“No. At least, I hope not.” He sighed, again with exasperation. “I don’t think so, but one never knows these days, does one? Actually, it’s more a matter of my being able to enter your country. They’re shutting everyone out. Slamming the door tight.”
“Starting when?”
“Effective immediately.”
“Oh, Gordon,” she said, suddenly filled with dismay. She’d been pinning her hopes on his arrival. Counting the days. “It’s been forever since I’ve seen you.”
“I know. I feel the same. I’m doing everything I can to get there, pulling every string, tapping every connection. Don’t give up hope. But I doubt it will be early April as planned. The sodding virus has pushed everything back.”
Linnea turned and reached for her glass of wine. She took a bracing sip. “Please tell me you’ll find a way.”
His voice lowered and she heard a faint tremor. “Linnea, you know I’ll do everything in my power to get to you. I miss you.”
“Gordon…” She felt a sudden urge to tell him that John had returned. That he was sending her thoughts hurtling back in time to when they were a couple. To confess she felt on shaky ground—her mind screamed no, but her body’s memory lit up at the sight of him.
But no, she couldn’t tell Gordon that John was back next door. Not when Gordon couldn’t come back to Charleston himself. It would be unfair to create a sense of competition when there was none.
“Yes?”
She held the phone close to her cheek. “I miss you too.”
chapter five
We’re in this together.
April
CARA PUT HER hand against the smooth wood of the bedroom door.
“You have a fever?” she asked, forcing her voice out. It felt like her chest was constricting. She leaned closer, setting her lips close to the door. This wall of wood separated her from the man she loved.
“Yeah,” he replied despondently, then coughed. “It could be a cold,” he offered. “I have a headache, and I usually get those when a cold is coming. I was out in all that rain.…”
“David…”
“Don’t worry.”
“Of course I’m worried.”
“I only told you because… well… you should know about the fever. Just in case.” He didn’t need to say the word. “I’ll call and let the doctor know.”
“There’s nothing she can do. There are no Covid-19 tests available.” She clenched her hand into a fist of frustration. “The last time I talked to the doctor she said the best thing to do was to keep you quarantined. Get lots of sleep. Drink fluids. Do you have enough water?”
“I’m floating in water,” he said.
She imagined him smiling. “I’ll go to the store to get more chicken for soup.”
“You shouldn’t be going out. You’ve been in contact with me. The virus is very contagious.”
“I’ve been careful.”
“We should be more than careful. You can have food delivered.”
“But…” Her daughter’s face came to mind. “What about Hope?”
There was a long pause. “Under the circumstances, with my fever… I don’t think you should see her.”
“For how long?” Her voice rose.
“Until I’m well.”
“But, David,” she sputtered, “how long will that be?”
Another long silence. “I don’t know.”
She felt anger rise against him. No, she wanted to scream. This is terrible. I won’t do it. Cara dropped her face into her palms. Then she lifted her head and took a calming breath. He must be worried too, all alone in that bedroom. She wouldn’t shut him out, the way she had when Hope had the measles. They were married now.
“We’ll get through this,” she told him, meaning it. “We’re in this together.”
* * *
HOPE THREW THE peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the floor. “It’s yucky! I won’t eat it!” She glared at Linnea, blaming her for the terrible food. Then she burst into fresh tears.
Linnea stared at the child for a moment, holding her breath, then turned heel and stomped into the kitchen. She clutched the counter and counted to ten. How could she screw up a PB&J? She’d even cut off the crusts. The sandwich was the third dish she’d prepared for Hope’s lunch. A plate of chicken nuggets sat abandoned, and beside that a bowl of mac and cheese. She was ready to blow her stack and scream what her mother used to say to her when she’d refused food: Go to your room and stay there till you’re really hungry!
The three days since Cara had told them that she couldn’t be physically close to Hope had been a nightmare. At first, Cara had tried to come to the house and talk to Hope from outside the sliding glass porch doors, the way family members were doing for elderly relatives in retirement homes. It didn’t take Freud to tell them that wasn’t going to work for a child. Predictably, Hope cried and begged, throwing herself against the glass, to go outside with her mother. FaceTime at bedtime was equally bad. Just when Linnea had Hope quietly engaged in a bedtime story, Cara called to say good night. Again, predictably, Hope began howling for her mother.
Linnea finally had to tell Cara to please just stay away. Any contact with her came hard on Hope. Not to mention on Linnea. For Hope, seeing her mother, especially at bedtime, was like ripping off a Band-Aid repeatedly. Cara had wept but agreed. At least temporarily. No one knew what the time line was for David’s illness or how long Cara could hold out. Every night, Linnea prayed for his speedy recovery.
Linnea looked out at the dining table and saw Hope slumped over with her head lying on her arms. Her heart went out to the little girl. This was hard on Hope. She didn’t understand why her mother couldn’t visit her. Her daddy was sick, not her mommy. She was confused and a little scared. Linnea needed to remember that during the histrionics. Who was the grown-up here, after all? Did she want to look back at these weeks as a chore, or as a special time shared?
She released the counter and took a cleansing breath.
“Hope?”
No response.
Linnea walked into the dining area, ignoring the peanut butter sandwich lying on the floor. “Hope?” she asked as she gently smoothed the hair, damp from sweat and tears, from her face. “I have an idea.” Linnea lowered beside the chair so her face was near Hope’s. “Let’s make eating time fun. Like a game.”
Hope turned her head. Linnea was sorry to see that her dark lashes were wet and her brown eyes rimmed red.
“How?”
The question gave Linnea courage. “I was thinking. Why should I decide what you eat for lunch? Or dinner? Why don’t we decide together? We could make a spinning wheel of your favorite foods. You could spin it, and where it lands will be what food you get to eat that day. Like…” She made a show of tapping her cheek in thought. “Let’s say you spin the wheel and it lands on chicken nuggets. Then you get to have chicken nuggets. If it lands on pizza, you get pizza. See how it works?”
Hope smiled with interest, then said, “But you don’t make it like Mommy does.”