She lost me back at the bowl. “Sure. Easy-squeezy.”
“Good. Wait for it to puff up, punch it down, and knead once more. After, put it all in a well-greased bread pan and it will rise again.”
“Christ.” I mutter under my breath.What the fuck is a bread pan?
“Did you say something?”
“Rising. Like Christ.” My recovery is nothing short of miraculous and my mom doesn’t miss a beat.
“No Samantha, Easter is over and oh, don’t forget to preheat your oven.”
“Got it. Thanks.” Hanging up, I’m more confused than ever and find a website labeledBread Baking for Dummies.
Good God. Yeast and flour? Why is this so difficult? An hour later, I throw the sticky, unrisen mess in the garbage. Pancakes may be more my speed. I recall we’re out of syrup but Rose bought jam. When warmed, it should suffice.
With my new hobby on hold, I ponder the vegetable situation. My cuz purchased celery, carrots, and onions. There’s also sweet potatoes which can be microwaved if you use a paper bag and put the setting on popcorn, I think.
Shit. Being domestically challenged never bothered me before but with Suds sick, I need to step up my game so I can take care of him.
Cutting the butcher’s string, I discover chicken wings. An online recipe seems pretty simple until I read the part about preheating the oven.
Fuck.“Hello Pete? It’s Sam.”
Chapter Five
Sam
In the middle of the night, Suds moans and I run downstairs to take his temp. It’s down to one-oh-two and while not great, the fever isn’t bad enough to bring him to the hospital. His cough, while persistent, isn’t deep and he admitted he ached all over.
Hoping Slate’s wife can give me some advice, I give him a call and he picks up on the first ring.
“How is he?”
“Sleeping. I mean, it still might not be the virus, right?” Eyes watering, I swallow hard and enter the foyer so as not to wake Suds.
Our friend clears his throat, his silence answering my question. “Do you have someone to take care of you if you catch it, too?” He’s right to ask but I don’t want to even think about it. I honestly have no idea what I’ll do if we both get sick. Rose and Mia have to help out my parents. They have Nonna to think about, too.
“My cousins, I guess.” Sighing, I warm yesterday’s coffee in the microwave and hit start. “I hate to be a bother, but I don’t know who else to ask. Yesterday, his fever spiked to one-oh-four and he seemed out of it. At what point do I take him to the emergency room?”
“Is he having trouble breathing?”
“He’s a little wheezy, even though he won’t admit it.”What if he dies? My God, what will I do? How would I survive?I push the morbid thoughts aside and force my sleep deprived brain to focus on the here and now.
Slate uses the tone of a pilot who insists the smoking engine is no reason for concern, “The hospitals are overflowing in your neighborhood, so stay put. If he gets any worse, call me, and I’ll transport him to Columbia U. Don’t worry, we got your six.”
When he hangs up, I smile because he doesn’t feel the need to say goodbye. We’re family.
With a backup plan in mind, my stomach stops churning, and I pour Suds a glass of juice. Standing by the futon, I shake his shoulder, and my chest tightens because he takes the smallest of sips.
“Can’t you manage a little more, honey?”
“Maybe water.” His cough turns nasty so I help him to sit and put my cool palm to his hot, sweaty cheek.
“How about some chicken soup?”
“Stop worryin’ darlin’. I got this.” Covering my hand with his, he hones in on my gaze but I’m not buying his bullshit.
“Okay. I love you.”
