He does bring me a glass of ice water and a bunch of pills, which I force myself to swallow. Unfortunately, they happen tobe the drowsy kind, so it’s not long before I’m snoring on the couch.
I’m not sure how long I sleep for, but eventually I register the sounds of dogs barking. There’s a high-pitched Chihuahua and she sounds very pissed off. The Rottweiler she’s barking at…maybe he thinks the Chihuahua is in heat? He sounds kinda happy. Do Chihuahuas and Rottweilers breed? Are their offspring called Rottuas?
“Chiweilers,” I mumble.
The dogs stop barking.
“Did he just say ‘chiweilers’?” a female voice demands. “What the hell is a chiweiler?”
“Rottweiler Chihuahua mix breed,” comes a deep male voice. “Fucking duh.”
My eyes snap open and I groan when I see Blake and my sister Jessica in front of the couch. They’re both staring at me like I’ve grown horns and a pimp mustache.
Then Jess says, “Jamie!” and throws herself at me, hugging me tight enough to make my ribs ache. “Are you okay, Jamester? How are you feeling? Wow, you feel a little hot.”
“Shit,” Blake says irritably. “Is the fever back?”
“I’ve got this—I can take it from here. So buh-bye, you big mountain of man meat. I’m on duty now.”
Blake stubbornly shakes his head. “I promised Wesley I’d take care of him.”
“I give you permission to break that promise. Now shoo!”
“Guys…would you…” My voice sounds hoarse “…please stop yelling? My head is killing me.”
Concern washes over Jess’s brown eyes. Followed by the heat of accusation as she spins toward Blake again. “You didn’t tell me he had a headache!”
“I didn’t know!”
“What kind of nurse are you?”
“The kind who plays hockey!”
Their voices are raised again. I want to strangle them both. Groaning, I sit up and rub both fists against my eyes. “What time is it?”
“One,” Jess says. “Did you eat lunch?”
“Um…”
“Breakfast?” she prods. Then she glares at Blake. “You didn’tfeedhim? How’s he supposed to get well if he’s starving?”
“I’m not really hungry,” I offer. But it’s no use. The two of them are bickering again. This time the argument is over what I’ll be eating to regain my strength. Blake’s idea involves a trip to Tim Hortons, so he walks out the door.
I slump down on the sofa again, and for many blessed minutes nobody bothers me, because Jess is rattling around in the kitchen cooking something. The ache in my head eases a little. Time slips by, and the only sound is the TV trying to sell me luxury cars and pharmaceuticals.
The peace is shattered when the door opens again, admitting Blake. “I have food, J-Babe!”
“Whatdid you call me?” Jess yelps from the kitchen.
“How did you get in?” I slur from the couch.
“Made myself a key,” Blake says, dropping it into his pocket. He sets a big box down on the table and pops it open. “Brought you a turkey club on a honey cruller! All the food groups in one handy package.”
“A…” I must have misunderstood, because I swear he said he brought me a sandwich on a donut. That is just wrong.
Jess marches toward the couch with a plate in her hand. “Keep that away from him,” she snaps. “I made him an organickale omelet.” She thrusts the plate onto my lap and sticks a fork in my hand.
Not to be outdone, Blake plops a scary looking donut club sandwich on the plate beside it.
