The New Neighbor by Leah Stewart Read Free Book Online Page B

her across the pond: I recognized a mystery.
    She had me roll over and went to work on my legs and feet. My thoughts dissolved. I drifted away.
    Later I woke to find myself alone in the room. I got down from the table carefully, and dressed, and went out to find her back in the chair she’d chosen earlier, making notes on her form. She stopped when she saw me and closed her folder. “How do you feel?” she asked.
    I nodded. I couldn’t manage to speak. She rose and met me where I was. “Let’s sit down.” She put a gentle hand under my elbow and guided me toward the chairs. I could feel her hesitating over which one to plant me in.
    “The armchair,” I said, and she eased me down into it, and then, without asking, lifted my feet one at a time and put them on the ottoman. It took me a moment to notice that after I was settled she disappeared. I lifted myself out of the chair a little so that I could look round for her.
    She came toward me out of my own kitchen, holding a glass of water. “You should drink this,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind.”
    “Mind?” I accepted the glass. My arm floated it to my mouth.
    “Me rummaging in your kitchen.”
    “Oh,” I said. “No.” I smiled dreamily at her. “I feel as though you gave me a sedative.”
    She smiled. “It can be like that sometimes,” she said. She pulled her chair over and perched on the edge of it, leaning forward with her eyes on me.
    “I’m sorry that chair is so uncomfortable,” I said. “Like something from an old schoolhouse.”
    “That’s fine,” she said. “How do you feel?”
    “I feel wonderful,” I said. I couldn’t help confessing this. “I feel like I’m melting into the chair.”
    She nodded, seriously, like a doctor hearing my symptoms. “Nothing feels bruised or achy?”
    “Nothing,” I said. “Absolutely nothing.”
    “Are you still able to get in and out of a bath?”
    Normally I would’ve found this question intrusive. I just said, “I have a rail.”
    “Good,” she said. “You might want to take an Epsom salt bath, to keep from being achy later. I was gentle, but since you’re not used to massage . . . And drink lots of water.”
    I raised my glass to her and then dutifully drank from it.
    “Can I get you some more?” she asked, and because it was so pleasurable to be tended, I let her. Then she went into the guest room to pack up her table. I dozed a little, I think, because the next thing I knew she was touching me on the shoulder. “Are you all right in that chair?” she asked, her voice low like she was trying not to wake me. “Or would you like me to help you up before I go?”
    “Oh, I’m fine,” I said. “I hope you don’t mind if I don’t get up.” Her table was folded and waiting by the door.
    “Not at all,” she said. She straightened and looked at me as if giving me one last chance to speak.
    I said, “You do remind me of that friend, you know.”
    “I hope that’s good,” she said.
    I nodded. I fumbled for my water glass on the side table and took another sip.
    She said, “Let me know if you—”
    But I interrupted. I blurted, truth be told. “I was in the war.”
    She nodded as if this were to be expected. But I hadn’t meant to say that. “Which one?” she asked.
    “The second one,” I said. “World War Two. I met my friend in basic training.”
    “Basic training?” She looked puzzled, which was gratifying, because from puzzled it’s a quick step to curious.
    “We were nurses,” I said. “Army nurses. They put us through basic training, like soldiers, even though in the war we never pitched tents or did close-order drill or any of that. Ours was at Fort Bragg.”
    “In North Carolina,” she said.
    “Right,” I said. “Her name was Kay.” To my astonishment, my eyes grew watery.
    She nodded again, that irritatingly serene acceptance. “Was she killed?”
    “No!” I was so startled I nearly shouted. I wiped without grace at my eyes. “No, she