When in Rome(31)

She points a finger at me. “Which, by the way, you owe the jar forty dollars.”

I groan. I’ve paid more money into that damn jar than my retirement fund. If Annie didn’t donate it all to charity at the end of the year, I’d have stopped indulging her a long time ago. But for whatever reason, us not cussing is important to her, and so…I guess it’s important to me, too. At least when she’s around.

Just as I’m about to slide into the driver’s seat, Annie’s head pops around the truck. “And Noah? Grandma would’ve liked Rae, you know? No matter what you think, she’s got a kind heart. I can tell.” She smiles like she’s reliving a memory. “Grandma always wanted someone like her for you.”

I stare at Annie, trying to mentally bounce her words back to her instead of soaking them in. And then point to the bed of the truck. “Sit back. We’re leaving now.” She gives me a quietly stern look until I tack on, “Please.”

Does everyone in this town know my weak spot? It’s like I have a red-painted target on my chest. They know exactly the person to mention to rip my heart in two.



* * *



—

I pull up the gravel drive to the house and cut the engine. Amelia’s head is only a few inches from my lap and some of her hair is draped across my thigh. She whimpers when I poke her shoulder. “Hey, drunky. Wake up.”

“Imnotdrunk,” she says, cracking her blue eyes open to peer up at me. Shoot, Annie was right. She looks just like a lost puppy right now. I don’t love the protective instincts it’s triggering in me.

“You might as well be,” I say, but she’s already asleep again. That pill and alcohol combo steamrolled her.

I get out and walk around my truck to open her door. Annie hops out of the bed of the truck and stands beside me. “Should we just tug one of her arms until she’s sitting up?”

“Seems like our best bet.”

Annie and I work together to get Amelia sitting upright. Her head lolls back against the glass and her mouth falls open—eyes closed. If we stuck a pair of sunglasses on her, people might think we’re reenacting Weekend at Bernie’s.

“All right, upsy daisy,” I tell Amelia, draping one of her arms around my neck and hauling her out. She gives zero effort—limply hanging off my side and forcing me to hold on so tight I’m afraid I’m going to bruise her. Annie goes to Amelia’s other side, but my sister is only five feet tall (literally, not an inch more) and isn’t much help.

“Screw it,” I say, turning so I can scoop Amelia up in my arms and carry her inside. This is much easier somehow, especially after Annie resituates Amelia’s face so her head is on my shoulder and she’s no longer hanging off me like a dead person. Geez, what a weird couple of days.

Annie runs ahead of me to unlock the door and turn on the lights as I carry Amelia up the front steps, remaining mentally detached from how she feels in my arms and how sweet her hair smells or how her breath feels against my neck. I get her inside and set her down on Annie’s bed, and no sooner than her body hits the mattress does she whimper and clutch her stomach, curling into a little ball with her eyes closed. Is she nauseated? Dr. Macky said it could be a side effect. Again that instinct to protect and soothe startles me.

I look down at Amelia with Annie at my side. We’re both a little unsure of what to do now. Actually, I know what I should do. It’s time to hand this situation over to my sister. She can take care of Amelia since she’s the one who invited her out in the first place. The pop star is her problem now, not mine. I did my duty by getting her seen by a doctor, and taking her somewhere safe—now I can go home and sleep easy.

I should go.

She’ll be fine.

Turns out, I’m not going anywhere except to the corner of the room to push Annie’s reading chair closer to the bed. Next, I go to the bathroom and wet a washrag with cool water so I can dab it across Amelia’s forehead to help with her nausea. Annie watches all this with an overly indulgent smirk.

“What?” I ask her, even though the clip in my voice is clear and I don’t want to hear her thoughts.

She presses her lips together and shakes her head, amusement sparkling in her eyes. “Nothing. Nothing at all. I’m going to go get a shower really quick and try to wash off the smell of Hank’s. Can you dab my head with cool water, too, when I get out? Looks really nice.”

“Shut up,” I say, pretending to try to kick her as she skirts out of the room chuckling. I like when Annie shows fire, though. I wish she’d do it more around other people.

I continue to run the washcloth across Amelia’s forehead, not sure if this is even doing much, but I remember seeing someone do it in a movie once. Come to think of it, it might have been one of those old-timey movies one of my sisters made me watch. And I can’t remember if the heroine was actually sick or just had a fever. Whatever, at least this makes me feel like I’m doing something.

Not even sure why I want to be doing something to help Amelia.

And then she groans again and her eyes crack open. She squints at me almost like she’s trying to decide if I’m real or a dream.

“Feeling okay?” I ask quietly.

“Noah?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

Amelia breathes in deeply and tries to keep her eyes open, but can’t. “Am…I safe?” she asks in a sleepy slur that twists my heart.