Chapter 20: Sternum Precautions

They discharged me on Sunday with a heart pillow, nine pill bottles, and a sheet of rules.

The hearing date sat on the fridge door under a magnet, circled in Lorcan's square handwriting: Friday, ten o'clock.

He had not mentioned it once since the lobby, so I had started counting the days for him.

By Monday night my apartment smelled like soup, and a retired racing greyhound was lying on my couch.

"He's not allowed on the couch," I said from the armchair.

"He knows that," Lorcan said from the kitchen. "He also knows you can't get up to stop him."

Moss lifted his long head, looked at me with total calm, and arranged his legs.

Biscuit sat on the cushion beside him, wearing his SUPERVISOR bandanna, and gave me a long look.

"Traitor," I told the beagle.

Biscuit thumped his tail once and did not move.

Lorcan came out of the kitchen with a bowl, a spoon, and a folded napkin.

He set them on the tray in front of me.

He had taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

His forearms were doing something to me that I had no business feeling four days after having my chest opened.

"Eat," he said.

"You sound like my text."

"The text worked."

"The text was fine."

I took a spoonful, and then another, and he sat on the ottoman across from me, close enough that our knees touched.

It was a small touch, and neither of us moved away from it.

"Show me the incision," he said, after a while.

"You've seen it."

"I want to see it today."

"Is this medical?"

"Partly."

I pulled the neck of my shirt down.

The line ran straight down my breastbone, closed with clean strips, dark pink and tight.

He leaned forward and looked at it for a long time.

He didn't touch it.

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