“Sure thing.” She turns to put the order ticket onto the counter at the window.
The bell over the door rings, and I look over, spotting the guy who worked with Collins the other day. My eyes go straight over his shoulder as he holds open the door for the person behind him. My heart speeds up, and I smile, but instead of Collins, someone else comes in. They share a quick laugh as he walks up to the counter and nods at me.
“Hey,” I say to him, “you were the one who helped my cousin’s fiancée.”
“Sierra, right?” I nod. “How is she doing?”
“Going home tomorrow.” He smiles. “You switched partners.” I try not to make my interest too obvious.
“Yeah, Collins is sick today.” The minute he says the words, it feels like the blood has been drained from my body. The back of my neck gets hot, and I lift my hand to cup it. I don’t ask him another question because the waitress comes out and they place their order and go to sit in a booth to wait. Both of them take out their phones, and I open my own.
Me:
Hey, are you okay?
I wait. It says it was delivered, but there’s no response.
Me:
Just ran into your partner, said you called in sick. I’m coming that way. I’ll pick up food.
I tap the phone, willing her to answer me, but nothing happens. The ding of the bell on the counter rings, and I see the brown takeout bag. I stand up as the waitress comes back to hand me the bag and give me my total. I pay and head to my truck.
As soon as I start it up, I dial her number and put it on speakerphone. My heart is thumping in my chest so hard and strong that I can hardly see straight. It rings four times before it goes to voicemail.
“Hi, you’ve reached Collins. Leave me a message.” I wait for the beep and then actually leave a message.
“Hey, I just picked up some burgers. I’m on my way over. I just have to make a quick stop before I get there,” I tell her. “If you get this before I get there, call me and let me know if you need anything.” I disconnect before heading to the pharmacy, not knowing what I’m going to get. I don’t know what she’s sick with. I walk down aisle by aisle, grabbing random things and putting them in the basket. I don’t even know if she can take half of these since she’s pregnant. If I ask the pharmacist, five people would know I’m having a kid by the time I get to her house. Grabbing some Gatorade and then some chips and a couple of snacks, I head to the cash register.
“Did you find everything you were looking for?” the lady asks me. I place the basket on the counter. “I guess so,” she jokes. “It looks like you have one of everything.” She starts to scan the items. “You know if you talk to the pharmacist, he can maybe guide you to a specific thing.”
“I’m good.” I tap my credit card when she tells me the total.
Once I pull out of the parking lot, I call her again. I expect her not to answer, but after the third ring, she picks up. “Hello.” Her voice is low.
“Collins,” I say her name as if it’s the only thing in my vocabulary. I don’t even know why I let out a sigh of relief from just hearing her fucking voice. “I—” I start as I pull up to a stop sign, and wait a second before moving ahead. “You’re sick.”
“I’m fine.” Her tone sounds like she’s tired and something else I can’t put my finger on. “I’m going to go back to bed.”
“Did you eat anything?”
“Um, no,” she admits. “I’m going to eat something now and then go to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Not going to happen. I’ll be there in thirty minutes, maybe less. I have something for you to eat, and I got you a couple of things.”
She sighs. “I’m exhausted and I don’t have the energy to argue with you.”
“So stop arguing,” I retort. “See you soon.”
It takes me fourteen minutes to get to her house, and when I pull up, there is light coming from the inside. I grab the bags and feel the second step pop up a bit on my way to the front door. I make a mental note to fix it, then debate whether I should knock or just walk in. Reluctantly, I rap on the door, put down the bags, and go back to get the groceries from the truck. She pulls open the door and watches me walk back up the steps. Her hair is wrapped in a towel, and I can see the droplets of water on her neck.
“Hi,” I say, walking past her. She takes a second to look outside before following me to the kitchen. “Don’t close the door, I’m not done.”
She stares at me with a confused look on her face. I head back to the truck four more times. Each time she watches from the doorway, wringing her hands nervously. Her eyes dart around, as if she’s expecting someone to jump out. When I finally finish emptying my truck, she searches the darkness one time before shutting the door and locking it as I start unpacking the groceries.
“Are you still not feeling good?”
“I’m feeling a bit better.” Her face is pale, and her eyes are a darker shade of gray than I’ve ever seen. “But I still don’t have the energy.” She looks out the kitchen window, then over my shoulder toward the door.
