Gillian entered her bedroom to find Cal rifling through her underwear drawer. She bid goodbye to the person at the other end of the phone and while she replaced the device in her pocket Cal turned to look at her like a child caught with a hand in a cookie jar. She raised an eyebrow at him.
"My underwear drawer? Really?"
"I'm just helping you pack."
"Lots of other stuff to pack, honey."
"Who was on the phone?"
She shook her head at him and moved to take over from what he had claimed to be doing as she answered him.
"That was Max's social worker. They wanted to ask if I would be interested in being his therapist."
His eyebrows shot up at that. "And you said?"
"I said no. I can't be his therapist. He's too attached to me. I told them I'm happy to help in his rehab, but I can't do that in an official professional capacity. I'll stop by to see him once or twice a week until he makes a bit more progress, then drop it to monthly visits for a while."
"Like a therapist?"
"No. No Cal, not like a therapist. Like a friend."
"Alright. You are alright? Yes?"
"Yes. I'm alright. I'm going to take him to see the baby tomorrow too. We think it should be me, considering I'm the one who took him away."
"That makes sense. Think it'd be ok for me to drop by and see him too? Max, I mean. Wouldn't mind checking in on the baby though."
She gave him a look of cautious interest then. Wondering about his interest in the child, but happy to facilitate.
"Of course. Come with me tomorrow."
He nodded and then continued nosing through the contents of her bedroom as though he hadn't spent countless nights there over the previous few months.
"And what exactly are you looking for?"
"Never you mind, just keep watch in case Emily comes in."
END.
