Reeling from the news, feelings of anger and hurt overwhelm me. I was sure my lungs were doing better. I took all the prescribed medications and went to all the designated rehab. In addition, I follow all the rules, and my nursing co-workers know my limits, but now, my doctor says it’s possible I could die from the virus. “I'll do what needs to be done,” I tell him, crestfallen because I will be stuck at home for the foreseeable future.
Doctor Ahmed stands from his stool, grabs a paper from his printer, spins around, and hands it to me. “I have emailed a copy to your supervisor. This one is for your records. Stay safe, and call me if you have any symptoms. Please take care.” He heads out the door.
Immunocompromised. No work. Fatal. Words scatter around my mind as I pull into the driveway of my little yellow house across from the park. This virus has made the fun and friendly crescent, kind of boring. An area where I could blend in with everyone during all festivities and be appreciated for my hard work is now quiet. No children are allowed to play at the park. No street barbecues are happening. And no neighbors are checking on anyone for party time. There are no parties. Everyone is scared. Am I ready to be alone? I guess I don't have a choice.
It's been a few days since the doctor told me I had to stay home. Living alone, I don't buy a lot, so supplies are getting low. I should be going to the store and grabbing a few groceries, but those words keep popping up in the back of my mind. I know better than most about how to keep myself safe. Being a nurse, they put us through the wringer about precautions for situations like this, but Doctor Ahmed made it sound as if I really should stay home. What choice do I have?
I pace my short, dark blue hallway, still in my long, red nightgown. “I have masks. I have sanitizer,” I tell myself, listing things off, trying to encourage myself to make a decision. “Fuck!” I yell and march toward my front door to open it. The sun is shining, a slight breeze blows in and over my skin. I stick my head out and look around while breathing in the fresh air. There isn't a soul in sight. Where are my neighbors when I need one?
I sigh and begin to turn around. But as I do, I notice a curtain quickly closing across the street. Mrs. Flanders is not one to close her curtains during the day. She may be the oldest in the neighborhood at the age of fifty-two, but she is a riot, always bringing laughter to the group. I hope she is okay over there. Maybe I should call.
Back in the house, I sit on my plush beige couch in front of my picture window with my cell phone.
Noah
“Hey, Aunt Mary, who's the redhead?” I step away from the window, and sit in the gray recliner next to my aunt, giving her one of my shit-eating grins.
Aunt Mary chuckles while shaking her head. “It sure has been a long time since you've been here, Noah.” She shifts her position on the couch and picks up the remote from beside her. “But that lovely young lady is not a toy for you.” She switches the television on and starts flicking through the channels.
Sure, years ago, I was known around town as a party boy, but I have outgrown those flirtatious ways. I'm thirty-five now and tired of being alone, of not having someone to share my bed with. I wish I had someone to hug and kiss goodnight and tell them I love them. I used to daydream about having a relationship like my parents, who always appeared happy, hugging, and never went to bed angry. After being cheated on and getting used for my money, I locked my heart and threw away the key. That's when I decided to live the high life. Lately, though, I've been thinking. My boyish good looks have gone, I look like a man now, and money can't buy me happiness. Mom always said, “There is a woman out there for you.” My “forever” woman. I thought my last girlfriend was “the one,” but was I ever wrong—just another gold digger.
“I'm not that person anymore, Aunt Mary.” I pick up my glass of ice tea and take a few sips.
Mary glances at me with sincerity in her eyes. “Celia is a sweet young woman. She works very hard and cares for many, but she is alone. Be nice. Don't hurt her! She recently had some health issues; however, I'm not sure of the outcome of that.” She sighs and turns back toward the television.
Celia? There's no way it could be little Celia from my childhood. A very nice lady used to live in that house when I was a teenager, and when I visited, a little redhead always played in the yard, watching my friends and me. She was a beautiful young girl back then, but has fate brought us back together? Is it possible?
The phone rings, and Aunt Mary quickly reaches for it.
“Well, hello, dear.” She pauses to listen. “Everything is fine. My nephew is here to help me out.” Another pause and smirk. “No, no problem.” I can hear slight mumbles through the phone. “No, dear, not a problem at all. Yes, I think we can handle that. Take care, dear.” Mary hangs up and shifts her gaze to me.
“What’s the look for?” I ask her with raised eyebrows. Do I dare ask her if it’s the same girl?
Mary sets the phone back in the cradle and leans back. “It seems my sweet neighbor is stuck at home for a while and is in need of a few staple items.” She glances at me and smiles. “I nominate you for the job. Miss Celia is in need of some milk, bread, butter, and a jar of peanut butter, the kind with the nut on the top. Do you mind running to the store for her? She will leave some money in an envelope on her step for you.”
Go to the store for the hot chick? This means I get to meet her to see if she is who I think she may be. “I believe I can handle it, Aunt Mary. And don't worry, I will behave,” I tell my aunt, careful not to sound too excited. I quickly get up from the chair, grab my wallet and keys off the counter in the foyer, and head out the door.
Celia
I'm glad Mary is doing well. Mom and Mary were friends back in the day, so I am relieved she has help when she needs it most. She kicked her husband out a few months ago. Apparently, he was cheating on her. What a dirty rotten bastard. But, she said her nephew? Mary mentioned a playboy type nephew who lived in the city once. He's here? She told me he hasn't been around for years. I used to know a nephew of hers, Noah, when I was younger, but it has been a long time. There's no way it could be the same nephew, could it? When I was sent away for school at a young age, my heart broke at not being able to see Noah during his visits. He was cute back then.
“Shit!” I whisper to myself. She said we would handle it when I asked her to go to the store. Does that mean he will be coming by for the money? “Damn it,” I mumble to no one as I get off the couch and rush to my room to put on some clothing and make myself appear somewhat presentable.
There's a knock on my door just as I pull up my leggings. “Just a second,” I yell as I stumble down the hall, grabbing my purse off the chair. I didn't get a chance to fix my hair or brush my teeth because he came over too quickly. I stop in front of the door and take a breath.
Slowly, I open the door and then slam it closed again. “Shit, sorry. I forgot a mask.” I can never be too sure. I pick up a mask from the table by the door and put it on. I finally open the door again, flushed from rushing, and standing in front of me is a handsome, dark-haired man with the most vibrant ocean blue eyes I have ever seen. My mouth and throat both go dry. “Hi there,” I manage to squeak out. “I was expecting Mary, but I suppose you will work.” I chuckle lightly. Looking at him, I know it's Noah, and damn, he has grown into one fine specimen. “Noah,” I mumble. “I'm CiCi. Well, Celia, but I go by CiCi. Thank you so much for doing this.” I glance up at his alluring body. He is at least a foot taller than me. I wonder if he remembers me.