Free When Summer Comes by Brenda Novak Page B

look convinced that he was as fine as he said, she didn’t inquire further. She dusted off her knees and got to her feet. “I’ll get it for you. After we have breakfast.”

6
    C allie turned on some music while she made fried potatoes, omelets and toast. She’d always enjoyed cooking, but having someone to fix a meal for was even more fulfilling. Had she been on her own, she would’ve settled for toast and juice, since she often felt nauseous after a big meal.
    “You don’t have to go to so much trouble.” Levi spoke from where he was cleaning up his bedding in the other room.
    She didn’t bother to come up with a response. She’d awakened this morning feeling inexplicably happy just to be alive. Part of it was the sunshine pouring into the old farmhouse. She loved it here, was glad she’d moved. But Levi was another reason she felt so good. Trying to help someone else gave fresh purpose to her own life. It also dragged her attention away from her various worries and complaints—and the inevitable, should she be unable to find a liver donor.
    “Did you hear me?” he called.
    “I heard you,” she replied.
    “Why didn’t you answer?”
    “Because I’m going to make what I’m going to make.”
    “Okay, forget I said anything.”
    She smiled at the pique in his voice. She had no idea what his story was, or if he’d tell her before he left. Most likely not. She didn’t care either way. He had a right to his privacy. She simply liked thinking that she’d made a positive impact on someone, if only in a small way—giving him a place to stay, some food to eat, a few days of peace.
    “We need to go into town so I can get a new rod for your shower,” he said.
    “Why not take the one from the other bathroom?” she suggested.
    “We have to get parts for my bike, anyway.” Having folded his bedding, he was now standing in the doorway. She could tell by the sound of his voice, but she didn’t turn.
    “Callie.”
    She was pretty sure it was the first time he’d called her by name. She cast a glance over her shoulder. “Hmm?”
    “What’s really going on with you?”
    The gravity in his voice told her this wasn’t a casual question. He could sense that something wasn’t ideal. But she didn’t want him to know about her diagnosis any more than she wanted anyone else to know. She couldn’t say why. Maybe she was afraid he’d see her as flawed or defective. Why would he choose to spend even a few days with a woman who wouldn’t be around in a couple of weeks or months? And she didn’t want him to go. She was intrigued enough to hope he’d finish out the week.
    “What’s really going on with you? ” she asked, turning his own question back on him. “There’s got to be a reason a handsome, capable guy goes rambling around America.”
    When he grunted, she took it to mean “Touché,” and chuckled to herself.
    “You’re not like other women,” he said.
    She got a plate out of the cupboard. “Are you like other men?”
    “I like the same things they do.”
    There seemed to be added significance to this statement, as if he was talking about liking women, liking sex, but she chose to ignore that—just as she chose to ignore the way he was looking at her. “Good. Then you should enjoy your breakfast.” She carried his omelet to the table before returning to the counter for his toast and hash browns.
    “Where’s yours?” he asked when she sat down with only half a glass of juice.
    She’d been so eager to see him eat that she hadn’t prepared anything for herself. “I’m not hungry.”
    “You didn’t eat much last night.”
    “I was too tired.”
    “And now?”
    “I ate earlier.”
    He glanced around the kitchen, but said nothing about the lack of evidence.
    She nodded toward his food. “Go ahead while it’s hot,” she said. Then she stood. “I’ll shower so we can drive to town when you’re finished.”
    “I’d feel better if you’d eat.”
    She couldn’t imagine why it