“You take care of my girl, you hear?” she says. “I have to go.”
She hangs up before I can respond. I stare down at the phone. I walk back into the bedroom and find Abigail sitting on the side of the bed. Her shoulders are slumped, and her head hangs low.
“You okay?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I feel really gross.” She plucks at her shirt. “I think the fever finally broke, though.”
“You want me to run you a bath?”
“That would be nice,” she replies, her voice soft and weak.
I go to the bathroom and turn on the water in the old tub. It takes forever to get warm, but that’s how all these old cabins are. When the tub is nearly full, I go out and find her still sitting on the side of the bed. “You need some help to get there?”
She shakes her head. “I can do it.” But she still doesn’t move.
“I’m going to nickname you Speed Turtle,” I say with a laugh. I go to her and take her hands. She gets to her feet with a groan.
“I’m fine,” she insists. “Better than yesterday.” She looks around. “What time is it?”
“It’s almost eight.” The sun came up just a little while ago.
“Don’t you have to get to work?”
I shrug. “I’ll get there eventually.”
“Don’t hang out on my account.” She walks into the bathroom and weakly pushes the door shut behind her. It hangs open about an inch. I peek through the opening and see that she’s slowly pulling her clothes off.
“I’m going to make you some toast points and some soup. You think you can eat it?”
“Maybe,” she calls back, her voice weak. The water in the tub makes a splashing noise as she settles into it.
“You okay?”
“Yep.”
I walk to the bathroom door and peek inside just to reassure myself. She’s in the tub with her back to me, so all I can see is her naked shoulders. “Do you need anything in there?”
“No, I’m fine. Thank you.”
I look in the closet and find some clean sheets and pillowcases and then I strip the bed. She wasn’t kidding about gross. She must have sweated the fever out for the past twenty-four hours. I make up the bed and replace the quilt. It’s the same quilt her grandmother had on the bed twenty years ago. It’s a little more threadbare, but I can tell it’s dearly loved.
I pop a couple of pieces of bread in the toaster and pour a can of soup into a bowl so I can stick it in the microwave.
I can hear Abigail in the bathroom splashing around, so I know she’s all right.
A gentle knock sounds on the front door. I open it to find Katie standing there. “How is she?” she asks.
“I think her fever broke, but she’s still pretty sick. I’m going to try to take her to the doctor in a little while, I think.”
“That’s probably a good idea.” She looks around. “Has she eaten anything?”
“Not yet. But I’m hoping she can eat this soup.” I hold the bowl aloft to show her that I made something. The toast pops in the toaster, so I pull it out and cut it into tiny triangles.
“Where is she now?”
“Taking a bath.”
“I’m going to go check on her.”
I nod and she walks away. I listen as she gently knocks on the bathroom door. “Abigail, it’s Katie. I just came to check on you.”
“Katie, can you help me with my hair?” she calls back, her voice as weak as water. “I’m just so tired.”
Katie goes into the bathroom and closes the door. A few minutes later, she comes back out and gets a clean t-shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms from the drawers, after she rummages around in them for a minute trying to find what’s where. She goes back in and closes the door behind her.
I would have helped her with her hair if Katie hadn’t shown up. I would have actually liked to have done it. I’m finding that I quite like taking care of her. In a few days, she’ll go back to being her normal independent self and she won’t need anything I can offer. Not that I can offer much anyway, aside from myself. And that’s not enough for anyone.
Katie walks out of the bathroom and Abigail follows, her damp curls in disarray. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful. She almost takes my breath away. “I’m going to call my doctor in town and