If I ignore them long enough, they’ll go away,I think to myself as I reach for another pillow. I fold it over the back of my head, trying to cover my ears with it to drown out the knocking.
Only they don’t go away and the knocking doesn’t stop. I’m aggravated now, just wanting to rest. I get up and stomp out of my bedroom down the hallway to the door. I instantly soften when I see that it’s Charlie, holding a pail of soup from Regiano’s and some DVDs.
“I was asleep,” I say in apology as I open the door.
“Hey,” he says, breathing a sigh of relief as he sees me. “I was about to bust the door down.”
“You know where the spare key is,” I laugh and it turns into a cough that sets my throat ablaze.
“I noticed you weren’t at the diner this morning and Thea said you weren’t feeling well, so I brought supplies.” He holds up the soup pail and the DVDs. “Chicken gnocchi soup from Regiano’s,your favorite, and some cheesy rom-coms guaranteed to make you laugh.”
He’s dressed in civilian clothes, jeans and a plain T-shirt, but his radio is strapped to his hip. He must be off duty until the festival later.
“Don’t you have better things to do than to worry about me?”
He cocks his head to the side. “You should know by now that I’malwaysgoing to worry about you.”
“What did I do to deserve you?” I ask as I step away from the door so he can enter.
Charlie laughs. “Come on, Beth Ann, let’s get you feeling better.”
He steps across the threshold of my house and waltzes about like he owns the place. I follow him into the kitchen and sit down at the table.
“Nope,” he says as he sets the soup on the counter. “Couch.” He points in the direction of the living room.
I do as I’m told and get up, trudging out of the kitchen before collapsing onto one end of the couch. I frown down at myself. I’m in my favorite pajamas — an old sweatshirt of Charlie’s that I stole years ago and comfy sweatpants that have seen better days.
But it’s Charlie. He’s seen the worst of me. I’m sure he won’t care if my sweatpants have a few holes in them.
He walks back into the living room with a bowl of steaming soup and hands it to me before he crosses to the television above the fireplace. I stare absentmindedly at the urn standing proud in the center of the mantle, next to it, a birthday card Thea placed there. Ican’t help but wonder what Caroline would make of Charlie and I if she could see this very moment.
I watch as Charlie fiddles with the DVD player for a bit. The soup steams my face as I breathe in the creamy, chicken aroma, beyond glad he brought this to me. I bring the first spoonful to my lips and blow on it to cool it.
“Mmm,” I hum, tasting the soup. This is exactly what I needed. I tuck my legs underneath me as I take another bite.
“Good?” he asks over his shoulder. He stands up and reaches for the remote on the coffee table.
“Very.” I take another bite, letting it soothe my sore throat.
Charlie walks around the coffee table and back to the couch. He puts his hand on my forehead as he asks, “Do you have a fever?”
“I think so,” I mutter. I haven’t had the energy to check but suspect so since I had the chills earlier. I tossed and turned all night, waking up in puddles of sweat every couple of hours.
“Have you taken anything?”
“A couple of ibuprofen.”
He nods. “Good,” he says as he sits down in the middle of the couch beside me. We sit in silence as he presses play on the remote, the trailers playing on the screen in front of us. I devour the bowl of soup and debate asking for more.
“Thank you for this,” I say as I set the empty bowl on the coffee table.
“Of course. I was worried about you. It’s not like you to not be at the diner.”
I nod in agreement. The diner is my life, it seems.
“Are you working tonight?” I ask, gesturing at his attire.
He shakes his head. “Only if they need me. We’re hoping for a quiet Fourth this year.”
