Someone Is Watching by Joy Fielding Page B

tired eyes toward me. “Gene told us what happened. How are you doing?”
    “I’m okay. There was really no need for you to come over.”
    “I
told
you,” Jade said.
    I decide I like Jade. There’s no pretense or forced concern. “You can go watch TV, if you want,” I tell her.
    “Great.” She is already heading down the hall before her mother or uncle can object. Seconds later, we hear the TV blasting from my bedroom.
    “Turn that down,” Claire yells in her direction.
“Now,”
she adds when nothing happens. The television’s volume lowers a barely perceptible notch.
    “More,”
Gene commands. Then: “Really, Claire. I thought you said you had a handle on things.”
    Claire says nothing.
    “Why don’t we go into the living room where we can talk like reasonable adults?” Gene suggests, as if this is his place and not mine. I bristle, my feet refusing to budge.
    “I think that’s up to Bailey,” Claire says.
    “Sure,” I say. “By all means, the living room.”
    We arrange ourselves on the sofas, Claire sitting beside me on one, Gene sitting across from us on the other. I brace myself for the conversation of reasonable adults.
    “How are you feeling?” Claire asks. “Any pain or infections?”
    “No infections,” I say.
    “Pain?” she presses.
    I shake my head. The pain I have is no longer physical.
    “I see your bruises are fading. Have you been sleeping?”
    “Off and on.”
    “Have the doctors given you anything to help you?”
    I nod, although I don’t like to take the pills they’ve prescribed. I need to stay alert. I need to be vigilant.
    “You need to take them,” Claire says. “You need to sleep. Have you spoken to a therapist?”
    “I don’t need a therapist.”
    “Everybody in Miami needs a therapist,” she says with a wry smile. “I have the name of a good one, if you think you’d like to talk to someone.”
    “I’m tired of talking.”
    “I understand. But you may change your mind.”
    I shrug.
    “Okay. What else can I do for you?”
    “Nothing. I’m fine.”
    “You’re not fine,” Claire says, looking around. My eyes follow hers across the room. Aside from the pillows that Gene tossed to the floor earlier, everything seems to be neatly in place. Maybe there are a few dust bunnies in the corner but … “The windows could use a good scrubbing,” she says.
    “It’s all the construction,” I hear myself say, vaguely remembering getting a notice from the superintendent about window washers coming later in the week to clean the exteriors. “They no sooner wash them, they’re dirty again.” Just like me, I think, wishing everyone would leave so I can hop into the shower.
    “How about the laundry? I could do a few loads while I’m here.…”
    “It’s under control,” I tell her, although my hamper is overflowing. I’ve run out of fresh sheets. I’m all out of detergent.
    “Do you need groceries?” Claire asks. “When was the last time you had something substantial to eat?”
    “Heath brought over some pizza last night,” I say, although it could have been the night before. Or maybe the night before that.
    “You’re way too thin. You need to keep your strength up.”
    “Why? So I can fight you guys in court?”
    Claire gives Gene a wary look. “Please tell me you haven’t been bothering her about that now.”
    “I haven’t said a word.”
    “Okay, here’s what’s going to happen,” Claire says. “I’m going to go through this entire apartment and see what needs doing, then Jade and I will go to Publix and get some food so I can make us supper.”
    “Rita’s expecting me home for dinner,” Gene demurs.
    “Good, because you aren’t invited. Now, give me some money and get out of here.”
    Gene is quickly on his feet, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. “How much do you need?”
    “Three hundred dollars should do it.”
    “Three hundred dollars?”
    “My guess is that Bailey’s cupboard is pretty bare. Come on, little