Page 39 of Earthly Ties

That’s what pressing my hand to Esther’s forehead feels like. Only when I pull away, I expect my hand to melt to her instead.

Esther sighs contentedly, her breath evening and slowing.

Is her fever that bad? Even with the medication? I clench my jaw, forcing myself to keep my hand there longer. So bad that a draft on the forehead is enough to cool her?

My heart breaks for her; Esther has no one to check in on her, no one to baby her and bring her medicine, to pick the damn rag up off the floor and to bring her a fresh one. She just has me, worrying about everything I can’t change.

But I can do this one small thing for her. With a grimace, I curl around her, clasping her head against my chest and my legs through her torso.

“Thank you, draft.” Easther murmurs. “This is perfect.”

I hiss through the pain before muttering, “No problem. Happy to help.”

As her breath slows into light snores, time slows to a halt. She’s…sleeping. Actually sleeping, for the first time in days.

Despite the pain, I smile. I can do this. I can help Esther sleep. I’ll happily melt to her completely, suffer in agony forever if it means she can get some rest.

After forever, and yet far too soon, her phone dings again. Time speeds up as she blinks awake to see another reminder that she should update her case.

Esther tosses it on the nightstand.

I grit my teeth. “Please, for my sake, for the little bit of sanity I have left, can you at least sit up so I can check your neck?”

“Fine.” With a grunt, she swings her legs to the floor and sits up, pressing a hand to her forehead as she does.

I gasp for breath, gagging as she passes out of me. The absence of pain is a shocking reminder of what I’ve been enduring for her sake. Though I’m left a shaking mess on the bed, fighting to regain control over my body for God knows how long, I would endure it forever for my East.

“I need another painkiller. This shit sucks.” She lifts her hair off her neck, pulling it to the side, fingers searching skin for any sign of texture.

Craning my neck to inspect it, I hold my breath, searching her neck and shoulder for any signs of irritation. My hands tremble as the cold that was soothing her returns to numb my body. There are lines denting her skin from the pillow, a smattering of freckles across her shoulder, the tattooed lips behind her ear.

But no blisters that I can see. Just the red edge of the herald patch.

I bite back the smile trembling across my lips. “East, go look in the mirror. I have too much hope right now.” They aren’t spreading toward her face, or around her throat. They must be going down her back. They have to be.

“I don’t feel anything in my hair.” Esther’s sigh is sharp with relief. “I should check.”

When she pulls herself to her feet and yanks her tank top off, tossing it on the floor as she lumbers to the bathroom, that’s when I can truly relax. The pockmarks are an ugly, angry red, and look painful beyond measure. But they’re trailing down her spine, fanning out around her ribs.

She’s in for weeks of pain and discomfort. Weeks of isolation, her only interaction being with the hazmat workers who collect trash from quarantined homes and bring her food and medicine. Weeks of itching and fever.

But after those few weeks are over, a lifetime.

Relief drips down my cheeks.

Esther checks out her back in the mirror, sobbing out a laugh. “Oh, these look awful!” She shakes her head. “Not that I’m complaining. I’m so relieved to see you’re there, pockmarks, instead of on my head!” With another laugh, she admires the inflamed marks spreading down her spine. “Oh, thank fuck! I’m going to be okay.” She pauses. “I can say that now without jinxing myself, right? Can I hope now?”

“Yeah, East, you’re going to be okay.” My voice is raspy. When I touch my cheeks, my fingertips come away wet. Staring at the pearls of silvery moisture beading on the pads of my fingers, I clear my throat to speak more clearly. On the off chance she actually can hear me, deep down, I want her to hear this. “You can hope now.”

Eighteen

“Iwant to do my independent study on African philosophy.” Syd’s voice is tinny through Esther’s laptop speakers. “You know how, like, in some movies, there’s the depiction of the ancestral plane? I want to learn about shit like that. Sorry— stuff like that. What are some search terms you recommend for getting good sources to explain the roots of that depiction of the afterlife? I’m having trouble escaping the ancient Greeks.”

Since I’m “on sabbatical,” Esther got stuck with my advisees, including Syd, who had one semester of weirding out over the macabre with me before I died. Even though as an adjunct, Esther isn’t supposed to be anyone’s advisor. Especially since she’s still technically on leave with the Pox. While the worst is over, she still has at least two more weeks of isolation, but she’s already back teaching remotely. Now that she knows Esther isn’t about to die, Gilda’s empathy has limits.

I lay on the bed, watching as Esther bundles herself in the comforter and clings to her steaming mug of tea. An array of medication and vitamins clutter up the table behind her laptop, surrounding the oxalis plant. She better get the fucking tenure-track position I’ve left vacant, whenever Gilda finally accepts that I’m not coming back.

Despite the comforter hugging her shoulders, Esther’s bare thigh jiggles under the desk as she bounces her foot, a pleasant distraction from my own existential musings. The weeks of anxiety and shared delirium—while I obsessively checked her neck and face for pockmarks, and sank into her to help her fight her fever—has left me so relieved that I no longer have any shame in looking. That enchanting bounce of her glorious thigh is a miracle I almost lost forever. “That’s a good question, Syd.”