Page 157 of Shelter
Alberta took the sound as an invitation to sit on the foot of my bed. “Want to hear about my day?” she asked brightly.
In spite of myself, I grinned. Since Alberta truly hated her job, I knew she was offering me a little misery of her own to keep me company.
“Always.”
“I won the Triple Crown today,” Alberta bemoaned.
“Oh, God.” I sat up straighter, now both disgusted and a little intrigued. TheTriple Crownwas the distinction Alberta gave to any day she had to deal with three different types of body fluids at school. “I hesitate to ask, but which three?”
Smiling with mock triumph, Alberta ticked them off on her fingers. “Snot, puke, and poo.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Poo?” I glanced down at my mug with a grimace. “And you made me hot chocolate? Before taking a shower?”
Alberta rolled her eyes. “Oh, I showered. I came home at lunch. See?” She gestured to her scrubs, which were lavender and made her eyes sparkle. “This morning, I was wearing periwinkle. The periwinkle ones are now in the dumpster, thank you very much.”
“Aww.”
“I know. But I could never wear them again after John-Carl Hollier actually grabbed the hem of my shirt with his shit-streaked hand after going number two,” she said, her face pinched in disgust. “I thought I was going to have to set myself on fire.”
“Oh, Bertie!” I groaned and laughed. Alberta pulled a face, and I laughed harder.
“I swear, E., if we can’t open our own place in two years, I’m going to do something drastic.”
“Like what?” I said, eager to keep her talking.
She turned her hands up. “Sell insurance? Work at the DMV? I don’t know. Anything has to be better than this.”
I finished my hot chocolate as she told me about her other misadventures — being sneezed on and narrowly missing the splash zone of a sick kid.
After I’d heard every horrific detail, Bertie stood up from my bed and stretched. “Want Chinese delivery tonight?”
“God, yes.” I sighed. My head felt better, and my heart was definitely still broken, but I’d missed lunch in the search for Ava, and a night of lo mein noodles, egg rolls, andWill & Gracewas about as much as I could hope for.
“The usual?” she asked.
“The usual.”
“Got it. I’ll call it in if you’ll keep an ear out for the delivery guy. I think I need a second shower.”
I forced myself to stand. “Yeah. Sure thing.”
“Great.” Alberta moved to my door and looked me over one more time, her eyes soft with compassion. “I have a feeling it’s going to be all r—“
“Not talking about it,” I blurted, reverting to five-year-old me as I pressed my hands over my ears.
Alberta just gave me a withering look — but one that still told me she loved me — and slipped into the hallway.
I stood alone in my room. My muscles felt stiff and my skin raw, as if I were coming down with the flu. But I knew it wasn’t the flu. It was a case of CWW. Cole Whitehurst Withdrawal. And I might just have it for life.
I eyed my bed with a longing glance, but then I forced myself to move to my dresser and pull out some pajamas. Pajamas, Chinese, and a dose of “Just Jack” would help. Besides, I had a job to do. Listen for the delivery guy. I could do that.
I could stay up all night if I wanted. And I looked forward to going to work in the morning. Surely, after leaving early, I could count on a backlog of orders to take care of. I’d be too busy to think about anything.
Too busy to feel anything, either, if I were lucky.
And then I’d have twenty-four hours under my belt. I thought of Ava and her struggle with sobriety. Getting Cole out of my system had to be easier than heroin, right?
Five minutes later, I padded into the living room in my old fuzzy duck slippers and my softest pair of flouncy sleep shorts and matching tank. I grabbed the green fleece blanket off the back of the couch and was about to flop down and drape it over me when I heard a creak outside our front door.
