Survivor Read Free Page B

I.
    Peter set the plant in the center of my little table
and took my walker, propping it against the wall just inside the door.  I
barely ever used the wheeled monstrosity, but I usually carried it with me to
the library in case I needed to stand for a minute to see a higher shelf.
    “Thanks again for helping me get home.  The ladies
will be glad I finally moved the plant.”  It took up a lot of counter space.  I
stretched my arms and sighed.  I had done a lot of re-shelving today and my
arms and shoulders were sore.
    “My pleasure.”  He crossed to the kitchen in search
of water for the drooping plant.  I pointed at the lower cabinets.  “Where I
can reach them,” I explained, and he nodded.  The upper cabinets were mostly
empty.
    He filled a cup with water and gave my dehydrated
orchid a drink.  “You have a very nice apartment,” he said, glancing around.
    The boldness I had felt when I invited him here was
fading, and I fought a wave of embarrassment as his gaze traveled over my
sanctuary.  I wheeled into the living room, and he followed.  “The insurance
company helped to make it accessible for me after my accident,” I said off
hand.
     He sank down on the couch, looking delicious.  I
smiled at him and went back to the kitchen, needing to move.  “Do you want
something to drink?”  At his negative reply, I got myself a bottled water and
set it on the counter.  “Are you staying for dinner?”  Hope warred with horror
as I realized I had nothing to feed a guest.  “I was going to have leftover
spaghetti, but if you’re staying, we could order take out or something?”
    I turned to find him standing right behind me.  “Good
lord, don’t sneak up on me like that!”
    He smirked at my startled reaction.  “Sorry.”  Peter
gestured to the fridge.  “I’m not really hungry, so you just have whatever you
want.”  I hesitated, but I finally pulled out a Gladware container and handed
it to him.
    “Are you sure?  You never eat.”  We had been having
lunch together almost every workday for a few weeks now.  He usually ate
whatever I did, but he never ate more than a few bites.  I let my glance travel
up the lean length of him.  He had a graceful, athletic build- muscular but without
that body builder look.  He certainly wasn’t skinny.  He had to eat sometime.
    He just took the leftovers from me with a chuckle.  “I’m
on a diet.”
    I rolled my eyes and watched him put the stuff in
the microwave.  He punched buttons hesitantly.  Geez, maybe he really didn’t
ever eat.  Or maybe he was just used to eating something better than microwaved
leftovers.  Sometimes- no, most of the time- I felt way outclassed, but he
never seemed to mind. 
    Peter sat at the table with me while I shoveled in
the leftovers.  I finally got him to agree to a glass of orange juice, but that
was it.  I swear I never saw him drink it.  One moment it was full, the next it
was empty.  When I was done, he put my dishes in the dishwasher then stood
looking around my kitchen.  He didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave, and I
cleared my throat awkwardly.
    “Uh… since neither one of us has to work tomorrow,
do you maybe want to stay and watch a movie?”  I looked down, nervously picking
at the seam of my pants, and tried not to hold my breath.
    “That would be nice,” he said with what sounded like
genuine happiness.
    I made my way to the living room and Peter followed. 
I guiltily opened the door to my massive entertainment center, biting my lip
when he burst out laughing at my D.V.D. collection.  I had a lot of down time
these days.
    “This one?”  He reached past me to snatch up my
favorite Jackie Chan movie.
    I grinned.  “Absolutely.”  He didn’t say a thing
about the irony of the wheelchair-bound girl loving martial arts flicks. I put
the movie in and transferred to the couch.  Peter watched interestedly as I
positioned my wheelchair perpendicular to the sofa, moved my leg