Page 154 of Darling Venom
“I’ve always loved them, of course,” she continued. “It’s how Kellan and I connected. We loved the same books. We shared recommendations. He’d send me some stories he wrote, and I would beg for more. Some people don’t want any reminders of the person they’re grieving, but I crave them. I see Kellan in every word I read, and it keeps me going. I wish I could find that thing for you, Tate. The thing that keeps you going.”
“You should hate me.”
“I don’t hate you.” I heard her get up and grab things. “I resent you. There’s a difference.”
“Not a big one.”
Sudden noise came through her end. Cars honked. People buzzed around her. A dog barked.
She was outside. Somewhere crowded.
Charlie didn’t disagree with me, instead switching topics. “You’re a doctor.”
“Last I checked.”
The background noise faded. She said something to someone, but it came out muffled, like she had her hand covering the phone’s mic.
She returned to our conversation. “What’s a side effect?”
“Are you sick?”
“Not in the way you’re thinking.”
“Do you have a specific side effect in mind?”
“No. I meant in the context of an illness or disease or cure. In the general sense. Like how you would use the term at work.”
“It’s a physical or mental feature indicating a condition of disease.”
“I think that’s what we’re suffering from. The side effects.”
“Of?”
“Of love. Grief is a side effect of love. It lasts as long as the love lasts. You get used to the pain until you’re reminded it’s there. That’s how it always works. What you need is a distraction.”
“What I need is a cure.”
“Cures have side effects, too, doc. And some conditions? Well… they’re incurable.”
And then she hung up.
I didn’t have time to let her words sink in before the doorbell went off. I stomped down the stairs, hoping to God it wasn’t Terry, or I didn’t know what I’d do. It rang again, followed by a rough knock.
I swung the door open, meeting Charlie’s doe eyes.
“I’m going to do something you’re not going to like,” she warned, stepping past me.
“Then don’t do it.”
“You said you need a cure. I’ll do you one better.”
For a second, I thought she’d kiss me.
Instead, she pulled the manuscript out of her bag, raised it beside her head, and declared, “I have a distraction.”
“I’m not reading it.”
She nodded, as if she’d expected as much. “I figured you hadn’t and wouldn’t.” That only made me more curious about the contents. “I’m commandeering your place.”
