He chuckles. “I live to serve,” he replies. He lifts the sheet from the foot of the bed and covers me up to my waist. “What can I get you?”
“Nuffin’,” I mutter into my pillow.
“I’m going to run home and get my book, and then I’ll be back, okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say. “You can go. I don’t want you to get sick too.”
“Give me five minutes. I’ll be right back.”
I wake up a few hours later, and I find him lying next to me on the queen-size bed. He’s on the outside of the covers while I’m on the inside. He has one arm behind his head and a book lies open, upside down, on his chest. A small lamp burns on the bedside table. His mouth is open a little, and tiny snoring sounds come from his nose.
He jerks awake when I move. “Are you okay?”
“No. I’m sick.” I try to get up, but my body hurts too bad, so I just moan as I roll onto my back.
“What can I do for you?”
“Nothing.” My voice is not more than a whisper. That’s because it hurts to talk. It hurts to breathe, too, but I’m doing it. Out of necessity.
“It’s time for more meds.” He sits up and drops his feet to the floor. I see his shoes sitting next to the wall. “Do you want me to cut them up again?”
“Only if you want me to take them.”
He chuckles as he goes to the kitchen, and he comes back a minute later with a fresh glass of purple juice and some more pain relievers.
I take them from him. “How long has it been since I took the last ones?”
“About three hours, but when I called your grandmother she said I could alternate the two different kinds I bought, and you would feel better.”
“You talked to Gran?” I take the pill pieces from him and drop them onto my tongue one by one, then swallow them quickly.
“I did. I used your thumb to open your phone, and then I used it to call her. Hope you don’t mind.”
I try to lift my eyebrows at him, but even doing that hurts so I let them fall. “Would it matter if I did?” I lift my hand in front of my face so I can look at it. “You used my thumb?”
“Guy’s got to do what a guy’s got to do.”
“You didn’t look at my naked pictures, did you?” It’s a feeble attempt at a joke. There aren’t any.
“No, but if you have naked pictures on your phone, I’ll wait until you go to sleep to use your thumb again.” He leans closer to me. “So go back to sleep now, okay?” He laughs wickedly.
I would laugh too, but it hurts too much. “I feel terrible.”
“I know.”
I suddenly lift my head. “Where’s Mitchell?”
“I took him back to Ma’s right before dark.”
“I thought you were keeping him.” I reach up to adjust my pillow under my head, but my arms won’t cooperate, so I just let them fall. He reaches behind me, lifts me a little, and adjusts my pillows, then lays me back down.
“Better?”
“Much.” I roll toward him. “So why did you take Mitchell back?”
“I need to get a cabin set up for him. Paint. Get a bed for him. I don’t want him to have to sleep on a blow-up mattress. When I get him, I want it to be right, you know?”
I nod, because talking hurts too much.
He gets up and comes back with a cool cloth from the bathroom, damp with water. He very gently cleans my face with it, and then folds it and lays it on my forehead.
“That feels nice,” I murmur.
He presses the purple juice into my hand. “Drink this and then you can go back to sleep.” When I do nothing, he lifts the straw to my lips and slips it inside. I drink until it’s gone, even though it hurts like crazy, because he looks so proud of me while I do it. “I’m taking you to the doctor tomorrow if you’re not feeling better by morning.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” He looks at me like he’s surprised.
“What?”
“Your grandmother said you were a terrible patient.”
“Gran lies.” I close my eyes and try to clear my mind. “Are you staying?”
“Unless you want me to go,” he replies, only a little hesitation in his voice.
“I don’t really care.” And I don’t. He can stay, he can go, or he can leave and come back. I am past the point of caring.
“Good,” he says. “Because I wasn’t leaving either way. You’re stuck with me.”
I can’t think of anyone I’d rather be stuck with.
23
Ethan
I haven’t shared a bed with a woman since Melanie. And that was a long time ago.
I find myself fascinated by the little noises Abigail makes, and I keep jerking awake to make sure she’s still breathing if she ever gets quiet. I haven’t had anybody but myself to take care of in a really long time. It feels nice to have spent yesterday evening and most of the day today with Mitchell, and then to get to spend time with Abigail too. Really nice.
Before Melanie died, she’d been the one in the relationship who slept like an octopus. It was like she was all arms and legs, and at least one of them had to be wrapped around me at all times. She loved to cuddle and to fall asleep in my arms. And although I pretended to hate it, I’d loved it too. I’d loved knowing that I’d wake up slick with sweat after having her pressed against me. I’d loved knowing that she was always there next to me, no matter if she was mad at me or if she loved me desperately that day.
The closeness with someone else is what I miss most now. This night spent in Abigail’s bed has left me with regrets, even more than normal, about how my life has turned out. By now, I was supposed to have a steady, successful job. I was supposed to have vacation time built up. I was supposed to have a home with a white picket fence and two or three children. Then it all changed. I had four damp cinderblock walls in a prison cell, with stinky men walking around all the time. It was terrifying at first, but I’d gotten through it.
Abigail moans in her sleep, kicking her feet so that the covers fall off the bottom of the bed. She’s done that several times tonight. I keep pulling the sheet back up, just for modesty’s sake. To be honest, I’d be turned on any other day, but she’s so miserable right now that I can only feel sorry for her.
Abigail’s phone rings on the nightstand. She doesn’t make a move to grab it. I see the word “Gran” on the screen, so I use Abigail’s thumb to unlock the screen, then I walk into the other room and answer it.
“Hello?” I say as quietly as I can.
“Ethan, is that you?”
“Yes, ma’am.” My voice is little more than a whisper. “Abigail is still asleep. She had a restless night, and she’s still running a fever.”
“Did you stay all night?” she asks.
I don’t know how to answer her without it sounding bad, so I opt for the truth. “I was afraid to leave her since she had such a high fever. I’ve been waking her up every few hours to get her to drink something and take fever reducers.”
She snorts out a laugh. “The girl sleeps like a starfish, all spread out. I’m surprised she left any room in the bed for you at all.”
“Oh, no ma’am,” I rush to say. “It’s not like that.” But I know I’m lying, and I hate it. I kind of have a no lies policy in my life. Lies help no one. “I mean, I just stayed there so I could be close to her. To keep an eye on her.”
“Ethan,” she says, her voice serious, “Abigail is a grown woman. She can decide who she wants in her bed.”
That’s just it. She didn’t decide she wanted me in her bed. I just kind of assumed the spot. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, make sure she eats something when she wakes up. If you’ll make some toast points, you might be able to con her into dipping them into the chicken soup that has the little pasta stars in it. You did get some, didn’t you?”
“Yes to the chicken and pasta stars. Toast wasn’t on my list.” I look around and see a loaf of bread on the counter. “But she has some bread. I can make it
work.”
“You take care of my girl, you hear?” she says. “I have to go.”
She hangs up before I can respond. I stare down at the phone. I walk back into the bedroom and find Abigail sitting on the side of the bed. Her shoulders are slumped, and her head hangs low.
“You okay?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I feel really gross.” She plucks at her shirt. “I think the fever finally broke, though.”
“You want me to run you a bath?”
“That would be nice,” she replies, her voice soft and weak.
I go to the bathroom and turn on the water in the old tub. It takes forever to get warm, but that’s how all these old cabins are. When the tub is nearly full, I go out and find her still sitting on the side of the bed. “You need some help to get there?”
She shakes her head. “I can do it.” But she still doesn’t move.
“I’m going to nickname you Speed Turtle,” I say with a laugh. I go to her and take her hands. She gets to her feet with a groan.
“I’m fine,” she insists. “Better than yesterday.” She looks around. “What time is it?”
“It’s almost eight.” The sun came up just a little while ago.
“Don’t you have to get to work?”
I shrug. “I’ll get there eventually.”
“Don’t hang out on my account.” She walks into the bathroom and weakly pushes the door shut behind her. It hangs open about an inch. I peek through the opening and see that she’s slowly pulling her clothes off.
“I’m going to make you some toast points and some soup. You think you can eat it?”
“Maybe,” she calls back, her voice weak. The water in the tub makes a splashing noise as she settles into it.
“You okay?”
“Yep.”
I walk to the bathroom door and peek inside just to reassure myself. She’s in the tub with her back to me, so all I can see is her naked shoulders. “Do you need anything in there?”
“No, I’m fine. Thank you.”
I look in the closet and find some clean sheets and pillowcases and then I strip the bed. She wasn’t kidding about gross. She must have sweated the fever out for the past twenty-four hours. I make up the bed and replace the quilt. It’s the same quilt her grandmother had on the bed twenty years ago. It’s a little more threadbare, but I can tell it’s dearly loved.
I pop a couple of pieces of bread in the toaster and pour a can of soup into a bowl so I can stick it in the microwave.
I can hear Abigail in the bathroom splashing around, so I know she’s all right.
A gentle knock sounds on the front door. I open it to find Katie standing there. “How is she?” she asks.
“I think her fever broke, but she’s still pretty sick. I’m going to try to take her to the doctor in a little while, I think.”
“That’s probably a good idea.” She looks around. “Has she eaten anything?”
“Not yet. But I’m hoping she can eat this soup.” I hold the bowl aloft to show her that I made something. The toast pops in the toaster, so I pull it out and cut it into tiny triangles.
“Where is she now?”
“Taking a bath.”
“I’m going to go check on her.”
I nod and she walks away. I listen as she gently knocks on the bathroom door. “Abigail, it’s Katie. I just came to check on you.”
“Katie, can you help me with my hair?” she calls back, her voice as weak as water. “I’m just so tired.”
Katie goes into the bathroom and closes the door. A few minutes later, she comes back out and gets a clean t-shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms from the drawers, after she rummages around in them for a minute trying to find what’s where. She goes back in and closes the door behind her.
I would have helped her with her hair if Katie hadn’t shown up. I would have actually liked to have done it. I’m finding that I quite like taking care of her. In a few days, she’ll go back to being her normal independent self and she won’t need anything I can offer. Not that I can offer much anyway, aside from myself. And that’s not enough for anyone.
Katie walks out of the bathroom and Abigail follows, her damp curls in disarray. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful. She almost takes my breath away. “I’m going to call my doctor in town and see if I can get her an appointment,” Katie tells me. “I’ll text you a time.” She turns to face me again after she settles Abigail under the covers. “You’re okay with taking her?”
“Well, I’m not sure what Jake has for me to do today,” I prevaricate. But deep inside I know if I don’t get to take her, I’m going to be pissed.
“Nothing critical. Take care of her. That’s your number one priority. Everything else can wait.” She brushes Abigail’s hair from her forehead and lingers there for a moment, testing to see if she has a fever. “She’s still pretty warm.” She picks up the rolling thermometer and runs it along Abigail’s forehead. “One-oh-two-point-four. It’s never fun to be sick when you’re all alone,” Katie says quietly, more to Abigail than to me.
I carry the little TV tray that I’d set up to the bed. It’s one of the same trays that Abigail and I used to eat from when her grandmother would let us eat on the couch. It’s a metal tray with Loony Tunes characters on it. I open the legs of the tray, set it across Abigail’s lap, and pick up the spoon.
“I can do it,” she says. I hand her the spoon.
“Well, I’m going to go call the doctor,” Katie says. “I’ll text you in a little bit, Ethan.”
“Sounds good,” I say. “And thanks.”
Abigail is still sitting there holding the spoon but not eating, and she looks like just sitting is wearing her out. I take the spoon back and load it up. I open my mouth as I get the spoon close to hers like I did with Mitchell when he was a baby. She rolls her eyes at me, but she eats. And then she eats a couple of toast points and about half the soup by herself.
Her jaw starts to quiver. “I’m so cold,” she says. She starts to pull the covers up under her chin, but it makes the tray rock so I quickly pick it up and move it off the bed. Then I force some more fever reducers on her, while she complains the whole while, but she finally takes them.
“What can I do to help you?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she whispers, her voice hoarse.
“Want me to get in with you?”
Her eyes meet mine. “Would you?”
Every survivalist magazine ever written has touted the benefits of sharing body heat. Like I needed that excuse.
“Of course.” I walk around the bed, and she rolls to face away from me. “How close do you want me?” I ask her, unsure about how intimate she wants this to be.
“As close as you can get.” Her teeth chatter.
I practically wrap myself around her, one arm over her waist as I pull her back against me.
“Can you take your shirt off?” she asks quietly.
“Yeah.” I pull it over my head and pull her back against me again. She hums out a sigh of contentment.
“That’s so much better,” she says. Her jaw is still quivering, and although she feels warm to me, I can tell she’s not. I reach down and lift the back of her shirt so that we’re front to back, and she lets out a sigh. “Even better,” she whispers.
My phone dings from its place on the nightstand. I roll over, pick it up, and look at it. It’s just Katie telling me the address and that the appointment is at twelve-thirty. I text her back really quickly so she knows I got it. Then I wrap myself around Abigail again.
“We have to go to the doctor at twelve-thirty,” I say quietly.
“Okay.” She lifts her head about an inch and stares at the sheets. “Did you change the sheets?”
“The other ones were gross.”
“I’m going to owe you big time after all this,” she says quietly and settles down again.
I smooth her hair down between us so that the curly strands aren’t going up my nose. “You don’t owe me anything.” I
lean forward and press a kiss to her shoulder, lingering there long enough to smell the lemon scent of her. “This is the most fun I’ve had in a really long time.”
“Your life must have been shit for the past few years then.”
Yeah, it was. But it’s not right now.
After a minute or two, her teeth stop chattering. I try to lift my arm from around her and roll away, but she grabs my arm and whispers, “No, please stay.”
So I stay. I stay so long that I fall asleep holding her. And it’s the best sleep I’ve had in a really long time.
24
Abigail
“It’s just a virus,” I tell Gran later that day.
“Not the flu?”
“Test was negative for the flu.”
“Not the kissing disease?”
“Not mono, Gran. I already told you.”
“No strep throat? You did say your throat was hurting.”
“No, not strep. It’s just a regular old virus that will pass on its own.” I take a sip of the purple juice that Ethan had left for me when he left to go to work, after he’d brought me home from the doctor. He’d all but carried me back in the house. I’d worn one of his comfortable old hoodies the whole time we were gone, and I still have it on. I lift it to my nose and smell Ethan. It’s a mix of earth and the past, a smell that’s so familiar to me that I’d know it even blindfolded.
“Well, that boy sure has taken good care of you,” she says.
I smile to myself. He really has. Ethan has been the best.
“While I was there, I got the doctor to do an STD test,” I say quietly. I cover my eyes with my palm when I say it.
“A what?”
“A test for sexually transmitted diseases.”
“They called it VD in my day. Nobody wanted a dreaded venereal disease.” She gets quiet. Then she finally says, “I’m glad you got tested. I don’t think you have anything to worry about, but you never know, not with what Charles did.”
“I’d rather know than not know.” Ever since Gran brought it up, I’ve worried that something dark and dangerous is lurking inside me, just waiting to take over as soon as I test positive.
Feels like Rain (Lake Fisher Book 3) Page 16