I measured time by periods of fever and chills, days and nights blurring together as I drifted in and out of sleep.
I was on Mackinac, my knees sticking out from a tiny desk. I was taking a test, and I didn’t know the answers. I read the questions over and over, my mind scrambling, the letters shuffling, the words jumbling together, when the paper dissolved, the classroom dissolved around me, and I was running, my heart pounding, running and not getting anywhere. I crashed into a…wall? A man. A man’s chest. I burrowed blindly, a forest creature seeking warmth and safety. Images swam and solidified in the darkness. His hard arm, wrapped around my shoulders, heavy and reassuring. His beard, tickling my forehead. I surrendered gratefully to his strength, breathing in his scent, soap and musk and mineral spirits.
And woke, disoriented.
Half-light stole through the window, casting rainbows through the colored bottles on the sill. I lay still, taking stock. I wasnothaving sweaty dreams about my childhood nemesis, the subject of my prepubescent fantasies. But my body felt somehow looser. Lighter. The stabbing pain behind my eyes, the dull ache in my neck, were gone. I felt almost normal. I coughed. Normal-ish?
I could take a shower!
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stumbled to the bathroom, leaning against the wall as I waited for the water to warm up. I lifted my face, letting the hot spray wash away the stink, the ache, the remnants of my dream.
Halfway through rinsing my hair, my legs started shaking. I managed to wrap myself in a towel before collapsing on the toilet seat. Shivering, I hobbled to the dresser and dug for a clean T-shirt. Nothing. The old flannel shirt I’d brought from home was crumpled in the back of the drawer. I dragged it on. I couldn’t face the idea of crawling between my clammy sheets again, so, ripping the comforter from my bed, I lugged it into the living area and made a cocoon on the couch.
My phone battery was down to nine percent, but I saw a voicemail from Chris, three unanswered messages from Daanis, and eighty-five unread emails. I plugged in my phone, turned my face into the cushions, and fell asleep.
The buzz of my phone woke me.
I struggled to sit. “Daanis!” I croaked.
Her worried face appeared on my screen. “I thought you were ghosting me. Are you okay?”
Tears pricked my eyes. “Don’t be nice to me,” I warned, “or I’ll cry.”
“Sweetie, what happened? Is it Chris?”
“It’s Covid.” I coughed.
“Oh, Anne! I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t tell Mom,” I blurted, as if we were ten years old and I’d fallen off my bike again.
“You should tell her.”
“I will. Just not yet. When I’m better.”
I was afraid admitting one weakness would lead to even more terrifying confessions.
Hi, Mom, I have Covid.
I might lose my job.
My boyfriend is moving to Atlanta.
I need you.
Not so grown-up, after all.
“You poor thing.” Daanis’s concern wrapped around me like a blanket. It felt wonderful to be fussed over. “How do you feel?”
“Like I’ve been run over by a dump truck,” I admitted.
“I hope Chris is taking good care of you.”
“Absolutely.”From a safe distance.“As much as he can.”
Her dark eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”
I hesitated. Chris had been amazing. I didn’t want my best friend to judge my boyfriend just because I was feeling a little down. “Well, he ordered me groceries.” Tea, chicken soup, cough drops, and tissues, all of which I needed. Immune-boosting vegetables, high in fiber. Tylenol, which I took, and a pulse oximeter from Amazon I’d lost somewhere under the covers or the bed. I didn’t blame Chris because he couldn’t deliver what I craved. Sugary drinks. Salty chips. Frozen mac and cheese. His company. “And he checks in every day,” I added.
