“It’s higher than it was after you recovered from hypothermia.” She’d invested so much in getting him to this point. As he’d improved, she’d let herself believe that he was going to be fine. Suddenly, she wasn’t so sure.
Shemustget him to full health.For his wife, she hastily tacked on. For his wife and kids, she needed to get him to full health.
She hurried to her computer and ran a search for pneumonia symptoms. “Do you have sweating, shaking, or chills?” she called.
“No.”
“Shortness of breath or stabbing chest pain?”
“No.”
“Loss of appetite or fatigue?”
“No. This isn’t a big deal, Remy.”
She returned to her spot at the table but couldn’t force herself to consume more food. The world outside was gray today, which cast a pall over the interior of her cottage. Even so,heshone. Jonah was masculinity and athleticism and easy grace. She couldn’t allow his health to slide on her watch. “I’m going to schedule another virtual appointment for you today.”
Looking put out with her, he set his spoon in his oatmeal. “An appointment will cost money.”
“Fine. I’m the one who makes the medical decisions concerning you.”
“Imake the medical decisions concerning me.”
“You have amnesia.”
“Which doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”
“You’re attending an appointment this afternoon and that’s final.” She jerked up her plate and carried it to the kitchen sink. She’d spoken with more fire than she’d intended, but concern was morphing quickly into anger. She’d related to the sense of responsibility he’d said he felt toward the brown-haired woman in his vision because it was the same responsibility she felt toward him.It was imperative they get the advice of a doctor regarding his new symptoms.
“Don’t forget to drink your water, Remy,” he said silkily. “Hydration is key.”
“Jonah.” She swung toward him and held out her hand in front of her chest. “This is my last nerve—”
“Yeah, yeah.” He grinned and he was just so . . . so . . . She let loose a strangled sound. He was just soimpossible.
“If there’s a church on the island,” he said, “I’d like to go today.”
“But . . . it’s not Sunday.”
“They probably leave the sanctuary open. I just want to go and sit.”
“Why?”
“I have the sense that faith is important to me. I miss church.”
“Your doctor’s appointment—”
“Won’t take all day. I can go to church and to a virtual appointment.”
“We have one church on the island,” she admitted, “but it’s a thirty-minute drive, farther than you’ve gone before.”
“I’ll drive there alone,” he said, “so you can work.”
What if he got lost? Hurt? His condition worsened? How would she know? “I’ll go with you.”
He drove even faster to church than he had to Maureen’s house despite the helpful comments she’d given, encouraging him to slow down.
The first available virtual appointment hadn’t been until four this afternoon. So here they were, arriving mid-day at Islehaven’s wind-beaten green clapboard church. It sat on a rise, overlooking the cluster of colorful buildings fronting the harbor.
