Page 107 of Once Upon a Fall

“Goodbye, Wendell. Thanks again.”

When the truck has left and everything is gone, I take a walk through the house.

Without my grandparents’ things, it’s just a shell. All that’s left is dust, cobwebs, and faint outlines where family photos used to hang.

He’ll know what to do.

I still don’t know if this is what she meant. And since she never showed up as a ghost to tell me, I’ll just have to hope this was it.

When I get back to the inn later that evening, Rosie looks exhausted. There are shadows under her eyes, and the messy bun from this morning has mostly come undone, half her hair spilling out of it.

“Can I help with anything?” I ask, watching her put some rose petals on the bed. If this really is a prank from the Walkers, I might have a few words for them.

“No, thanks,” she says. “I’m just about done.”

“I’ll go make dinner then,” I say.

“Okay, but you don’t need to worry about me. I’m not very hungry.”

“Are you okay?” I ask, concerned. This is the first time Rosie has ever turned down dinner.

“Yeah.” She gives me a hollow smile. “I’ve eaten a bunch of junk, that’s all. In between cleaning the rooms. I haven’t had a minute to sit down.”

I want to tell her to rest and I’ll take care of it, but it’s not my place, and Rosie is fully capable of taking care of herself.

It’s after ten when the guests finally show up for the room. Rosie was about to lock up and go to bed, half laughing about it and wondering why they would pay for a room and have her set it up if no one was coming.

She shows the couple to the Sleeping Beauty room while I pack up my stuff in Snow White.

I figure she’s gone to bed when I come downstairs later to grab a phone charger I left in the kitchen, but instead I find her out cold on the couch in the front room.

Strange that she’d crash there, but this is Rosie. She probably thought she could take a quick break and ended up out cold.

Knowing that she’d hate it if one of her guests found her here, I walk over to the couch and touch her shoulder.

“Rosie?”

She mumbles something but then falls back asleep.

“Rosie,” I say again, shaking her lightly.

But there’s no waking this woman.

I try again, touching her face this time, but when I do, her skin is hot, and when I press the back of my hand to her forehead, it feels like it’s on fire.

She’s sick. The headache, the exhaustion, not wanting dinner—I should have figured it out sooner.

“Rosie,” I say, trying to wake her again. I need to get her into her bed and then find something to help with the fever.

“Hmm?” she asks, her eyes fluttering open. “Dean?”

“You’re burning up,” I tell her. “I need to get you to your room.”

“Huh?” she tries to sit up but then closes her eyes like the room is swaying and falls back on the couch.

So, I do the only thing I can. I slip one arm under her knees and the other around her back, then lift her against my chest and carry her through the kitchen and toward her room.

“What are you doing?” she asks, her words sounding slightly slurred as I bring her into her small living space.