Since she couldn’t talk, I tried to talk to fill the silence. “If you hear me talking to someone in the kitchen, don’t worry. I’m not losing my mind. I brought Frankie with me.”
Amanda’s forehead knit together, confusion in her eyes.
“See, that was one reason I was calling you this morning. Ma called me this morning and asked me if Frankie could stay with me this weekend. My uncle is having emergency gallbladder surgery, and that means my mother went to the hospital to sit with his wife—her sister. Since it’s my weekend off, Carl is pulling double duty at the restaurant, and Ange took the baby to see her mother down in Delaware.”
Amanda nodded, wincing a little. I figured her head must’ve been hurting her pretty bad.
“I was going to see if you still wanted to come down. I thought we could take Frankie to the boardwalk, walk around, play the arcade games ... you know, just hang out. So when I came up here instead, I just brought her along with me. She’s helping me make you some chicken soup.” Checking the time, I reached for the thermometer. “Okay, let’s see what we’ve got.”
“Can I have a drink now?” She gazed longingly at the glass in my hand.
“Uh huh. Take it slow, though. You don’t want it coming back up.” Squinting at the glass rod in my hand, I frowned. “Yeah, you’ve got a fever, all right. A hundred and two. You’re really sick, honey.”
She sipped the ginger ale. “I know. I feel a little better now that you’re here, but when I first woke up, I just wanted to die.”
“Hmmm. Well, work on keep that ginger ale down. It’ll help you to stay hydrated. And it’s the actual real deal—Ma bottles her own ginger ale, because she swears the stuff you buy in the grocery store will kill you.”
“It’s delicious.” Amanda dropped her head back against the pillows. Her face was pale, and even her lips were nearly colorless.
“Do you think you need to see a doctor?” I was concerned about her temperature. I knew it was burning off the bad stuff, but a fever that high was scary.
“No. There’s a virus going around at school, and three people in my study group had it last week. I guess it’s my turn. But because it’s viral, there’s nothing to do but wait it out.” She looked absolutely miserable as she said it.
“That’s all right.” I patted her hand. “We’re going to take care of you. My chicken soup is better than any medicine a doctor could give you, anyway.”
“Okay.” She handed me back the glass, and I set it on her nightstand before I went into the bathroom and found a clean washcloth. After I ran it under cold water, I wrung it out and folded it, laying it over Amanda’s forehead.
“That should help with the fever and your headache. Now you close your eyes. Try to sleep. I’ll be back in to check on you in a little bit.”
“’kay.” She sighed, and then as I made my way out of her bedroom, she called out. “Vincent.”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Thank you. Thank you for coming and for taking care of me and for not letting me die alone here.”
I smiled. “You’re not going to die, baby. Not on my watch. But you’re welcome, anyway. Now get some sleep.”
When I woke up, it was because Vincent was replacing the washcloth on my head with a new, cooler one. I blinked, groggy, trying to figure out what was going on. He smoothed my hair away from my face.
“You’re all right, sweetheart. It’s okay. I’m just checking on you.” He pressed his lips to my cheek. “You might be a little cooler, but you’re still feverish.” Sliding one arm beneath my back, he helped me to sit up. “I brought you more ginger ale. Fresh, not watery. Have some of this.”
I sipped it, grateful for the cool liquid sliding down my burning throat. I wanted to gulp it down, but mindful of the last horrendous vomiting session, I took it slow.
“I’d like to give you some ibuprofen and see if you can keep that down. We need something to help your poor head.”
I lay still for a moment, taking inventory. “My stomach doesn’t feel as bad as it did. I think I could handle the meds now.”
“Great. Be right back.”
Since he’d left the drink with me, I continue to sip it, wondering idly how one went about bottling her own ginger ale. I couldn’t begin to guess. I’d known Mrs. DiMartino as Ava’s mom for the last few years, and I’d always considered her a powerhouse woman, a virtual force of nature. She didn’t do anything by half measures. She’d raised four children and was even now bringing up her granddaughter. She worked full-time at the family restaurant, cooked for her family every Sunday and canned her own vegetables, though to be honest, I had no idea what that really involved.
“Hi.” A small dark-haired head peeked around the corner of my bedroom door. “Are you Amanda?”
I tried to muster up a smile, but I was afraid it probably looked more like a grimace. “Yep. And you’re Frankie. I saw you at your aunt Ava’s wedding.”
She nodded. “Uncle Vince said to tell you he’ll be right there with the pills. He was checking on the soup.”
“Okay.” I wasn’t sure I’d know how to interact with a kid her age on a good day, but when I was already battling just to keep from weeping from feeling so bad? I had nothing.
