Sam stands and instead of leaving, he finds a washcloth and wets it down, wiping my face.
“I see you.”
“Ugh.”
“You look beautiful.”
“You don’t have to lie.”
I rock back to lean against the wall, and Sam hovers over me. His touch is gentle as he keeps wiping my face.
“It doesn’t matter if you’re sick. Most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
I give him a weak smile. “This is what I mean when I say you’re too nice.”
“It’s not being nice. It’s the truth.”
Sam goes back to the sink and grabs the mouthwash and makes me swish a mouthful.
“Now, let’s get you into bed.”
I let him help me up. He lifts me into his arms with ease, carrying me into my bedroom. He pulls the blankets back and lays me down.
“You don’t have to do this,” I whine.
He brushes a lock of hair off my sticky forehead. “I know I don’t.”
“I’m sorry our weekend was ruined.”
“I’m still here with you. It’s okay.”
I wish I could kiss him, but I don’t want to make him sick. Instead, I curl into my pillows and let sleep take over.
Sam
It doesn’t take muchfor Joey to fall asleep. Yanking the curtains closed, I shut her door and let her try to get some shut-eye.
I put the soup I brought in the fridge and do my best to straighten up the room. It’s not too messy, but it’s something I don’t want Joey to have to worry about when she wakes up.
Having firsthand experience of what it’s like dealing with a sick kid on your own, I know that it’s never fun.
By the time I’m tossing the last of the blankets into the dryer, soft footsteps come from behind me.
“What are you doing here?”
Max is standing by his door, tomato in hand.
“Your mom said you weren’t feeling good so I brought some soup.”
“Where’s Mommy?” Max asks, padding into the living room and sitting on the couch, still facing me.
“She’s sleeping. Her tummy isn’t feeling good either.”
“Mine feels better,” he says.
“It does?”
“Yeah. It’s grumbly.” He nods. “He’s hungry. So is my tomato.”
