Christmas Therapy
Page 42
Heather didn’t respond but her eyes bugged when she recognized a male voice.
“Hello, Ms. Diana.”
“Allen,” her mother replied. “Nice to see you. Heather, I thought you canceled your appointment.”
Did she? Sitting up, she cupped her forehead. “I thought I did.”
“No problem, I can change the date,” he said.
Heather opened her mouth to respond, but she only dodged for another tissue. Her sneeze this time stung her throat. “Wow that hurts.”
“You need to eat something, Heather and take your medicine,” her mother said. “Allen, I have some soup in the kitchen. Make sure she eats and takes the medicine on the counter.”
Heather waved away her comment. “Mom, I can’t taste—”
“It doesn’t matter. I need to run some errands and your sister is at work. Allen, please make sure she eats.”
“Ms. Diana, I would like to help but—”
“Then that’s that. I’ll be back,” her mother said.
Heather heard the front door close. “Allen, you don’t have to; it’s not your job.”
“This must be what I’ve been hearing.”
“What?” Heather tossed her tissue in the trash and grabbed another.
“People in Maple Meadow take care of each other. We may not be doing exercises, but I am here,” he said.
Heather pulled the blanket over her shoulders. “I don’t have the energy to argue.”
She watched as Allen walked to her kitchen. He opened the container with her mother’s soup. He looked around her cabinets. “Bowls?”
She pointed. “Left-hand cabinet.”
“Spoons?”
“The drawer right below it.” She fluffed her pillow and rested her head. Closing her eyes, she relaxed. Feeling movement on the couch, she peeked to see Tinsel. He rested beside her and she rubbed his back. The microwave dinged.
“Okay, here we go,” Allen said.
Heather groaned. “I want to sleep.”
“You want to explain that to your mother?” he asked.
She lifted her chin. “You’re threatening to tell my mother?”
He shrugged. “The classics never go out of style.”
She twisted her mouth but her grin gave her away. “Well played.”
She sat up and Tinsel jumped to the floor. Allen handed her a bowl with a towel.
“You don’t have a fever do you?” he asked.
“No, it’s just a cold.”
“Aches? Runny nose?”