Like a Good Wife (Oahu Naval Officers Book 2)

by Drea Braddock

  It feels like no time has passed, at all, when my alarm blares the next morning. I know immediately that something is wrong. I groan, curling up into a ball.

  “Maka,” Nalani whispers, “are you okay?”

  I’m shivering, my teeth clacking together as I wince out, “Everything hurts.”

  Nalani smooths her hand over my forehead and gasps. “Baby, you’re burning up!” I feel her hop out of bed, the movement of the mattress making me feel a little nauseous, and she comes back a moment later with a thermometer. When it beeps the display reads 103.

  “I need to call Doc,” I groan. Trying to grab for my phone, I knock it onto the floor with my shaking hands. Nalani picks it up, unlocks it and scrolls, pressing something and putting the phone to her ear. I can hear it ringing and I want to bury my head under my pillow as the sound bores into my brain.

  “I need to speak with Doc please, I’m calling on behalf of Lieutenant Cabot.” She waits, tapping her toes lightly on the wood floor and stroking my hair away from my forehead. “Doc? This is Nalani Cabot. Lieutenant Cabot is right here, but I made the call because he couldn’t hold the phone due to the shaking. His fever is 103, he’s wincing like he has a headache, and he says everything hurts. What do I do here? Are you going to make me drive him to the ship so you can physically see how sick he is?” There’s a pause and she studies me, worry lines creasing her forehead. “Good. Ok. I can do that. I’ll call back at this time tomorrow. It can be later than this? Even better. Ok, thank you very much.” She hangs up my phone and turns back to me.

  “I’m going to get you some ibuprofen and then you’re going to go back to sleep, ya?” I don’t even bother nodding, every motion hurts too much. I sit up enough to swallow the pills, with great difficulty, and crash back into my pillow. Nalani climbs back into bed, wrapping her body around me and holding me close as I sink heavily into sleep.

  41

  Nalani

  My Maka looks awful. I should have been concerned the moment he came in and pulled on a sweatshirt and thick socks. The cold doesn’t normally affect him that much and it wasn’t a particularly chilly night. When his alarm went off, I could tell immediately that he was sick. He was shivering while we were wrapped up together, under sheets and a blanket, and he was still wearing all those layers. His eyes looked glassy, and his voice was gravelly. I’m going to let him sleep a little longer, since he normally gets up so early, and then I’m going to take him to the clinic at K-Bay. Doc suggested he could have the flu, and if that’s the case I need to get him seen and get the right medicine in him as soon as possible. I curl up behind him and hold him close, waiting for the ibuprofen to help with his muscle aches and chills.

  He sleeps hard for another three hours. Once he seems like he is sleeping deeply, I get up, shower, get dressed and make coffee. If it’s even possible, he looks worse when he wakes up again. His skin has taken on a sickly grayish tinge and his under-eyes look bruised.

  “Baby, Doc said I need to get you over to the clinic.” He is bleary-eyed but gives me a thumbs up.

  I hand him a travel mug of herbal tea with local honey in it and help him down to the car. He’s leaning on me pretty heavily, which would be entertaining given our height and size difference, if he wasn’t feeling so awful. I don’t like seeing him like this. Ames is always full of vitality. He’s normally the caregiver and it feels foreign to have our roles reversed, even if I am happy to take care of him. Of course, the big clinic is busy, it always is. I circle for a full five minutes before I find a parking spot. I’m thankful that it’s fairly close to a door. I hurry around to the passenger door to help Ames out, the cool wind nipping at my exposed ankles beneath my jeans. I wish I had thought to grab a jacket, but I was only thinking about Ames’ comfort, not my own. I pull his hood up over his uncharacteristically mussed blond hair and wrap my arm around his waist, letting him lean his weight down onto my shoulders. My usually energetic husband shuffles forward like a man three times his age, groaning when the wind blows hard against us.

  We make it inside and I dig awkwardly through my purse for Ames’ wallet and mine. I show our ID’s and go over to the digital kiosk to sign him in and get a ticket. This is my first time in a military medical clinic and I’m nervous I’m going to mess this up and make it take even longer before he can be seen. It looks like active-duty military has priority. I select what I hope are the correct options and take the small paper it spits out, then check the map on the wall to decipher where I need to take him. A young corpsman sees me struggling and comes over to help.

  “Excuse me, ma’am, do you know where you’re going?”

  “I’m not sure. I need to get my husband to the clinic, but I don’t know where active duty should go and, to be totally honest, he’s pretty heavy.” I can feel sweat dripping down my back and my muscles are starting to ache.

  “Let me help you.” He gets his other side and takes Ames’ weight off of me. I sigh in relief. “We only need to get him over to family medicine.” He points to an open waiting area not far from the central information desk.

  “Thank you,” I breathe out.

  The clinic is not as busy as I was expecting, given the state of the parking lot. I suppose, with the pharmacy and all the various services provided here, the occupants of all the cars can be spread out all over this large building. The corpsman deposits Ames in the nearest chair and gives me a kind smile before leaving. I barely sit down when his number is called. This time a kind nurse comes over and helps me with him. Our eight-inch height difference and all of his muscle are no joke when he’s mostly dead-weight.

  I do my best to stay out of the way while they’re working with Ames, but I don’t feel comfortable hanging out in the waiting room, leaving him alone. He is not himself. Plus, if I’m going to be taking care of him, I want all of the information possible, first-hand. We get back to an examination room and he sits on the crinkly paper, hunched over and shivering. I stand in front of him, hugging him and rubbing my hands down his back, trying to give him my warmth. He rests his forehead on my shoulder and his skin is uncomfortably hot.

  The doctor finally comes in and I shift Ames’ weight backward so I can slip out of the way again, over into an empty chair by the wall. Everything is quick and efficient, the way I imagined a military medical clinic would be run. Ames’ fever is still at 103. They swab to do a rapid flu test and leave us in the room. I go back to holding him. Less than fifteen minutes later we have the positive results for the flu and a prescription called into the pharmacy across the room. The walk over there isn’t quick, but I manage to get Ames into a chair and go through all the steps to get him a number for the pharmacy. And we wait again. By the time we have the Tamiflu, are loaded up in the car, and driving back home, I feel like I’ve run a 5K. I stop in the Aikahi shopping center and get a big bowl of ramen we can share.

  Ames collapses on the couch the moment we’re home, skin damp with sweat.

  “Ames, do you think you can eat something?”

  He swallows thickly, his eyes heavy. “Maybe. I feel gross. I’m so cold, but my clothes are all sweaty and damp. It’s making me colder.”

  I take a moment to review our options. “How about we take a shower first? Then I’ll get you warmed up and comfortable and you can take your medicine and try to eat some broth.”

  I help him up, struggling to get him into the bathroom after holding up his weight all morning. I am going to be so sore tomorrow. He sits heavily on the edge of the tub, and I turn the water on, allowing it to heat up while I undress him. I undress quickly and climb in, helping him under the spray. He’s shivering and exhausted. I wash his skin as quickly as I can and help him lower himself down into the tub. It’s not lost on me that our roles are reserved, and he was much, much better at this than I am.

  I redirect the spray to keep him under the water and wash his hair too. I’ve never been so glad to have a full tub instead of just a shower stall. The hot water seems to feel good, so I leave him the
re and get out, drying off and dressing myself before hurrying out to strip and remake the bed. Once that’s done, I turn off the shower and help him dry off and dress in clean sweats. It is strange seeing Ames this quiet and worn out. At least he’s not fighting me, he allows me to take care of him without complaint. I had worried he wouldn’t be willing to relinquish his control and let me take care of him. I get him to sit on the edge of the bed and prop up all the pillows to help him recline back. Once he’s settled against them and covered up, I pull the extra blanket out of the closet and put that over him as well.

  “Is that better, Maka?” He nods, eyes closed, and head tipped back.

  I bring over water and his first pill, helping him to take it before dishing up a small bowl of broth from the ramen. With me carefully feeding him, he manages to eat a third of the bowl before signaling he doesn’t want anymore. The sky is gray and moody, the air blowing through the windows is cool, and the interior of our apartment is perfect for napping. I turn to take the dishes over to the sink and Ames latches onto my wrist, his skin hot and dry.

  “Stay with me?” I press a kiss to his forehead, praying his fever will come down.

  “Of course, Baby. I’ll be right back.” I put his bowl in the kitchen and stick the ramen in the fridge. I can eat later. Ames is starting to doze as I climb into bed next to him, but the moment I lie back he rolls over, putting his head on my chest and curling himself into me. I slide down a little, so I can rest my head against his, running my fingers through his hair.

  He nuzzles his face into me, his speaking voice rough, but still clear. “Love you, Lani.”

  I freeze, my fingers entwined in his damp hair. What? Was that real? Did he mean that or was that merely the fever talking? Could Ames truly love me? My heart is racing as quickly as my thoughts, but Ames is asleep, his warm breath tickling my chest.

  42

  Ames

  For four days, I was completely laid out by the flu. Physically, I was absolutely miserable. The first day, in particular, is a haze. I have some fuzzy memories of seeing a doctor, but mostly it’s all napping and hurting. The only thing that kept it from being absolute hell was the fact that I had Nalani taking care of me. Before this, our dynamic was more me taking the role of planner/doer/caregiver. I definitely don’t mind being that guy — I want to do anything and everything to take care of her. It was a welcome change, though, to give up all control to my wife and feel confident that she was there for me. She fed me, clothed me, helped me shower and hobble to and from the bathroom. She held cool cloths to my burning forehead when my fever spiked, made sure I took my medicine, and held me while I slept. Throughout all of that she still managed to clean the apartment and wash the bedding. I like to think of myself as very detail-oriented, but I’m not sure I would have thought about how nice it would be to sleep in fresh sheets after fever-sweating through them. She’s so thoughtful.

  I also found out, after I came out of my fever-haze, that Nalani had been checking in with Doc regularly. I woke up, panicked, the second evening, thinking that I had been absent from work without talking to anyone. It was such an intense relief to find out that my command knew I had the flu and that Nalani had been checking in, letting them know how I was doing.

  She has been so good to me over this week, and I cannot help but love her even more. I’m lying in bed, slowly coming out of a heavy sleep, when I hear what I swear is my mama’s voice. Confused I crack open one eye to find Nalani sitting on the couch, holding her phone up in front of her. That must be what I heard, but it still doesn’t make sense to me. My eyes drop closed again, the effort to hold them open too much. Being sick really took it out of me. I keep listening, trying to figure out what is happening while still being too tired to sit up or open my eyes.

  “Hi, Mrs…I mean. Shoots! I don’t actually know what to call you. Your last name isn’t even Cabot.” Nalani sounds flustered and adorable.

  “Joanne is just fine. It’s Manning…my last name. But please, call me Joanne.” Mama’s voice is warm and slow, like the molasses she uses to make ginger cookies.

  “Ok. Joanne then. It’s nice to see your face! I’m sorry I haven’t reached out to do this more.”

  “You too, Nalani! And don’t worry about it. I know you two are busy and settling into newlywed life. I am happy to be talking though. I hope I’ll get more opportunities to get to know you better.”

  “I feel the same way. I called today, specifically, because Ames is sick. He’s recovering from the flu, and it really knocked him out.”

  “Oh, my poor boy! You look tired as well, honey. You’re not ignoring your own needs, taking care of him, are you?” It doesn’t surprise me that Mama can see Nalani’s heart so easily.

  “Maybe a little, but he’s needed me. I can rest more when he’s back at 100%. He’s getting there! But he’s still so tired. I wanted to make him something familiar and comforting. A dinner that would make him feel cared for physically and emotionally. I was wondering if you had any suggestions? Maybe something you used to make for him when he was sick?”

  “That is so thoughtful.” I hear Mama clear her throat. Her emotions have always been close to the surface, especially after she stopped numbing with alcohol. “I wish I could say I loved him in that way more than I actually did. I’m sure you know how I let him down, growing up.” I tense up, wondering how Nalani will handle this.

  “Well, I know that Ames is incredibly proud of how hard you worked to make things better for yourself and for him. I know he doesn’t harbor any grudges and loves the life and family you built on the foundation of sobriety.” My heart swells, love for my wife’s tender heart warming me. I can hear Mama sniffling.

  “Thank you for saying that, Nalani. You are so sweet and kind-hearted. I’m glad you’re part of our family.” She pauses, sniffling again. “There is something you could make. It’s not fancy or impressive, but it’s easy on a weak stomach and might fit the nostalgic bill. It’s basically just a rice casserole made with chicken soup. Why don’t I text you the recipe so you can pull it up on your phone?”

  “That sounds perfect. Thank you, Joanne.” I hear a shift in the cushions. “I think Ames is stirring from his nap. Do you want to talk to him?”

  “That’s okay. I’ll call him in a few days, when he’s had some more time to rest and recover. I’ll let you go so you can get back to it. Don’t forget to take care of yourself too, Nalani. You’re no good to Ames if you’re worn out, and I’d hate for you to get sick too!”

  “I will, I promise. Thank you for helping me with this. I’ll talk to you soon, Joanne.”

  I hear light footsteps and Nalani is sliding in next to me. I roll over, cuddling up against her, relishing her warmth and softness.

  “Did I hear my mama’s voice?” Shit, my throat is scratchy.

  “We were chatting. Did you get enough rest?”

  “I feel like I could fall back asleep and not wake up until next week.”

  “Then sleep. I’m right here.” I doze off again. I’m not sure for how long. When I wake up again, I can smell something delicious cooking. My stomach growls and my heart is light thinking about my Lani calling Mama and making me this silly rice casserole to make me feel cared for. I’m so lucky to have her.

  43

  Nalani

  I still haven’t figured out what to do with Ames’ sick bed declaration. He hasn’t given any indication that he remembers saying it and he hasn’t repeated it. It got my hopes up, thinking Ames could be in love with me, but now the uncertainty is worse than if he had never said it at all. As time goes by, I find more and more things I like about him, more little things he does to care for me, more ways he enriches my life. He’s fun and hilarious, he puts gas in my car and gets my coffee things ready even though he leaves the house before I’m awake. And I’m finding my own voice, becoming more confident in my decisions, because of how he treats me.

  One might think these are all reasons to allow myself to fall in love and commit
myself to this marriage as a real relationship. That only works if those feelings are mutual. This has become another version of our earlier sexual tension, except now his body is mine but I don’t know where our hearts fit in the equation. He is kind, he is considerate, he is caring but nothing has indicated, in any way, that he feels more for me than attraction and friendship. I’m grateful for both of those things. The way our arrangement is set up, though, I have already resigned myself to taking any of Ames that I can get. We share a life and a bed, but there aren’t many strings attached. I wish I was, but I’m not brave enough to risk my heart without knowing if Ames feels the same way. I’m too scared to trust this.

  Ames is no longer sick but he is also not at 100% when Ka‘eo reaches out, having missed a couple weightlifting sessions or potential hangouts. We invite them over for dinner instead. Ames isn’t up to doing a Ka‘eo level workout, but we’ve missed seeing them. As soon as they pull up, I tell the guys that we need to run to the grocery store, and I pull Norah into our car.

  “What’s up? Do we actually need food?”

  “We do. We wanted to hang out with you guys, but I don’t actually have anything planned for dinner.”

  “Is that why you accosted me as soon as we parked?”

  “Well, no, I also wanted to talk to you.”

  “Ha! That’s more like it, spill the tea.”

  Safeway is only five minutes away; I have to talk fast. “When Ames had the flu he told me he loves me.”

  “WHAT?! Fuckin’ A, that’s huge!”