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“I think that there is,” She says before turning back to the kitchen and hurrying away.
“Make sure to stop for ginger ale and some of that menthol rub stuff too.” Faye offers.
“And a bottle of cold medicine.” Ana says, “Just in case they’re running low.”
“Hand sanitizer, bro,” Travis is laughing. Fuck him, but he’s right. I will definitely be getting hand sanitizer. I hate being around sick people. That I’m even considering this is totally unusual for me, but the thought of Ellie being home caring for a toddler and two sick adults by herself isn’t something I can ignore.
When the waitress returns to the table, she sets down a large plastic container of hearty looking soup, a paper plate with slices of pie wrapped with cellophane and a foil wrapped package.
“What’s this,” I question, tapping the foil with one finger.
“This is for Ellie, isn’t it?” she asks. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to overhear, but…” she waves a nervous hand toward the table nearest us with a shrug.
“It is,” I admit. It’s not a secret, I guess, not that I appreciate my personal business being public this way.
“That’s a loaf of our garlic toast,” she says. “I also got a container of our lemon orzo soup out of the freezer because it’s Ell’s favorite.”
I can’t put a name to how that makes me feel, but I know it makes me happy that people care for Ellie and are watching out for her. The waitress sets a bag on the table beside the containers of food and swiftly packs everything up.
“Lawrence is back there,” she explains, “that’s why I brought it out here before I had it ready.” She smiles at Ana and the two share an eyeroll.
“Has he been any better the last few days?” X inquires knowing that the word spread like wildfire that Lawrence was under review for his behavior.
She shrugs, “I guess. He hasn’t said anything inappropriate to anyone that I’ve heard about, but that doesn’t stop him from bumping into you and accidentally touching you.”
Xavier makes a sound of disgust, “Stop in my office to make an official report. Anyone else he’s done it to as well.” He tells the young lady who nods her thanks and slides the full bag toward me.
“There you go Mr. Stone. All set.” Her smile is genuine. “Let Ellie know not to worry about anything, I was talking to some of the girls today and they’re doing okay.”
“She’ll be worried about missing work,” Ana declares. “So, make sure she knows that taking care of her family is more important than working.”
I rise from my seat, taking the handle of the bag in hand. “Got it,” I tell them all, smiling at the group assembled in front of me. “Anything else?”
“Get something for Auggie,” Ana suggests. Faye nods.
“Good idea.” Travis and Xavier say at the same time. I huff a small laugh and shake my head and turn to go with a wave.
A chorus of goodbyes and suggestions follow me, and I appreciate it, but I ignore them. This morning got out of hand, but in the best way. I catch a glimpse of Lawrence lurking in the doorway of the manager's office watching me go. His eyes are narrowed angrily as he lifts his phone from his pocket and glances at the screen. While I watch from the corner of my eye his thumbs tap on the screen and he puts it back in his pocket, his scowl turning into a vicious smile.
Chapter Eighteen
Ellie
Thank goodness everyone is resting and Auggie is happily watching Netflix Kids. I’m exhausted and it’s not even noon yet. The little cold that Auggie had last week was nothing compared to the virus that has hit Mama and Liz. I’m a little concerned that it’s the flu since both of them have had a fever and body aches to go along with a nasty wet cough. I haven’t ever washed my hands so much in my life, but I think it’s working. I’m still feeling okay. Tired, but not sick.
Shoving wet laundry into the dryer I turn it on, planning to watch a few minutes of TV with Auggie, just for an excuse to sit down, before putting together something simple for lunch. I need to feed everyone without putting too much effort into it. When Auggie takes his nap, I’m hoping that I’ll be able to take one too, but Lizzie has never been able to be sick gracefully—think man-cold times ten. She’s been driving me crazy with her constant demands and whining.
A brief knock on the front door startles me. We aren’t expecting anyone, so I run to answer it before whoever it is disturbs Mama and Liz. Swinging the door open, expecting a salesman or something, I suck in a quick breath when I see Blake standing on the concrete steps holding the handle of a large paper bag.
I can’t stop my eyes from devouring him; a grey cotton t-shirt stretches across the thick, defined muscles of his chest and arms and I’m unable to look away from where the worn denim of his jeans cups what looks like an impressive package. Cheeks flushing, I nervously pat my hand over my hair. My messy bun is lopsided, and wild tendrils are hanging lankly against my neck and face. There’s no doubt that I look like a wreck in my holey leggings and one of my dad’s old t-shirts.
“Blake, what are you doing here?” I ask him, backing away from the door and making room for him to come in.
“You haven’t worked in a few days,” his feet shift a little like he’s uneasy, “Anyway, I didn’t get your number before I left the other night and I wanted to check on you.” He lifts the bag. It looks like the ones they use in the café for people who want to carry out their meal.
“I brought lunch,” he says with a grin.
“Oh, my goodness, you are amazing!” I exclaim. Taking the proffered bag in one hand and grasping his with my empty one, I pull him past the living room to the kitchen. I set the crisp white bag on the counter and turn to thank him for his thoughtfulness to find him only inches away, his lips curved up in a pleased smile as he gazes down at me.
