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“And you need to stay there for another day at least.” Stewart put a mug down on the nightstand. The tea was the color of oak, which meant he’d forgotten to take the tea bag out.
She took a cautious sip and tried not to choke. “Delicious, thank you.” She put it down again. “I’ll leave it to cool down.” And then she’d pour it down the sink when he wasn’t looking.
She hated feeling so helpless. Hated the fact that she didn’t have the energy to go downstairs and make her own tea.
It made her anxious to think about how much there was to do.
Stewart had been helping, but he didn’t do things the way she liked them done and doing them was part of the fun for her.
She’d planned on spoiling everyone. Mothering them. She’d been looking forward to family dinners and cozy evenings in front of the fire. Instead her evenings had been spent in isolation. She’d been reduced to waving to her grandchildren from the doorway so that she didn’t spread her germs.
The good news was that she’d definitely turned the corner. She no longer had a fever, she was finally sleeping again and she felt at least half-human.
“I’m going to get up today.”
“There’s no need. Posy and
I are on top of everything. We’re working through your list.” Stewart straightened the bed, somehow managing to leave the bedding more creased and rumpled than before he’d started. “Today is item nine. I’m making cranberry sauce.”
“You’ve never made cranberry sauce in your life.”
“Man against cranberry—how hard can it be?”
“Remember to use fresh orange juice.”
“Got it.”
She knew he wasn’t listening. “Oranges, Stewart.”
“I know what orange juice is! There’s a carton in the fridge. I bought it yesterday.”
“I squeeze real oranges.”
“You do?” Stewart eyed her. “No wonder you’re exhausted.”
She sighed. It was impossible to make him understand that the preparations for Christmas weren’t a chore to her, they were a pleasure. “How are the girls? Give me an update.”
“Everything is under control. I’m holding the fort.” Stewart flexed his muscles and winked at her. “I am superman. I can handle anything that comes my way.”
Suzanne studied him. “Your sweater is inside out.”
He reached behind his neck, felt the label and gave her a sheepish grin. “I can handle everything except dressing myself.”
He always made her laugh. Even when she’d been feeling like death, he’d made her laugh.
She loved him so much it hurt. There wasn’t a day when being with him didn’t lift her spirits.
“What’s happening with Beth? Did you get to the bottom of why she came home early?”
“Beth is fine.” He didn’t look at her and she studied his face, trying to work out what he was hiding.
“But you’re worried about her.”
“I’m not the worrying type.” He tidied up her knitting and smacked his fist into one of the cushions on the chair.
“Why are you punching the cushion?”
“I’m not punching, I’m plumping. You’re always plumping cushions.”
