I was starting to hate that god-awful bed.
When I bought it the week before at the Flea Market, I was so excited. It was perfect- the frame and headboard were a dark-washed mahogany, the mattress the perfect firmness, the sheet-and-quilt set coordinating in a homey way. I couldn’t wait for it to be delivered to my house, so I could spread the instructions out on the floor and spend two days trying to assemble it. The frustration only made the end product that much more satisfying to flop down atop the pinkish quilt and sigh, staring at the ceiling.
That was before I got sick.
After three days of hacking and writhing under the covers, I was getting pretty darned tired of the floral design, the way my skull connected with the headboard every time I struggled to sit up, the way the mattress gave under my weight right in the middle.
Being bedridden is no fun.
There was only so much to do for hours on end; if daytime television was bad in the city, it was a thousand times worse in Waffle Island, where there was only one channel, broadcasting reruns of local informational shows all day long. I had read every decent book on the shelf by my bed, and when those were done, moved onto the farming books. Then the animal books. It had gotten to the point where there was a book on knitting that Candace had given me sitting on the nightstand by my bed, accompanied by various bottles of liquid and cold medicines alike, thermometers, tissues, the normal under the weather ensemble.
Some visitors had straggled in over the past few days; most of them were customers of mine who were checking up on their orders of vegetables and farm-fresh dairy products. They left disappointed; there was no way I could pull myself out of bed –that awful bed- to trek over to the animal sheds and care for them. I had a hard enough time paying the neighbor kid, Taylor, an arm and a leg to feed them twice a day. Call it an ego.
“-Perfect weather for a picnic!” The town secretary, Elli’s overtly cheerful voice announced the regional conditions for the third time today –“Televised at nine, noon, and four!”- through the speakers, turned just a fraction too shrill.
“Goodbye, Elli,” I murmured. I fumbled under the covers, hands searching for the cool plastic of the remote. Just as I found it, a knock on the door startled me. I jumped a few inches beneath the quilt, dropping the remote.
Frustrated, I tried to yell, “What?” But my voice cracked, and I ended up doubling over, coughing and gasping for air. The door creaked open, and a peachy-blonde head peered in.
“Are you dying?” The voice, distinctly male and familiar at that, was more sardonic than I expected. If you’re visiting a sick person, you should come chock-full of sympathy. Right?
“I’m fine,” I retorted, voice hoarse from hacking violently. “No thanks to you.” I slouched in bed, trying my best to let my knotted hair cover my face. I looked a mess after three days of absolute hell, and it showed in the bags under my eyes and the red on the bulb of my nose. Even though it wasn’t like my appearances were top-notch on my to-do list normally, it was still embarrassing to be seen looking like crap. And with a guy in my house, no less.
Even though the guy was an annoying prick.
“You look terrible.” Chase never was one for subtlety. He entered the room, closing the door with his foot, seeing as his hands were full with a brown package. He walked across the room, squinting at my face as he did so.
“Gee. Thanks. What other rays of sunshine would you like to share? Because I’m just in the best mood in the world!”
“Illness makes you bitter, Angela,” Chase retorted. He had approached the bed by that point, and he sat down at the foot, making a point to stay as far away from my germy self as possible.
“So what’s your excuse?”
This made him smirk. “I brought you some soup,” he said, thrusting the package at me. I jumped a bit, thinking he would spill it on me. He rolled his eyes. “Relax. It’s got a lid.”
“I don’t remember sending out an ‘Angela’s sick’ memo,” I muttered, sitting up enough so I could reach out and grab the parcel from the chef’s hands.
“I work in the Inn,” he said, as if that was enough of an explanation. When he saw me waiting for an elaboration, he added, “Everyone goes there. Which means there’s quite a bit of gossip going on.”
”Really? I’m a hot enough topic to be discussed by the masses? What, were there no cows birthing on Jake’s farm this week?”
Chase snorted. “Yeah, I guess not. Well, in such a hick town like this…”
”It’s a good thing you have cooking skills. Your grammar sucks.”
“Just eat the soup, Angela. It’s supposed to be a nice thought.”
”That would be a first.” But I obligingly tore the paper off of the bowl. The brown wrappings fell to the floor as I removed the lid and inhaled. “I’ve gotta hand it to you, it smells great.”
He handed me a spoon, and I raised my eyebrows. “Do I want to know where you got that from?”
”Why, Angela, doesn’t everyone carry spare eating utensils around with them? You never know…” He grinned. “I brought it with me. Relax.”
Too tired to argue any further, I wearily spooned some of the broth and lifted it to my mouth. The boy had talent, that was for sure. Not many people could make soup taste that good. And that was my analysis with a stuffed nose and impacted taste buds.
“It’s okay,” I said slowly. “Could be better.”
”Uh huh. You just don’t want to admit that it’s good. Lighten up.”
It didn’t take me long to scarf down the rest of the chunky, thick bisque. I hadn’t realized how ravenous I was until I actually ate something, and once I got something in my system, I couldn’t stop.
Chase watched me with a look of incredulity on his sculpted features. “For a small chick, you eat like a pig,” he told me.
This startled and offended me at the same time. I choked on a piece of meat, face turning red. “You…are…a…jerk,” I spat, gasping.
He shrugged.
Infuriating boy.
I opened my mouth to say something acerbic in rebuttal, but my energy was completely wiped. All I wanted to do was sink down and close my eyes. Of course, I was obligated to stay awake long enough to watch the door slam shut behind him. Mentally, I urged him to leave. “Whatever,” I sighed. I slouched against the pile of pillows and blinked blearily.
He took a second glance at me. “You weren’t kidding. You really are sick.”
”Give the boy a prize.” Well, I could muster at least a bit of scorn…
He stood up, and, for a moment, I thought he was going to leave. But instead, he walked over, closer to where I was slumped, and pressed a cool hand against my forehead.
“You’re burning up.” It was a statement, tinged with just a hint of notched concern. I just nodded.
He stared down at me for a second, and then strode over to a corner of the house that I barely used: the kitchen.
“What are you doing?” I asked weakly. Not that I could stop him, whatever his mind was set to.
“You’ll see. Try to sleep.”
And, in fact, that’s just what I did. For about fifteen minutes, against my better judgment, my body shut down in a kind of restless, troubled nap that ended up making me more exhausted when I jolted awake in a sweat.
At that point, I was so tired, so physically drained, that I just started to cry. I completely forgot that Barrette Boy was still in my living room, or else I wouldn’t be breaking down in my bed.
After a minute or so, my sobs faded into hiccups, and then into thoughtful sniffs. I leaned my head against the headboard and, in doing so, spotted Chase. My cheeks colored.
“Um. How much of that did you see?”
”I’ve been here the whole time.” His face had changed. Now, there was something thoughtful in the way he looked at me, like he had never seen me before. I broke the gaze, turning my face towards the comforter.
He reapproached the bed, handing me a new bottle. “Here, try drinking this,” he said. I looked at the contents; it was some kind of herbal mix. “Bodigizer?” I asked, furrowing my brow. “Thanks, but Jin from the Clinic already brought me-“
”It’s my own special blend. Try it.”
I obliged, seeing that it couldn’t possibly hurt. The medicine had a warm, tingling sensation, and I could feel it in my chest as I swallowed.
“What is it?” I asked, a bit dazed. It had had a bitter taste, and it lingered in my mouth. Anticipating this, Chase handed me a small glass of water.
“Medicinal herbs, mostly,” he shrugged. “It’s helpful around flu season. It tastes disgusting, but it works.”
And, surprisingly, I did feel just a bit better. Maybe it was just my mind playing tricks on me. Or maybe Chase was right, for a change…?
Chase glanced around the rest of the room. “This place is a dump,” he declared.
“Well, I haven’t exactly had a chance to clean it,” I snapped. “Geez. Give me a break.”
He didn’t reply; instead, he got up and started hovering around the room. He picked up loose clothes lying around, wrappers from medicine bottles, and busied himself finding the appropriate places for the items.
“You learn a thing or two about housekeeping when you live and work in an Inn,” he explained when he saw me watching him. I didn’t complain, and he finished cleaning the floor.
“Just because you work with animals doesn’t mean you have to live like one,” he remarked, and I threw a pillow at him. He grinned and caught it easily, tossing it back at me lightly. “Nice bed, by the way,” he mentioned.
“Yeah,” I agreed after a pause. “I like it, too.”
