“She’ll be transferred to a lower-level long-term care facility.”
My hand tightened around the phone. “So she stays alive, but loses the program that might help her wake up.”
“I wish I had another answer.”
“So do I,” I said.
I hung up before I cried in Adrian’s hallway.
The next morning, I arrived at his house with my hands shaking so badly I burned his toast.
“You’re smoking up the kitchen,” Adrian said.
“I’ll make more.”
“Kirsten. You’re crying.”
He rolled closer. “Is it Lisa?”
That broke me.
“They’re moving her,” I said. “Not to rehab, like I hoped. Somewhere that can keep her stable, but not give her what she needs.”
“How much?”
“Don’t.”
“How much, Kirsten?”
“Too much. More than I can make. More than I can borrow. More than I can beg without losing the last piece of myself.”
Adrian looked down at his hands.
Then he said, “Marry me.”
I stared at him. “Excuse me?”
“Marry me, Kirsten.”
“That isn’t funny.”
“I’m not laughing.”
“You’re twenty.”
“I know.”
“I’m forty-three. I’m your employee.”
