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Also spotless.
And the fruit was gone from the middle of the table.
Going to the refrigerator, I pulled it open to take a big whiff, only to smell pure freshness.
Back in the living room, my plant was still alive. Someone had even stuck a self-watering globe in it to keep it hydrated.
“Someone cleaned my apartment,” I said, hurrying past the captain to enter my bedroom, then my bath. Remembering the butt of the joint that Kinsey had left on my balcony, I yanked open the door there and found that it was gone as well.
“What the hell?”
The captain entered my room, holding Kinsey’s suitcase to his chest as if cradling a blanket.
My gaze dropped to it, and I swallowed hard, knowing she hadn’t done this for me either, no matter how much I might’ve wanted it to be her.
“Whodidthis?” I asked with a shake of my head.
The captain only shrugged, looking a little lost. “That Foster kid, maybe?”
My nose wrinkled. “Foster? Why would he…?”
But then I remembered my key suddenly showing up after Oaklynn’s visit—Oaklynn, who was friends with Foster.
Except…
“No.” I disagreed, shaking my head and refusing to buy such incredulousness. “He wouldn’t.”
Becausewhy?
When no answer came, I shrugged past it and packed a bag.
Then I went home with the captain.
* * *
Home was dismal and sad.
All it did was remind me of Kinsey. And the captain was so different now. Losing a child had worn on him. Every smile he tried to send me was laced with pain. It made me wonder if he’d be happier if I went somewhere else so I couldn’t remind him of how he’d losther. I was unsure how to act around him, too worried about hurting him further.
Healing my body wasn’t all that fun, either. Physical therapy kicked my ass every visit.
What’s worse, I’d never gotten around to switching my rehabilitation services over to a center in Galveston, so I had to return to Westport every Wednesday.
The captain would drive me down the night before, leaving me at my apartment. Then he’d pick me up again the next day.
On my third trip back, I brought a load of empty boxes with me to start packing my things because I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to live in Westport again.
I would’ve been too far behind if I’d tried going back to school mid-semester, so the university had agreed to let me keep the same schedule without paying tuition again in the fall. I really appreciated how understanding they were, due to my circumstances, but…
I’d lost a sister here.
This town was different now. I didn’t think I could return in the fall.
So I started in the kitchen, piling some pots and pans into boxes before exhaustion claimed me, and I had to take a nap.
I barely woke in time to call a ride and make it to my rehab. But Chad worked me so hard that I ended up crying afterward because I was in so much pain. I returned to the apartment, feeling like a lost, worthless wuss, and then I slept again, only for the captain to call that evening with his regrets to let me know he wouldn’t be able to pick me up until the weekend, which gave me another full day to keep packing.
On Friday, I flipped my wall calendar to March, a week after it had already begun.
