Something tells me it’s not at all fine.
“Jude told me on the phone he’s not worried about the progress on the house,” I say as I watch him chew a forkful of eggs. “So if you’re a little behind, he won’t be upset. I mean Dixie’s wedding isn’t even until the summer, so it’s not like we’re in a rush.”
“I am,” he admits. “I took a roof job after this one because it would be quick and easy, but it needs to be done before the weather turns. I’m supposed to start there the Monday after this job is complete.”
He coughs. It sounds deep and congested, making me cringe. I feel his forehead again and I swear he’s hotter than before. “Holden. You’re sick.”
“I can’t be,” Holden replies, then takes a big gulp of coffee and stands up. “I have to get back at it.”
“What’s left to do?” I ask, giving up on talking him into taking some time off because I know he won’t. I pop the last potato into my mouth and follow him into the bathroom.
“I have to get all the new fixtures installed, paint this room and the kitchen, install the new trim in both rooms, tile the kitchen floor and hook up the new appliances when they arrive tomorrow. And deal with whatever else comes up.” He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “Because something always comes up.”
“I can help you with a lot of that,” I offer. “In fact, I insist. If you’re worried about some weird client-contractor rule you’re breaking, keep in mind I didn’t hire you. I didn’t want you here at all.”
His lip quirks up in the corner. “But now you love me.”
I smile back at him. “I’m pretty sure fucking your client is a bigger broken rule than just having them do manual labor for you.”
He laughs guiltily at that but doesn’t have a rebuttal so I continue my argument. I put my hands on my hips and try to look stern. “You’re not paying Mike or Dave, so pay me instead. I’m a replacement worker. I could use the cash. I haven’t worked since I got here.”
He gives me a look that says he thinks the need-the-cash argument is bullshit, which it is, but I can also tell I’ve worn him down. He sighs and nods. “Okay fine, you can help a little.”
“Cool!” I clap my hands. “Tell me what to do, boss!”
“I might like this after all.” Holden chuckles and gives me a wink. I step closer and lean up to kiss him, but he stops me and takes a step back. “I don’t want you to catch whatever this is.”
He admitted he’s sick, which means it must be even worse than it looks. I promise myself to do as much as possible as quickly as possible so we can get him to bed early. Hopefully he can sleep this off.
But even with my help, we don’t get as much done as either of us would like. He’s moving slow and his strength is down because of what I’m convinced now is the flu. And then we discover the new kitchen sink is leaking and we can’t figure out why, so at barely two o’clock I demand that he call it a day and go take a nap. He doesn’t argue—much—a sure sign something is definitely wrong.
After another shower, he collapses onto his bed and I tell him I’m running out for supplies. I head to the market and grab chicken, fresh ginger, lemons and a bunch of other stuff I need to make the soup my mom used to make for us when we were sick. As I drive home I think of my dad was when he used to get sick. Like Holden, he never wanted to admit something was wrong, and my mom stopped trying to make him. She’d simply make this soup for dinner. My dad would smile gratefully and look around the table. “Which one of you rug rats is sick?” he would say through sniffles or coughs.
I smile now at the memory. I loved his stubbornness, even when it drove me crazy.
Back at the trailer, Holden hasn’t moved. He’s still flat on his back in a dead sleep in nothing but his underwear. I grab the blanket he gave me earlier and cover him with it before starting the soup. Then I call Bradie.
“Hey, Bradie,” I say when she answers. “It’s Winnie Braddock.”
“Hey, Winnie,” Bradie says. “How did things go with Holden?”
“We’re great. We worked it out.” I skip the details that he stayed out all night because I feel like she sometimes looks for a reason to think badly of him and that information might give it to her. “But he’s got the flu. It’s actually pretty bad, so he won’t be at hockey practice. I just wanted you and Duke to know so you didn’t think he was just blowing it off.”
“Oh.” Bradie pauses. “Yeah, I would have thought that,” she continues with a tone full of guilt.
“I know. But I swear he’s sick.” I start adding chicken broth to the big pot I’ve placed on the stove. “Can you do me a favor and tell the head coach? I don’t have his number, and Holden’s asleep. I don’t want to wake him to get it.”
“Of course. No problem,” Bradie replies. “Is there anything I can do to help? He’s not the best patient. He used to hate being sick when he was a kid.”
“I’ve got it covered, but thanks for asking.”
“Thanks for letting me know,” Bradie says. “And please tell him Duke and I are sending him get-well-soon vibes. Hope to see him at practice again soon.”
“I’ll tell him.” I smile as I hang up, confident now that Bradie might be a hard-ass but deep down she wants Holden back in her life—and Duke’s—as much as he wants it.
When Holden wakes up a couple of hours later, he looks even worse. “Hey. Something smells good. If I had any appetite at all I would be devouring whatever that is.”
“It’s a special Braddock family soup,” I explain, sliding out from the bench by the table and walking over to him. I place a hand on his forehead again. He is on fire. I try not to panic and walk over to the stove. I’m no nurse like Sadie, but I do know someone with a fever has to stay hydrated. I pull a bowl from the cabinet and ladle some soup into it. “This stuff is specifically designed to ease the symptoms of man flu.”
