Free The System #2 by Shelbi Wescott Page A

he did remember snapshots.
    After Lucy and Grant left, his pain increased and he began to show signs of infection; he slipped further away from consciousness—and by the time the doctor arrived, he was sleeping most of the day; everything passing by in hazy dream. He wondered if he’d ever get his memories back from the past week. It seemed unlikely.
    “Because they are both related to medicine? Also, that presupposes that I like my mom and admire her choice in occupation,” Ainsley replied.  
    Ethan stared at her. He wished she would leave, but she made no movement toward the door. “Right. Good point. Okay,” he said. “So, then why not a teacher, social worker? Car wash operator?”
    “I was kidding,” she added straight-faced. “I both like my mom and admire her choice in occupation.”
    He blinked. And shook his head. Who was this girl? Trying to shift, Ethan winced; Ainsley put a warm hand against his bare shoulder and eased him into a sitting position. She fluffed up pillows and tucked them behind him, adjusting until Ethan nodded and motioned for her to stop. Then she handed him a juice box, the straw already inserted and bent for him, like he was a child. He recognized the box, with its popular cartoon character mascot, as the twins’ favorite post-school drink. Before taking a sip, he closed his eyes and tried to picture their faces.
    “So,” Ethan continued, “You’re a nurse and a comedian?”  
    “Comedian? You think I’m funny?”
    “That…it was…my own…look, I was just trying to make a joke.”
    Ainsley cocked her head, the edges of her mouth twitched. “ That was your attempt at a joke? Then you should leave the funny to me.”
    Ethan smiled.
    They heard a knock on the door and their heads turned in unison. Ethan was expecting the doctor, but it was Joey who stuck his head inside. He looked around and saw Ainsley; he mumbled something and then moved to leave, but Ainsley motioned for him to come inside.
    “It’s fine, Joey,” Ainsley said and she moved around the edge of the bed and then flung Ethan’s door open wide. “Don’t lurk.”
    “I wanted to see if he was okay. I brought a, um…I brought a…” he took a step inside and waved a homemade card and a small bouquet of picked flowers in the air. He looked to Ainsley and then to Ethan, and then lowered his head. “Just, um, a small get well gift. But…”
    “It’s sweet,” Ainsley said and reached to take the flowers from Joey’s hand. He gave them to her and shrugged, then shoved his hands in his pockets and looked down at the floor, rubbing his sock against the bedroom carpet. “Did you need anything?” she asked him.
    Ethan looked at the girl—how she stood with her hands on her hips, the flowers sticking out from her sides, her eyebrows raised expectantly. She took the role of his guardian and nurse with severe seriousness. When Joey didn’t answer right away, Ainsley spun away from the visitor and tucked the flowers on Ethan’s desk, then she handed him the get well card—crafted from some of his mother Maxine’s scrapbook paper and colored pencils. Ethan might have appreciated the sentiment more if he had any real memories of Joey. To Ethan, Joey was like a long-lost relative: somewhat familiar, but difficult to place in the current realm. All he knew was that Joey was the connection between Spencer and the doctor: a Raider by trade. Beyond that, Ethan didn’t know anything about him.
    Joey was skinny and baby-faced. He could have been eighteen or thirty-five, it was hard to tell; he had dark brown eyes and mop of wavy brown hair, a strong, square jaw, and a long neck. He squinted when he smiled, and he had a contagious laugh—a high-pitched giggle that belied the ruthless Raider persona.
    That was the thing about the end of the world: you could never predict an individual’s behavior. When the danger became apparent and everything crumbled, people had a way of surprising you.  
    There was nothing