Fed Up - By Jessica Conant-Park & Susan Conant Page 0,22
And they always say that people with immune problems or chronic illnesses are much more vulnerable than anyone else. We don’t know anything about Francie. She could’ve had an illness that would’ve made her more susceptible.”
“That’s true. That must have been what happened, Josh. It’s the only thing that makes sense. I guess we should just be glad that we’re healthy and that we’re not dead, too.”
“Yeah, I know. If that’s what killed her, though, I still feel responsible. I mean, I chose the ingredients.”
“There is absolutely no way you could have known, Josh. There must be other people who bought that food, too. We should probably call the store.”
“Yeah, I’ll do that tomorrow. Speaking of tomorrow, why don’t you take the day off? It’s already almost two in the morning. You’ve got to be drained.”
“That’s probably a good idea. I’m sure my parents won’t fire me.”
During summer break from graduate school, I was working as an assistant to my parents at their landscaping and garden design company. My specialty this summer, rain barrels, tied in neatly with my studies; promoting the use of rain barrels kept me politically and socially active. I’d first heard of them when I’d read an online article. The idea was simple: Large barrels were set under gutters to collect rainwater. A spigot or hose connector was affixed to the bottom of each barrel so that the collected rainwater could be used to fill watering cans or to supply water to a soaker hose. Unfortunately, many barrels were unattractive and came in loud, obtrusive shades of red and green. When I talked to my parents about rain barrels, they said that their wealthy, house-proud suburban clients would totally reject the idea of big, garish barrels no matter how effectively they conserved a limited resource—fresh water. But instead of telling me to forget about ecological friendliness, my parents found a young carpenter, Emilio, who designed and built rain barrels that blended in with the colors and styles of individual clients’ houses. My job was to accompany my parents on landscaping consults and push rain barrels into the design equation. I did some neighborhood canvassing on my own, too, but I loathed the door-to-door approach.
“Okay, Carter Landscapes’ rain barrel business will have to take Tuesday off.” I leaned my head into Josh’s shoulder. “Can I come see you at Simmer tomorrow night?”
“You bet. I’ll make you whatever you want,” he promised.
I loved going to see Josh at the restaurant. Not that I usually got to spend much time with him there, but his outstanding food made up for his absence. Besides, it was a way for him to be with me, really. He often made me special dishes that weren’t on the menu, and those were some of my favorites. Sometimes he played with seasonal ingredients, experimented with dishes he was considering for the menu, or just cooked what he was inspired to make that day.
“Good. Maybe I’ll hang out with Ade for a bit tomorrow afternoon, and I’ll come in after that. What time are you working?”
“I should get there around nine, I suppose. I have to close, so I’ll be there late, but who knows what shape the place will be in after I was gone today?” Josh stretched his arms above his head and gave a long, deep yawn. “This day is officially over, okay?”
Josh and I crawled into bed. “Josh?” I said. “What if it was poison? Not food poisoning, but poison?”
He curled his body around mine and pulled the comforter up high. Even though it was August, we were both shivering. “I know,” he answered quietly. “I’ve had the same thought.”
EIGHT
MY mind could have used a good fourteen hours of oblivion, but my body refused to sleep past eight o’clock the next morning. When I awoke, Josh had already left for work. I knew that he must be exhausted. Even so, since he was going to be at Simmer tonight to cook me the dinner he’d promised, he’d be working a brutally long day. I brewed a pot of coffee and called my mother to let her know I wasn’t coming to work today. I didn’t feel ready to tell my parents about Josh’s nightmare of a TV episode yesterday, so I simply said that I had a cold. In fact, I sounded so raspy that it took almost no effort to make myself sound sick.
“Chloe, you poor thing. Aren’t those summer colds the worst?” My mother was so full of sympathy