Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 60736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
I hear a soft voice from the couch. “Rawley?”
It’s her. Thank God. I rush to her side.
She’s laying on the sofa, curled up under a blanket. She gives a yawn, stretching like a cat. Mr. Whiskers is curled up by her side. He gives me that strangled hello meow of his. It’s like nails on a chalkboard.
She looks up at me. “Why is it so dark? And why are you here?”
“You must have come home when it was light outside, then fallen asleep. It’s almost eight.”
She blinks, and her eyes look glassy. “Eight in the morning?”
Why would she think it was dark at eight in the morning? Has she been working too much? I take a closer look at her face, flipping on the lamp on the table beside the couch. She winces, covering her eyes. “That hurts.”
Her cheeks are flushed.
I put the back of my hand to her forehead.
She’s burning up.
What the hell?
“Emmeline, are you sick?”
She gives me a smile. “I don’t think so. I’m all warm and cozy.” She snuggles down further into the blankets.
I need to check her temperature, then lower it somehow. “Do you have a thermometer here, any ibuprofen?”
A little laugh escapes her lips. “No, silly. Doctors don’t keep that kind of stuff at their house. It’d be like Mr. Antony making pizza at his house. Pizza. Hey, isn’t it Friday?”
“Yes. Why, are you hungry?”
She scrunches up her nose. “No. Actually, I don’t feel so good.”
“Hang on a minute.” I grab my phone, running to her bathroom cabinet to see if she has something, anything of use. I call the hospital to let Dr. Battaglia know I’ve found her, and to see if he can help.
The nurse tracks him down.
“Hello?”
“Dr. Battaglia, I found her. She was home sleeping, but listen, she seems to have a pretty high fever, and she was a little delirious when I first got here, not knowing what time it was.”
“Ah. We’ve had a few cases of flu here lately. Some people were in pretty bad shape. I think she might have caught it. A lot of those first-years come down with it, but she’ll build her immunity up for next year.”
I don’t care about next year, I care about now. “What can I do for her?”
“It’s a quick one, twenty-four hours or so? Lots of liquid, lots of rest. Get all the bone broth or clear soups you can into her and keep an eye on that temperature. You can give her something every four hours for the fever.”
“Thanks, doc.”
“Take good care of her, she’s one of my favorites.” His tone is gruff, but his words are soft.
Looks like Emmeline’s snagged his heart, too. “Mine too.”
I find nothing useful in her cabinets. I pull up local drugstores on my phone, finding one that does deliveries. I order a thermometer, meds, and ginger ale. Then I call the Chinese place and order a meal for myself and a quart of soup for her. A quick text to Sasha to take care of Baskins, and I’m ready to play doctor.
She’s sleeping when I get back to the living room. I turn off the light, and wait for my supplies to arrive. She looks so beautiful when she sleeps it makes an ache in my chest. I’d give anything for her to feel better. But making someone well is something money can’t buy.
I scroll through my phone, looking at my boards of pins.
Fuck this.
This will be the last night we’re apart. I’m not going to have a repeat of tonight.
I delete all the wedding crap from my phone, send a few texts and make some plans, all while being careful not to bump her with my elbow. When I see headlights pull up to the house, I carefully get off the couch and go to the door so I can answer it before they knock or ding the bell and disturb her.
I eat while she sleeps, keeping her soup warm in a pot on the stove.
When she wakes, I take her temperature, give her medicine and feed her spoonfuls of soup. We watch a movie, her snuggled under my arm until she falls back to sleep. The next day is more of the same. I start to worry, contemplate calling Dr. Battaglia and checking in, but at dinner, she finishes the rest of the soup and manages to stay awake for an entire movie.
Reaching for Lemons.
She oohs and ahhs over the shoes, making me laugh.
I’m totally relieved when Sunday morning finds her bright eyed, the flush gone from her cheeks.
“I’m cured.” She gives me a smile. “Thanks to your excellent medical attention.”
I hop up from the couch. She’s only had soup, and I want to get some food in her. “Think you can eat?”
“Of course I can eat.”
My baby is back.
I bring her fruit, toast, and eggs and she eats every bit of it.