have a great dinner planned for us tonight. I've been thinking about hiring a home nurse to be here with you when I'm at work. It would make me feel better.”
“I have to see a doctor, Adrian,” I press. “I don't need a nurse.”
“You need some kind of help, Larken. I can't be here all the time.”
“I know that,” I snap. “I don't need you to be here all the time.”
“Really? Then go downstairs right now and make dinner. I'll stay up here and wait.”
I gape at him. “I don't understand why you're acting like this.”
“Because you need a doctor, but you cancel every appointment I make. You can't take care of yourself but you refuse help. You're confused. Unstable. I'm doing everything I can with your father's company, but I have to run things by you because that's what is specified by the lawyers and the will.”
I only grab onto one part of that. “I'm unstable?” I hiss. “I'm unstable? There is something wrong with me and you won't take me to a hospital or a doctor. I don't even know where my phone is to call an ambulance for myself.”
That's very unfortunately true. I have no idea where my phone is. It disappeared a while ago. I've spent so much time crawling around the house searching for it.
“You told me to get rid of it, Larken.”
I shake my head. I would never do that.
“You did,” he insists. “You were tired of all the calls after your Dad died and you told me to get rid of it.”
I shake my head again, slowly, and my breath catches shallowly in my chest.
“You don't remember, do you?”
“I wouldn't–”
He barks a laugh. “You don't. You aren't remembering a lot of things. You wouldn't take your medication if I didn't bring it to you.”
That's something else. I did see a doctor right after I lost my Dad. I remember that. He gave me something for anxiety. But I thought it was only supposed to be for a couple weeks. “Maybe I don't need it anymore.”
Adrian rolls his eyes. “You do, babe. You do this every time you get upset. I'm only trying to take care of you.”
Do I? I don't remember doing anything. Am I really losing as much time as he's telling me I am? I've never had any of the problems I'm having before. “I don't understand, Adrian. I don't know what you're talking about.” And I'm starting to feel shaky and slow again. Confusion isn't the only thing creeping over me right now. I'm starting to be afraid.
Adrian takes my hand in his and brings my knuckles to brush against his lips. “I know, sweetheart. I know. I'll help you.”