Feels like Rain (Lake Fisher 3)

Before Melanie died, she’d been the one in the relationship who slept like an octopus. It was like she was all arms and legs, and at least one of them had to be wrapped around me at all times. She loved to cuddle and to fall asleep in my arms. And although I pretended to hate it, I’d loved it too. I’d loved knowing that I’d wake up slick with sweat after having her pressed against me. I’d loved knowing that she was always there next to me, no matter if she was mad at me or if she loved me desperately that day.

The closeness with someone else is what I miss most now. This night spent in Abigail’s bed has left me with regrets, even more than normal, about how my life has turned out. By now, I was supposed to have a steady, successful job. I was supposed to have vacation time built up. I was supposed to have a home with a white picket fence and two or three children. Then it all changed. I had four damp cinderblock walls in a prison cell, with stinky men walking around all the time. It was terrifying at first, but I’d gotten through it.

Abigail moans in her sleep, kicking her feet so that the covers fall off the bottom of the bed. She’s done that several times tonight. I keep pulling the sheet back up, just for modesty’s sake. To be honest, I’d be turned on any other day, but she’s so miserable right now that I can only feel sorry for her.

Abigail’s phone rings on the nightstand. She doesn’t make a move to grab it. I see the word “Gran” on the screen, so I use Abigail’s thumb to unlock the screen, then I walk into the other room and answer it.

“Hello?” I say as quietly as I can.

“Ethan, is that you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” My voice is little more than a whisper. “Abigail is still asleep. She had a restless night, and she’s still running a fever.”

“Did you stay all night?” she asks.

I don’t know how to answer her without it sounding bad, so I opt for the truth. “I was afraid to leave her since she had such a high fever. I’ve been waking her up every few hours to get her to drink something and take fever reducers.”

She snorts out a laugh. “The girl sleeps like a starfish, all spread out. I’m surprised she left any room in the bed for you at all.”

“Oh, no ma’am,” I rush to say. “It’s not like that.” But I know I’m lying, and I hate it. I kind of have a no lies policy in my life. Lies help no one. “I mean, I just stayed there so I could be close to her. To keep an eye on her.”

“Ethan,” she says, her voice serious, “Abigail is a grown woman. She can decide who she wants in her bed.”

That’s just it. She didn’t decide she wanted me in her bed. I just kind of assumed the spot. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, make sure she eats something when she wakes up. If you’ll make some toast points, you might be able to con her into dipping them into the chicken soup that has the little pasta stars in it. You did get some, didn’t you?”

“Yes to the chicken and pasta stars. Toast wasn’t on my list.” I look around and see a loaf of bread on the counter. “But she has some bread. I can make it

work.”

“You take care of my girl, you hear?” she says. “I have to go.”

She hangs up before I can respond. I stare down at the phone. I walk back into the bedroom and find Abigail sitting on the side of the bed. Her shoulders are slumped, and her head hangs low.

“You okay?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “I feel really gross.” She plucks at her shirt. “I think the fever finally broke, though.”

“You want me to run you a bath?”

“That would be nice,” she replies, her voice soft and weak.

I go to the bathroom and turn on the water in the old tub. It takes forever to get warm, but that’s how all these old cabins are. When the tub is nearly full, I go out and find her still sitting on the side of the bed. “You need some help to get there?”

She shakes her head. “I can do it.” But she still doesn’t move.

“I’m going to nickname you Speed Turtle,” I say with a laugh. I go to her and take her hands. She gets to her feet with a groan.

“I’m fine,” she insists. “Better than yesterday.” She looks around. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost eight.” The sun came up just a little while ago.

“Don’t you have to get to work?”

I shrug. “I’ll get there eventually.”

“Don’t hang out on my account.” She walks into the bathroom and weakly pushes the door shut behind her. It hangs open about an inch. I peek through the opening and see that she’s slowly pulling her clothes off.