“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.