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Kenny shook his head and closed his eyes. “This is the first time I’ve felt comfortable in a few hours. I’ve been vomiting. A lot.”
Brea jumped up and hurried to the kitchen, where she heated water for tea and searched for anything to calm his stomach. As they’d been together for many years, Brea felt she understood Kenny’s immune system almost as well as her own.
“I can go to the bodega for some Sprite?” she tried.
Kenny was quiet, and Brea panicked again, hurrying over to him to find his eyes closed. She thought he was sleeping for a moment, but then, he spoke.
“I can’t keep anything down.”
“Why don’t you try a few crackers? And tea?”
Kenny sighed and pressed his hand against the floor to lift himself. Energized, Brea headed back to the kitchen to grab his tea and crackers, then set them up in front of him. The television was on, and it flashed an eerie green light across his face. Although the volume was very low, Brea could make out MTV music videos— Pearl Jam’s “Do the Evolution” was on right now.
“Did you eat something bad? Maybe you have food poisoning?” Brea asked softly.
Kenny shrugged. “I just had spaghetti for dinner before going to work. It must have sat with me wrong.”
Brea frowned, remembering she’d eaten from the same pasta sauce just that afternoon. Nothing had happened to her.Was Kenny developing an allergy?
Not long after Kenny tried the tea, he ran back to the bathroom to vomit again. Brea shivered with worry, standing outside the bathroom to offer support if he needed it. When he came back out, he stumbled toward the couch and sat back down again.
“Maybe we should try to go to bed,” Brea suggested, thinking it improbable that Kenny had anything left in him to vomit up.
Kenny finally agreed. Brea placed a large pot beside the bed, one for emergencies. Although Kenny didn’t vomit again until morning, he tossed and turned all night, his sweat bleeding through the sheets. Brea hardly slept either, which was devastating the night before her first day at work with Oriana.
The following morning, Kenny sat listlessly on the couch, watching more music videos and eating a cracker very slowly as a way to test his stomach. Brea was dressed in her fanciest work outfit, which was much cheaper than anything Oriana and her colleagues wore. When her first payday came through, she’d head to the boutiques they frequented, as she knew her clothing would dictate how clients perceived her. That was part of the game.
“I’m worried about leaving you here alone all day,” Brea said.
Kenny waved his hand. “I’m fine. It’s just a stomach bug or something. I guess it’ll work its way out of my system in the next day or two.”
Brea sighed and poured him another glass of water. “If it wasn’t my first day, I would call in and stay home with you.”
“That would be silly,” Kenny told her.
Brea rolled her eyes and stepped toward Kenny to kiss him on the forehead, then the lips. His skin remained so clammy and cold.
“I love you, Kenny,” she told him. “The number for the office is on the fridge. Call me if you need anything, and I’ll come home right away.”
“You don’t need to worry about me,” Kenny assured her. “I’ll be fine.”
But over the next several days, Kenny did not get better. The vomiting came in fits and starts, and he lost a great deal of weight very quickly. On day three of his illness, Kenny’s boss from the restaurant called and fired him, saying that Kenny didn’t care about his position anyway. Brea begged him to reconsider, saying that Kenny was very ill, but the restaurant owner coughed and hung up.
“I think we should go to the doctor,” Brea told him, crossing her arms over her chest.
Kenny waved his hand. “If it doesn’t clear up in the next two days, we can go.”
“You promise?”
Kenny nodded. “You’re going to be late for work. Come on. Don’t mess up your big gig on my account.”
Brea felt wordless. After she kissed Kenny goodbye and jumped into the subway to head to the office, she allowed herself a few minutes to weep into her hands. Never had she seen Kenny so sick! Of course, Kenny was bullheaded and trying his hardest not to appear as sick as he was. But Brea sensed something horrible was about to happen.
When Brea arrived at the office, Oriana rushed past her, her eyes panicked. “We need to go, Brea! Right now!”
Brea was exhausted. She’d hardly slept since Kenny’s illness had begun, and the world was blurry around the edges and nonsensical. As quickly as she could, she jumped after Oriana, sitting in a cab that took them back to the gallery space in which the four-million-dollar painting was hung, expectant.
“Another client wants to see it,” Oriana explained hurriedly. “Before he flies back to Tokyo this afternoon.”
