The Oconnor family doctor visited, prescribed medication, and told Callie, who stayed behind, “Mr. Oconnor is suffering from overwork; the root cause is psychological.”
Callie glanced at the man lying in bed. In the past, she would never have believed that Nelson had a psychological issue. How could such an arrogant person have one?
“You should talk to him more and try to improve his mood.”
Callie stayed, using a towel to dab water on his forehead repeatedly until three in the morning.
He did not sleep well, sweating constantly, and his brows were furrowed, indicating he was unhappy even in his dreams.
Callie wiped him down, sometimes thinking that even this strong man could be sad and in pain after losing his closest person.
At three in the morning, Nelson’s fever finally subsided. Callie couldn’t sleep. She sat by the bay window. It was autumn, and the hibiscus in the yard was blooming fervently at night.
She agonized over the time until it was almost dawn. She made up her mind and walked to Nelson’s bedside, picking up his personal phone.
He still used the phone case she had chosen for him. The background had four characters she had written herself: “Everything Better Than Expected.”
He had been puzzled at the time: “Why not ‘Everything As Expected’?”
Callie had seriously explained, “A book I read said that ‘Everything Better Than Expected’ means it’s even better than ‘Everything As Expected.’ It’s the best blessing.”
Nelson had smiled and accepted the phone case she had put on without his permission.
The edges of the phone case had oxidized, indicating it had been used for a long time. Callie hadn’t expected that he had never taken it off.
She opened the phone case and placed a small recording pen inside. It was so small that it was almost undetectable. Even if discovered, it wouldn’t be suspected as a recording device.
Even if questioned, she could answer well.
Callie closed the case again and glanced at the sleeping man, her eyes lowering.
Nelson woke up at dawn. He opened his eyes to see Callie asleep by the bedside, her side profile full and round, her lips slightly pouted.
He watched her for a long time until the servant delivering breakfast knocked on the door. He gestured for silence.
Nelson casually picked up his phone from the bedside table, opened the camera app, and impulsively took a photo of her.
He was sick for three or four days, staying in the old mansion with no contact with the outside world.
Callie stayed by his side, and neither of them mentioned the past.
When Nelson felt better, he would sit in the yard sunbathing. A cat from who-knows-where would come over, and he enjoyed playing with it.
The news of his grandfather’s death had spread within their circle but had not been announced to the public. Occasionally, Nelson would browse the news and, on an ordinary afternoon, instructed Anthony to release a statement.
After making the call, he turned off his phone. At that moment, Callie appeared with badminton rackets and asked with a smile, “Do you want to play?”
The autumn wind puffed up his coat. Nelson reached out to take a racket, asking nonchalantly, “Do you know how?”
“Are you kidding? I was taught by an expert.”
Nelson’s faint smile faded slightly as he thought of Jamir. She had once said that he had taught her many things.
However, facing him in a match, Callie remembered that arrogant yet sunny boy who had taught her badminton hand-in-hand.
He often said, “Maeve, there’s no one in Ylosea dumber than you.”