Page 47 of Only One Tour Bus

She stops to look at me, her eyes narrowed so much I don’t know if she’s falling asleep where she stands, or if she’s still considering me.

“What? I can be helpful.” When I want to.

“I don’t think I have your number. I mean, it might be in some employee handbook, but not with me right now.”

“Right. I can give it to you? So you’ll have it if you need it.”

“That sounds good.” She gets her phone out to take my number, and texts me right away so I have hers as well. I push down the embarrassment that I’ve spent the last week with this woman, have kissed her, and we’re only now getting around to doing the number exchange.

“Now that you have my number, call if you need anything.” It comes out as a command, as much as I tried to soften it into a request. But I’m no good at soft. “I can get your wee bag for you.”

“You don’t have to do that. I packed it, I can carry it,” she quotes our handbook. But she’s swaying on her feet.

“You really don’t look so good.”

“You know the way to a girl’s heart,” Asha says sarcastically, but then ruins the effect of the indignation by sneezing. I’ve got to teach her how to properly dress someone down. She did a fine enough job making me feel shite a few days ago, but this is not her best effort. She should get some help from an expert (me) to be more consistent.

“So I’ve been told.” But I take her suitcase and mine and walk up the stairs.

But it would be easier if I could be her knight in shining armor in America, because they’ve got the biggest elevators I’ve ever seen in my life, while Europe has the smallest. There’s already a line outside this hotel’s two small elevators, which can hold two people and one suitcase at a time. Maybe two suitcases if everyone gets close.

With a suitcase in each hand, I climb the stairs with Asha. Just our luck, we’re on the fourth floor, and I’m feeling the need for a lie down after the trek. She doesn’t look much better after the exertion, and she did it minus her suitcase and all.

I should have forced the Americans to get some exercise and taken an elevator for us. Made up some nonsensical excuse about tour guide privilege, or a tour guide emergency.

She opens her door and I roll her suitcase in, mind still on how tired she looks. “Should we call a doctor?”

“No. Don’t be silly; I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“Again with the slander on my appearance.” She waves me away, and then collapses on the bed. She would probably say that she sat on the bed, but she would be wrong. Her legs went out from under her and the bed caught her so the floor didn’t have to.

“Do you at least have medicine?”

“Always prepared. Of course I do.” But she doesn’t move to get the medicine. She closes her eyes as she falls fully back onto the bed.

I push our suitcases out of the way and try to tuck her in, under the covers. It’s much more difficult than usual since she’s currently on top of them. And every time I move her, she gives a wee unhappy groan but doesn’t open her beautiful brown eyes or tell me off.

Not that Wee Sunshine would ever tell me off in the traditional sense of the word. She would probably say something about how I’m wrong, but it’s not my fault, because I don’t know any better and this is just an opportunity for me to learn.

Or say something that looks on the bright side of the situation.

I finally get her under the covers, a task made even harder since I’m trying to avoid hearing those groans every time I move her. Then I dig in her backpack for the pills, give thanks that they’re in there and not the suitcase, and help her take them.

I sit in the chair next to the bed, knowing I should leave but not able to leave her alone when she looks in such a sad state. I get out my phone and start scrolling to pass the time.

“I don’t think it’s gonna happen,” Asha says as she burrows deeper into the covers.

“But you have to. It’s your type of tour. Seeing the glittering lights and talking about why Paris is called the City of Lights. It’s light on history and heavy on photo opportunities next to pretty buildings.”

“Come on, it’s easy. You say it’s because it was one of the first cities to use gas streetlights on a large scale. And also because of how hard it went on the Age of Enlightenment stuff after the street lighting. Then you watch them take photos, and maybe offer to take a few. See, you can do it.”

“But I don’t want to.”

“I hear you. But I’m lying here with a light fever, so I don’t think we have many choices.” She waves the thermometer at me, which is flashing yellow. Apparently, this American thermometer tells her how nervous she should be depending on the temperature, as if she can’t figure that out for herself. Maybe most Americans couldn’t, but she can.

I sigh. What did these tourists give her? Traveling around, getting little sleep, and always worrying makes our immune systems hearty. So whatever is taking her down now must be serious.