Sea Wife - Amity Gaige Page 0,88

the sea.

* * *

Michael, darling, I whispered. It’s your watch.

He was still asleep, in the very same position. As if he had landed there from a great height. I touched his shoulder, then drew my hand away. His skin was burning hot. At my touch, he turned violently to his side, legs drawn up.

Michael, I pled.

I can’t, he said.

You can’t? But it’s your watch. It’s midnight.

No, he said, into the pillow. My bones hurt.

Have you taken anything? Ibuprofen? Michael?

What?

Have you taken anything for your fever? I asked again.

When he didn’t respond, I went to the locker where we kept our medicines. Before we sailed, I had been responsible for stocking the boat with first-aid supplies. It had been therapeutic for me. I got to think of everything that might go wrong, and its solution. Much of the bottles were child doses of things, bubble-gum liquids, Pedialyte. I shook a couple of tablets out of the economy-size Tylenol bottle and went back to Michael.

Here.

He took the pills in his hand, then started to drift off again.

Michael. Wake up.

Forcing his eyes open, he looked at me in fury. He threw the pills down his throat, took a sip of water, winced, then let his head drop back to the pillow.

Let. Me. Sleep.

Michael, wait. What if I can’t stay awake all night?

Set the kitchen timer, he said, his eyes still shut. Look around every twenty minutes.

Can I run the motor all night?

Of course you can, he said, irritably.

I mean, will we have enough fuel? If we had to run it all the way to Jamaica?

He sighed heavily, summoning a martyr’s patience.

Probably, he said. But it might not be making us go any faster. You’ll have to see.

I’ll have to see? I asked. How?

I could literally hear his jaw clench.

People get sick, Juliet. I’m a person.

Of course. I’m not mad at you, Michael. But how sick are you, do you think?

From very far away, as if he were already asleep and speaking to someone in a dream, he said, We’ll re-evaluate in the morning.

* * *

It was Sybil who woke me up at dawn. She bent down over me, her loose hair making a flower of her upside-down face. Her neat red cheeks, heavy and bed-warm. Her breath smelling of bubble-gum toothpaste.

Behind her, the sky was a faint hyacinth. She smiled down at me with an adoring expression. It was impossible not to see her as an angel.

You did it, Mommy, she said. You sailed all night!

* * *

But he was worse.

Sybil and I stood in the doorway of the darkened berth.

I think you should let Daddy sleep, Sybil said. He looks really tired.

He was curled in a ball, huddled against the bulkhead in the dim light. I walked over to his inert body.

Michael? I said.

No, he said, clear as day. Not yet. No questions.

You have to talk to me, I said. You have to advise me.

I’m freezing, he said, not looking at me.

You’ve got all the blankets we have on top of you.

I turned to where Sybil hung back in the doorway.

Be a quiet fairy, I said. Go get your blankets and bring them to Daddy.

While she was out of the room, I got three Tylenol from the bottle I’d left on the shelf. I shook him by the shoulder. He whined pitifully, as if he were a little boy.

Take these pills, goddammit, I said. I order you.

This got him to open one eye. A wan smile.

You’re worse, I said.

My bones are breaking, he said. My eyes have sharp corners.

Talk to me, I said. What

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