Shrink

25

I hand over exact change to the woman at the cash and take the paper bag she offers me.
An even trade.
I turn and leave the bakery, pushing open the door and back into the cloudy weather. The mostly empty street leads me back to the motel, and with my small pile of books tucked under my arm, I feel like a schoolgirl carrying lunch and her books.
The sharp wind tugs at the stray hair that has fallen loose from my tuque and twirls the wet strands into curls. I push open the door and allow the warmth to seep back into my skin before proceeding to the common room, where Sweets is sitting with his leg propped up on a foot stool, his fingers playing with the stitches on his forehead.
"I brought breakfast," I chirp, proffering the paper bag to him before sitting back down.
He smiles before accepting it in his lap.
"Hey, I was looking through the bag of stuff they sent me home with at the hospital, and I found this coin in my belongings," Sweets says, pulling the familiar pelican token out of his shorts' pockets. "it's not mine."
I almost forgot, and I grin sheepishly despite myself.
"Someone left a small paper bag of these outside my door when I was recovering," I say absently, shedding my coat. "I thought it was you at first."
"We should check this place out, seems fun," Sweets says, grinning as he deftly rolls the coin in between his fingers. "I love boardwalks."
I begin to voice my agreement when a thought flutters lightly from the recesses of my mind like a moth into light, and lands with a solid thunk like a bar of metal into the spotlight.
"But Daisy," I manage, before I can help myself.
Sweets seems to grow dark at the mention of her, and I shake my head as if to clear the air of a bad smell.
"Forget it," I say, watching as the tension leaves his shoulders and he slumps back against the floral couch pillow.
"I don't want to see her right now," he mutters, and I don't push. "she has her work and I have mine, but at the moment, I'm on sick leave. So what I do is none of her concern."
This admission startles me, but I manage a nod of understanding.
After a moment, I hand him one of the two books I got, and sit down opposite of him on a similarly floral love seat.
The sound of Sweets' phone ringing startles me out of my reverie. I look up to find him fumbling with it before reading the number and declining the call with a button push.
I raise an eyebrow at him when his eyes catch mine, and he shakes his head.
As soon as we begin to read again, his phone rings for a second time, and when that's declined in the same manner, a third, fourth and fifth time.
He shuts off his phone.
There's a few minutes of peace when suddenly there's a distant ringing, and the concierge appears at the french doors.
"A call for Mr Sweets at the front desk," he says, and waits for one of us to respond.
I sigh, and stand up, frustrated.
"I'll get it," I murmur, setting down my book.
I cross the drawing room and into the lobby, and pick up the receiver.
"Hello?" I ask hesitantly.
I don't have time to breathe before Daisy's voice explodes across the line.
"Papillon! Hi, I was just wondering where Sweets is? I've been calling all morning and I want to make sure he's okay, I mean I went to visit him and found out he's checked out of the hospital?"
I give myself a good shake before responding to her, hearing her breathing anxiously on the other end of the line.
"Yeah, he checked himself out, he bought some crutches and just hobbled himself home," I respond, laughing, though I'm not entirely sure if my omission about helping him is entirely wise.
"Oh thank god! I showed up with some of his things to take him back home, but he wasn't there! You can imagine my confusion. Is he okay otherwise? Taking his meds and getting rest? I hope he's not eating too much sugar, my dietician says that too much sugar can slow a recovery," she babbles excitedly.
I suck in a breath and manage another half-hearted laugh.
"Yeah, he's in his room, taking a nap right now, maybe that's why you couldn't reach him," I respond, catching a glance of Sweets sitting up and chewing on some pastry.
"Oh," her voice falters slightly. "well I'm glad he's recovering."
"Me too," I answer, glancing back.
Sweets is deep in his new book, crumbs littering his lap.