Twenty-Five
“ARE YOU SURE YOU FEEL up to this?” I ask Helen as we approach the Applegate’s. “I mean, you’ve had a busy last couple of days.”
Helen smiles at me. “Tom, really, I’m fine. When I’ve felt tired, I’ve rested. And you’ve been hovering over me more than usual. Which is really sweet, but not necessary.”
I open my mouth to protest that it is necessary, that I just don’t want her to overdo things and set her recovery back. But the fact of the matter is that I haven’t been fussing over her for her own good.
I’ve been doing it for me.
I still haven’t told her about my panic attack at Clark’s, and I’m not going to.
I’m not going to tell her about the small one I had driving over to pick her up yesterday from the station.
And I’m certainly not going to tell her about my nightmare
