made you something, but Uncle Brad said I can’t come in there.”
I grunted, unable to move because every muscle hurt, as though I’d just worked out. “Thanks, baby.”
“I’m just going to slip it under the door.” There was a long pause before she continued, “And don’t die, okay? ’Cause I love you.”
I laughed. Then, I realized it hurt to laugh.
“Dad?” It was Sarah this time. “Brad and Uncle Mason are going to take us out. We might sleep at their place in the city since you’re … sick and stuff.”
Good. Even better.
I didn’t want to contaminate anyone with this virus, let alone my children, who had perfect attendance thus far this year.
I lifted my head and peered over at the tall glass of water at the side table. Stretching my hand, I tried to reach for it. I could have tried harder, but I plopped back down and threw one arm over my eyes.
Fuck it.
I was going to sleep instead.
Becky
I’d been knocking on Charles’s door for the last few minutes, but he hadn’t responded, so I turned the knob and walked in, bringing a tray of soup, crackers, tea, and medicine.
I’d never been in his room before, and I was surprised it was so bland. Where the rest of the house was filled with color, Charles’s room was gray, from his sheets to his walls, and there was nothing hanging up. Not a speck of art or a single frame.
I’d suspected he’d have a picture of Natalie somewhere, anywhere, or maybe even of the children, but his dresser and side table were empty. I didn’t know if I found this interesting or incredibly sad.
The blinds were all shut, but little shadows of light still filtered through the slits of the blinds.
“Charles?” I padded to the bed and placed the tray on the floor.
Half the sheets were off the bed. He had one arm thrown over his head, and he was breathing heavily. I could hear the congestion in his chest. He was in the middle of his California-king bed, so I had to slide onto it to feel his forehead and his cheeks.
“Oh, Charles, you’re burning up.”
He needed some Tylenol to get his fever under control. And he needed a change of clothes because his white shirt was damp.
I decided to tend to him first, then feed him, and then medicate him.
In nurse mode, I went into action, walking to his master bathroom made for a king. A tub the size of a small swimming pool was situated in the far corner, and every crevice of the white marbled bathroom sparkled.
Interestingly enough, his bathroom was not as bare as his bedroom. For instance, Natalie’s side of the double sink was untouched. Her makeup and her jewelry case were there. Even her toothbrush was in its holder. She’d died almost four years ago, yet all of her belongings were still here in the bathroom, as though she’d never left.
In the middle, on the counter, was a mini ceramic dish, and as I walked closer, I realized it held their wedding rings.
I paused as I thought about it.
No, he’d placed it here. This was originally his parents’ house.
My heart clenched at the enormity of his heartache. He’d moved her stuff in, after she’d passed away, because he’d wanted her still with him.
My heart ached for Charles and for a woman that I didn’t even know. Just the fact that her life had been cut so short, that she was not able to enjoy her children, love them, love and take care of Charles.
Take care of Charles.
I shook my head into focus and went to the linen cabinet to grab some washcloths. Finding everything I needed wasn’t that hard; it just consisted of opening drawers and rummaging through some of Charles belongings.
After a good few minutes, I had washcloths, a bowl, and a clean T-shirt.
“Charles?” I approached the bed. I dipped the washcloth in the water and wrung it out. After climbing onto the bed, I placed the damp cloth across his forehead before dabbing it down his cheek and around his neck.
His eyes fluttered open. “Becky? What are you doing here?” he croaked out. “You need to stay away.” He coughed. “Whatever I have, I swear you don’t want it.”
I ignored him, swiping at his cheek and his neck, repeating the motion.
He grabbed my wrist, his skin on fire. “Becky, I’m fine.” His voice was low, rough, as though there were sand in his throat.