thewordofweb

There are few places I genuinely want to be lately, ever since I found what I did. Two days on the boat had been all I could muster before my guilt kicked in and I returned home to make sure Joe wasn't going mad. I still am nowhere near myself and I drift more than before, as if imagining what being out five miles from shore would be like and dying.

Dying. But not by bullet or by mortar blast. Not by enemy fire or something honorable. No, in my case, I just vanish. Before I even realize where I've gone, I'm on Grant's doorstep and I knock at the door, brow furrowed in thought.

"You in?" I call out, half-hoping he's not and I can continue wandering (maybe take the boat out for an afternoon sail) and half-hoping he's here so maybe I can pretend to understand what I've found and why I can't seem to shake it, at all.

It's already sunset by the time I'm up at the Compound in the khaki shorts and the blouse Joe found, all ruffles and blue satin and white polka-dots that make me feel like I'm stuck in someone's poor fashion parade. I'm due for a movie in an hour or two, but I still want to drop in on Grant with the food I've picked up from the kitchen and the books I'd brought (Alice in Wonderland, Emma, and War and Peace).

Of course, that we're nearing seventy-two hours and I'm still the way I am frightens the crap out of me, but worrying won't do anything, I guess. Riding it out is the best method and having Grant here and having him remember will help that. Better than talking about feelings with Skinny, at least.

I round the corner for the clinic, holding up the plate of food on top of the pile of books. "Got a delivery for you," I say, one half of my mouth tipping up in a smile. "Hope you like jell-o."