“Okay, baby. You need to take some Tylenol. Then I’ll leave you alone.”
It’s either his calling me baby or the promise of being left alone. But for one of those reasons I submit to being manhandled as he lifts me higher, gives me pills to take, and then holds a glass of water at my lips so I can swallow.
I fall back onto the bed when I get them down, scowling at him.
He smiles fondly. “I should have known you’d be a bad patient.”
“You weren’t… the cream of the crop either, you know.”
He’s chuckling as he straightens my covers, only for me to push them down impatiently immediately after.
I’m hot. I don’t want to be covered up.
“I’m fine now,” I tell him. My voice sounds weirdly croaky. “You can stop hovering.”
“Whatever you say. Just let me fix things up first.”
He pulls down the window covers to make the camper darker. That feels better, so I let him call Molly outside when she jumps on the bed to verify that I’m not dying. Then I close my eyes and try to go to sleep.
After that, I have no idea if he’s still hovering or not.
16
The afternoon islong and unpleasant. I go from restless sleep to restless grogginess and neither one is better than the other. Micah must have moved out of sight, but he’s still close enough to get up anytime I lift my head or make a sound. He wipes down my hot face until I get annoyed, and after a few hours, he makes me take some ibuprofen.
Eventually it must be evening, but I can’t eat more than a few swallows of another can of soup he prepares.
I hate the taste of it.
I hate the feel of this bed.
I hate everything.
Except Molly, who’s obviously concerned since she comes snuffling over anytime Micah lets her in.
And Micah, who is trying to help and only occasionally driving me crazy.
I’m able to get up to go to the bathroom, but otherwise I have no choice but to stay in bed until the following morning.
I take more Tylenol in the evening, and sometime in the middle of the night something changes.
My arm, my body, and the world starts feeling a little bit better.
I sit up, oddly disoriented.
“What is it, baby?” Micah sounds groggy. He gets up from the second bed where he’s been lying. “Are you okay?”
“I… think so. Can I have water?”
“Of course.” He filled a pitcher earlier, so he pours some into the glass I’ve been using.
I get down the entire glass in several swallows.
After I do, he feels my forehead. His hand is big and warm. “That fuckin’ fever is finally down. Scared the shit out of me.”
I blink at him in confusion. “You were scared?”
“Yes, I was scared. People die from that kind of thing nowadays.” He’s still touching my face, but it’s more like a caress now. “Are you feeling better?”
