Page 47 of Hearts of Wealth

I put the tray over his lap and set up the salad. He looked at it and tried to push it away. “I need actual food,” he muttered.

“What’s going on, John?” I asked, my tone firm. “You can’t keep giving Catherine grief like this. She’s already under enough stress as it is. She’s trying to take care of you. The nutritionist at the hospital gave her a list of foods you’re supposed to eat. She’s following the menu.”

“I know it said I can eat fish and chicken,” he muttered. “I’m going to wither away on this shit.”

“She’s not a short order cook.”

“I’ve only ever needed meat and potatoes,” John grumbled, stubbornly crossing his arms.

“Maybe before, John. But things are different now,” I reasoned, trying to keep the frustration from my voice. “Your body needs other nutrients to heal. You’re in this condition because your body has decided meat and potatoes isn’t going to cut it.”

John fixed me with a steely gaze. “I can’t survive on lettuce.”

“You’re not as invincible as you believe yourself to be,” I retorted, trying to keep the conversation light despite the underlying severity.

John chuckled dryly at my comment. “So I’ve learned.”

“I know she’s feeding you more than lettuce,” I chided. “Just give her this. She’s trying to take care of you.”

John sighed, his shoulders slumping as he reached for the fork. “I know, I know,” he muttered, his voice filled with frustration. “But it’s hard, Timothy. Seeing her like this breaks my heart.”

I felt a pang of sympathy for him, knowing how much he cared for Catherine. “I understand, John,” I replied, my tone softer now. “But you need to stay strong for her. She needs you now more than ever.”

John sighed. “You’re right,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “I’m just not used to being down. She’s been trying to take care of me for years. I just want her to get out there and live her life.”

“You need to take care of yourself, for her sake,” I told him.

He nodded. “I’ll try,” he promised. “I know she worries.”

“Maybe I’ll ask her if she’ll let my chef prepare some meals,” I said.

John snorted. “Don’t count on it. She’s stubborn.”

“I wonder where she gets it from,” I said with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

John chuckled, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards for what seemed like the first time in days. “I guess you’ve got me there, Timothy.”

We sat in silence for a while, the only sound being John’s slow chewing as he begrudgingly worked his way through the salad.

“I mean it about the chef, though.” I broke the silence after a while. “I can have him cook everything to the hospital’s specifications. And he’s a professional. He can make even rabbit food taste good.”

John grunted noncommittally, not taking his eyes off his plate. He was still a proud man, and I knew it would take a lot for him to accept outside help, even from me. But I could see the quiet resignation set in his eyes. He knew he couldn’t keep fighting Catherine on this.

“That sounds reasonable,” he finally admitted, spearing a piece of tomato with his fork and popping it into his mouth. “But I still don’t think you’re going to convince Catherine to accept it. I think this is payback for making her eat cooked carrots all those years.”

I laughed. “Maybe a little. I’ll talk to Catherine about it. Let’s not make this any harder than it needs to be, all right?”

John gave a grunt that may have been an agreement before he finally finished his salad.

“Can you do me a favor?” John asked.

“Absolutely,” I answered. “What is it?”

“Take Catherine out,” he said. “She could use a night away.”

“I’m not sure she’s going to go for that,” I said.

“I don’t need a babysitter. I just lay in bed sleeping or watching TV. She needs to get out of the house. It’ll be good for both of us. I need a little peace. I went from the hospital being woke up every hour to ask if I was sleeping fine to coming here and Catherine waking me up every hour to ask if I’m sleeping. I need a break.”