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She has a hand on the wall, like she’s steadying herself. She pulls up short at the sight of me and squints her eyes. There are sleep lines creasing her face.

“You’re still here?” Her voice is raspy.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.” I stuff my hands in my pockets, fighting a strong desire to reach out and wrap my arms around her. She said she wanted me here when I was helping her with her meds, but that could have been the fever talking. Beth is fiercely independent, and also, I’m not one hundred percent sure she’s happy to see me after I left town on Friday night. Maybe she’d rather Calvin was here.

She stares at me like I’m a complicated piece of sheet music she’s trying to read. She must give up because she shakes her head and shuffles in the direction of the living room without a word.

I follow her silently, waiting for her to say something—tell me what she needs or kick me out. I’m hoping it’s the former but bracing myself for the latter.

She plops down on the end of the couch, pulling her legs up underneath her. “I feel terrible that you wasted all this time here while I slept. What time is it even?”

“Almost eight.”

“P.M.?” Her eyes bug. “I-I can’t believe how long I slept. I have so much to do. I need to go.”

She makes to stand from the couch, as if she’s going to be at all productive in her condition. She’s so weak, she can’t even hoist herself out of the fluffy cushions.

“Hey, take ’er easy there.” It’s wild how I fall back into Midwest speak when I come home. I’m always trying to sound cool and polished in Nashburg, but it’s like slipping into a well-worn pair of boots coming home to small-town Wisconsin.

“This never happens to me,” Beth wails, “and, ugh, it’s the worst!” She looks at me with wide, weepy eyes. “You didn’t have to stay. You should have done whatever else you needed to do today.”

I shake my head, sitting down next to her and reaching for her hand. She stills but relaxes after a second. “Bethy. The only thing I needed to do today was make sure you’re okay. I want to take care of you.”

Her eyes widen, and she searches my face. Like she’s looking for a punch line. “How long have you been here?”

“It doesn’t matter.” I try to brush her off. If there’s one thing I know about Beth, it’s that she hates being an inconvenience to other people.

“It matters to me,” she whispers.

I take in her disheveled appearance. The hair that’s sticking straight out of the back of her head, making her look like a flustered porcupine. The remnants of red lipstick, undoubtedly what she applied before going to church—she used to say she always wore makeup for Jesus—are smudged just beneath her mouth.

She cocks her head to the side when I don’t answer her right away and then sits more fully upright.

“What’s that smell? Did you cook?” She smacks my arm. “Gabe!”

“Hey!” I rub my upper arm, pretending to be wounded.

She offers me a faint smile at that. “Seriously. This is too much. I’m fine. Just a bad cold.”

“Beth, you have more than just a cold.” I settle my hand on her shoulder and gently press her back into a seated position. “You slept all day. You were burning up this morning—”

“You’ve been here since this morning?” She gasps out the question.

I ignore it for now, reaching instead to feel her forehead. “It seems like your fever broke, which is good, but you need to take it easy.”

She presses her chapped lips together. “I don’t have time to take it easy.”

“Too bad. We’re making time.”

“Gabe. No. I have to coordinate the volunteers for—”

“Already done. I reached out to Winnie and she’s rallying the troops.”

This gives her pause. “Okay, but what about all the materials I need to make for the different stations?”

“Ivy is handling it.”

“Ivy.” Beth groans. “Today was supposed to be her day off. I bet she’s been at the bookstore. I think I called her.”