“It’s really late to be eating soup, don’t you think?” she asks, yawning again. “I just want to go back to bed.”
“I know you’re tired, but you should try to eat a little.”
“Okay,” she concedes as she reaches into a basket and retrieves what she needs. “I won’t be long.”
I exhale a large breath as I watch her slip into her bathroom and close the door. My poor girl. How has nobody taken care of her before?
Quickly, I toss the blankets and pillows onto the couch before stripping off the sheets and pillowcases. I find a hamper to put them in. I wonder where she does her laundry. The clean fitted sheet is a bitch to put back on in such cramped quarters, but with a little struggle, I get the bed remade.
The water is still running in the shower. I’m sure she’s alright, but I still call out to her, “Are you okay in there?”
“I’m fine. Almost done.”
Returning to the kitchen, I get the soup out of the fridge and pour half of it into a small, clean pot that was sitting on the stove. Turning the burner on low, I heat it up. At least I know how to do that. Finding a bowl and spoon and a box of crackers, I look around to see if there is anything else I need to help her feel better.
I feel much more confident than I did an hour ago. Now that she’s up and talking to me. Hopefully, the worst of it is over.
Sixteen
Turning off the water, I grab a towel and wrap it around my hair. I secure another around my body before stepping out of the shower onto the cool floor. I quickly dry off before using the towel to wipe away the steam on the mirror above the sink. The shower has made me feel marginally better, but my head still feels heavy. I’ll be happy to get back into bed. I can’t remember the last time I was this sick.
When I woke up earlier, I thought I had been dreaming about Ryan. I don’t remember him arriving, but I’m glad he’s here now. It’s very confusing to crave independence but also want someone to take care of you.
Feeling slightly light-headed, I sit down on the toilet seat in my underwear to get my bearings before pulling a long-sleeved T-shirt over my head, followed by a hoodie.
Ryan knocks softly on the door. “Is everything okay?”
“I’m almost done. I’ll be out soon.”
I finish putting on my pyjama pants and warm socks before brushing my teeth.
Opening the door, I can faintly smell the comforting aroma of homemade soup. My nose still functions. I hope my taste budsstill work. After dropping my dirty clothes in the hamper, I grab a comb and two elastics.
“How do you feel?” Ryan asks, glancing briefly over his shoulder before pouring soup into a bowl.
Sitting down at the table, I notice all the things scattered across it. Furrowing my eyebrows, I pick up a bottle and turn it over in my hand. Zinc tablets. “What’s all this?” I set it down and pick up a package of throat lozenges.
After placing the bowl in front of me, he sits across from me. “I didn’t know what you would need, so I got you a little of everything.”
“I see that. It looks like you bought out a pharmacy, but where did it come from?” I ask in confusion. All of Emerley shuts down by seven p.m. every night this time of year.
Rubbing his hand across the stubble on his jaw and chin, he says, “I had a guy bring it up from the city. He works for Vaughan.”
“The city? You had someone buy all this and drive it here—for me?” I clarify. Why would he do that?
“Yes. I was worried. He brought food as well. Why were your cupboards bare? If you need money…”
Raising my hand to stop him, I say, “I don’t. I just haven’t gone shopping this week.” Or last week, or the week before, I add silently. I appreciate the offer, but there is no way he’s giving me money. He has done too much already.
“Aren’t you going to eat something?” His hair looks completely disheveled, like he has been running both of his hands through it.
“No, I had a sandwich earlier while you were sleeping. Do you want one? There are more in the fridge,” he says as he begins to rise.
Placing my hand on his arm to stop him, I say, “No, but thank you. This will be plenty.”
I’m taking a small bite when he asks, “How long have you been sick? You shouldn’t have been here alone. What if something happened?” Opening a can of ginger ale, he sticks a straw through the hole and slides it across the table towards me.
“I could tell I was coming down with something on Wednesday. I struggled through it at work on Thursday. And today I crashed. Drove home and went straight to bed.”
