Michael stands up. “I made some phone calls,” he says delicately. “I’m working on travel arrangements for the memorial service, things like that. They put me in charge of your family, in charge of taking care of you. Whatever you need, let me know.”
Mom takes his hand. “Thank you so much, Michael.” She stands. “We should let you rest, Jess. Drink your breakfast. I’ll bring you something for the fever.” She carries her glass with her.
Having the flu is my salvation. The phone rings and rings, the doorbell too. I get to shut it all out, stay locked up in my bedroom. “Michael is fielding the calls and the visits.” Mom says when she brings me lunch. “Keeping the newspeople away. I don’t want to talk to them.” She sighs and sets the tray down on the nightstand. Nothing looks good to me. “Becky called, and Taryn. Jasmine has called about a hundred times.”
I want to know whether Jacob called back. I’m not sure where my cellphone is. Michael comes in before I get the chance to ask Mom.
He sits on my bed again. “I talked to Karen. She said to give you this.” He hands me a glass of pale pink liquid. “To keep you from getting dehydrated.”
“Thanks.” I take the glass and take a sip.
Dad walks in. “How are you doing?”
“I’m still alive,” I grimace at my poor choice of words. “I feel better.” I’m mostly lying. “Where’s Tyler?”
Dad shakes his head. “He won’t come out of his room. He’s not eating.”
“He wants to shut down,” Michael says softly. His face goes dark. “He doesn’t know how to handle this.He feels like he should be tough, be a man about this, but he’s not sure how.” We’re all watchingMichael. He looks up at my dad. “My sister died when I was about Tyler’s age. I reacted the same way.”
Mom looks at Michael. “Maybe you could talk to him.”
Michael nods. “I will later. Right now he needs his space.”
Mom stands up. She takes Dad’s hand. “You need to rest.”
“So do you,” he answers.
“Sleep, all of you.” Michael takes the untouched drink from my nightstand. “I’ll take care of the calls and the door.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He touches my face. “Anything, anytime.”
twenty-nine
Pieces
My whole body is shaking. I wrap my arms around my shoulders to try to stop, but I can’t. I’m freezing. The bed is shaking too. My hair is damp with sweat, and my pajamas are clinging to my back. Even my bed is wet. I need dry clothes. Dry sheets. I don’t have the strength to get up and help myself.
I hear a tap on the door. I don't know how he heard me, or knew I needed help, but Michael is standing there. “Jess, are you okay?”
I shake my head between shivers. “I can’t get warm.”
He crosses the room in two strides and puts his hand on my head. My bangs are plastered against my forehead. “Your fever is gone. Now you feel cold. We have to get you out of those wet clothes.”
He rummages through my drawers. He sets a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt on my bed. “I’ll be right back.”
I pick up the shirt and pants and shiver out of my wet things. I’m curling back under the covers when Michael comes in with an armloadof blankets. He strips the sheets off my bed and throws them in the corner. “Lie down.”
I lie on the bed, and he covers me with the blankets. Even with dry clothes and extra blankets, I’m shaking like crazy. He climbs in next to me, wraps his arms around me and presses his body against mine—holding me against the shaking. His body heat mingles with mine.
“Better?” he asks.
I nod and relax against his chest, soaking in his warmth. He leans his chin on my head and brushes the damp hair out of my face. “Try to sleep.”
I close my eyes and hope for sleep, but without the haze of the fever, the horribleness of everything hits me full force. My heart aches, a gaping bleeding hole. I'm shaking again. Michael pulls me tighter against him.
My mind spins in circles as I try to grasp the reality of my brother’s death. He’s never coming home. There won’t be a wedding. He’ll never tease me or give me advice, or drive me crazy again. I try to remember the last thing I said to him. The last email I sent. Did I tell him I loved him? I suddenly want to talk to him, to call him, to hear his voice. The hole is there, sucking the life out of me. I’m powerless to fill it.
