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He was wearing the same shirt he’d had on that day at the mall. I knew how it smelled. I knew how it would feel if he hugged me against it.

I don’t know why, but I had to clutch a hand over my heart. It actually hurt to look at him. Even just part of him.

And the weirdest thing was that while the kids were the biggest reason I didn’t want to keep seeing him, I wished I were there with them. I wondered what Justin was making them for dinner. I could picture sitting with him on the couch watching Frozen, docked in the docking station, with Chelsea and Brad curled up with us. I wanted to chat with Sarah in person and hear one of Alex’s animated stories of what he was up to.

When I went back to work after lunch, I wasn’t feeling well.

I stayed two hours later than scheduled, so I was exhausted when I finally got the boat docked. When I got to the cottage, I realized we barely had any groceries. I’d go tomorrow. I was getting a headache and I was too tired to do anything other than peel off my clothes and climb into bed.

A few hours later, the nausea woke me up.

I felt for my phone on the nightstand in the dark. 2:42 a.m. I rolled onto my back, hoping if I lay still enough the feeling would pass.

It didn’t.

I barely made it to the bathroom.

I hated throwing up. Hated it. Probably something I picked up at the hospital, or maybe something I ate. I retched up everything I had, holding my hair back at the nape of my neck.

When I was done, I rinsed my mouth out and brushed my teeth, tied up my hair. Then I spun and vomited again.

By 6:00 a.m., I’d given up trying to make it back to my room. The stomach upset started a little after the vomiting did. During the short breaks I got from puking and sitting on the toilet, I lay on the semi-damp blue bathroom mat in front of the tub, my head pounding.

I wanted water.

The kitchen felt a million miles away so I pulled myself up to the sink and drank from the tap. It was awful. It tasted like rust and smelled like sulfur.

It was worse on the way out.

I rifled through the medicine cabinet for something, anything, but there was nothing that would help me. Band-Aids, Visine, nail clippers, some NyQuil but that wouldn’t stop the vomiting. I moved some peroxide and found an ancient bottle of Pepto. It had separated. The top half was a watery layer of milky-looking liquid. I shook it and the contents came back together a little, but it still looked spoiled. I checked the date. Expired in 1994. I blanched and put it back and slid down on the floor again.

I called in sick to Royaume.

Maddy called around 8:00 a.m. “Hey, just checking in.”

“Okay,” I croaked.

“You all right? You sound like shit.”

I shifted to my back and put an arm across my forehead. “I think I have norovirus. I’ve been throwing up since last night.”

“Ick. Diarrhea too?”

“Yup.”

“Ugh. Well at least it passes quick.”

“I hope so.”

There was a pause. “Janet and Beth asked about you.”

I squeezed my eyes shut against another rolling wave of nausea. “Oh. Tell them hi.”

“You should come next time.”

I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me. “Yeah. Sure.” I sat up. “I have to go, I think I’m going to throw up again.”

After I heaved for another five minutes, I dozed off on the tile with a towel as a pillow. When I woke up, it was noon. Justin had texted good morning three hours ago. I replied with “not feeling great today” and a green-faced emoji. He called immediately, but I didn’t answer.