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He nods, like he understands, then fingers his scruffy jaw as the elevator doors open on the parking level. He extends his hand to let me leave the car first.
We walk in the lot, the muggy air hitting my lungs like a cloud of ghosts. When I face him again, he’s wearing a stern look.
“Goodnight,Ms. Ackerman.”
I stare at him as he gets in his Tesla; I don’t know what model it is other than it looks expensive. He drives out of the parking lot, my mind reeling from our brief encounter.
That night I call Claire.
“We spent a good hour outside.”
“That’s good,” I say to her. It sounds like she’s been able to convince Harv to do something I can never get him to do: go outside. A part of me wants to hate her for it while the other part of me wishes to thank her for it.
“Yes, it is! The training is going well. He walked a few feetseveral times today. I can already see that he’s getting stronger since I started.”
Her comment toys with my heart. It both breaks it and heals it all at once. It blooms it with pride yet also guilt. Because he needs someone, like Stefan, like Claire, pushing him to move daily.
It has nothing to do with him walking and everything to do with avoiding nerve pain and blood clots, and building muscle mass.
“Claire . . . thank you.”
“I’m . . . well, you’re welcome . . . but I’m only doing my job.”
It pains me to think he might never let me see his walking progress since he views it as a failure.
He’s got it all wrong.
Even if he never walked again, his happiness and our future together are all I care about.
She also tells me that they played cards. My frown doesn’t dissipate, even long after our call. She can do her job as long as she doesn’t overstep.
He never plays cards with me.
Though at some point I should come to terms with the fact that it’s my own paranoia that’s keeping her with him full-time despite his type of disability. His parents agreed, too, that more daily training and activities, whether mental or physical, might be in his best interest.
I spend the whole night wondering if he hates me. If he’ll ever tell me about his walking sessions. If he’ll evershowme.
But I know the answer.
And by God, does it hurt.
Realization that Fridays are no fun here quickly hits me at work.It’s busier than all other days, and after Katherine approved my report, she let me do my own thing since Monday is her last day.
I answer call after call, transferring them to Damon, and sometimes his voice comes through the phone, spiking the little hairs on my body, the sound enticing other body parts.
I also check his inbox to respond to some emails and flag others that require his attention. I’m booking a boardroom for an upcoming meeting when Katherine comes to my desk.
“Dear, did you have lunch?”
I shake my head. “Too busy.” I didn’t even get the chance to text Harv today.
“Go. We’ll finish training this afternoon.”
I eat and head back early, knowing a few more tasks await me before the end of the day. At my desk, Katherine shows me a few things that I need to take care of for Damon’s conference, and I take note of it all.
“Ackerman . . .”
Both Katherine and I jump slightly at the voice coming from his office. I turn and see Damon staring at me with hooded eyes like I’m responsible for all that is evil in the world.
