“I came to check your stitches,” she said, approaching the bed with a guarded step, as if he might have more guns secreted away. “How are you feeling?”
“Like something chewed me up and spat me back out,” he groaned, gazing at the empty air where his two fingers used to be. “I’m sorry,” he said, lowering his arm to the mattress, taking a long, rattling breath. “What time is it?”
“A little after nine,” she replied, leaving the flashlight atop the nightstand and turning toward the dresser. Half a dozen fat, scented candles sat atop it; candles she used to light before they made love. She struck a match and lit one. The delicate fragrance of sandalwood struggled briefly against the iron stench of infection, then turned sour and wilted.
She carried the candle back to the bed and set it on the nightstand. “You’ve been sleeping almost four hours.”
“Sleeping,” he echoed, a bitter smile touching his flushed face. “I’ve been
dreaming
… if that’s the word for it.”
“Nightmares?” She touched his brow and took her hand quickly away, as if burned. “You’ve got a fever.”
“I don’t doubt it,” he said, then smiled again, his head sunk deeply into the pillow. “Don’t worry; I don’t think it’s contagious yet.”
She looked into his eyes and then looked away, opening the drawer in the nightstand and reaching for the thermometer she’d left there with the gauze and the medical tape. “You’ll need some antibiotics.”
His smile remained: a grim line carved against the pillow. “Hope we have some.”
She put the thermometer under his tongue and told him not to talk.
“Now,” she said, moving the candle closer, “let me see your hand.”
He gave her his good one, gripping her as if he might not let go.
“The
other
one,” she chided gently.
He watched her face as she unwrapped the bandages.
It told him everything he needed to know.
29
“What’s my temperature?” he asked as she shook it away, the old-fashioned glass and mercury tube going back into the drawer.
“102.4
°
,” she lied. It had been over 104
°
.
He gritted his teeth and swore at her as she daubed his stitches with disinfectant and carefully redressed them.
“Where’s Shane?” he asked when she’d finished.
“Out at the fire with Rudy and Larry,” she told him.
Mike let his head roll back and gazed at the ceiling. “He’s a good boy,” he sighed. “I was proud of him today.” He glanced at her. “You’ll tell him that, won’t you?”
“You can tell him yourself in the morning.”
He nodded, but weakly, as if far from convinced.
Pam rose from his side and looked down at him, the worry a calcified lump in her throat. “I’m going to get you some Erythromycin; and some Tylenol to knock that fever back.”
“Okay.”
She lingered by the bedside, as if she still had something to say. It was large, he saw, even through the fever; something that was going to hurt her coming out. Her mouth twisted slightly and there were suddenly tears in her eyes, a deep and regretful well of them.
She sat back down and took his hand; the good one this time. She closed her eyes and the bed started to tremble.
“What?”
he whispered, all at once afraid.
“Oh Michael,” she sobbed, clutching his hand between her breasts, “I’m so sorry for the way I treated you! I never should have listened to that foolish woman! That
bitch
Sally Kellerman!” She opened her eyes. “But when she told me about that girl I thought, I thought I’d already
lost
you! I got so scared that something inside of me went a little crazy and I just wanted to
hurt
you! More than anything I wanted to take Shane away and make you feel as bad as
I
did!”
“Shhhh,” he told her, reaching up to touch her face, to brush away a long tear and a lock of hair that had fallen over her eye. “You don’t have to do this,” he said gently. “You know that nothing happened. Tabitha Kilbey had a lot of deep and serious problems in her life; that’s why she came to me. You also know that sometimes clients develop crushes and dependencies on their therapists. It happened before with Marjorie Kincade.”
She sniffed, a helpless laugh hiccoughing out of her. “Marjorie was forty-five years old and over two hundred pounds; she wasn’t
anything
like Tabitha Kilbey.”
“No, he agreed, “but it’s the same principle.”
She nodded. “It took me a long time to realize that, and I caused an awful lot of misery in the meantime. I drove you out of the house and denied Shane his father.”
He smiled. “I had faith you’d come around,” he said hoarsely.
“But all that time we
lost
…” she lamented. “Those are five months we’ll never get back again, and I
want
them back! I hate myself for throwing them away like I did, especially how things have turned out. I couldn’t bear to lose you now!”
“You’re not going to lose me; at least no more than a couple fingers worth.” He grinned and took her in his arms, holding his injured hand away from her, as if it might infect her through the dressing. “This is right where I’m supposed to be.”
Embracing him, she felt the full heat of his fever and remembered the pills.
And how few there actually were.
30
In the kitchen, she counted them out in the palm of her hand.
Damn
. Only eight; not even half enough, and they were almost two years old.
I won’t lose him like this, she thought stubbornly. I
won’t
.
She set one of the capsules on the counter and tipped the rest back into the bottle.
WILLIAM IVERSON TAKE 2 CAPSULES DAILY WITH FOOD OR MILK
AVOID DIRECT SUNLIGHT TAKE UNTIL COMPLETED
Her eyes glanced down the prescription label. She got to the end and realized she’d known the doctor who’d written it. He used to make rounds at the hospital in addition to his private practice; until he’d developed colon cancer and passed away last fall.
It was a strange world, wasn’t it?
She put the bottle away in the cupboard and silently thanked Bud for ignoring the directions.
It bought her some time.
Not much, but maybe enough.
31
She brought him the antibiotics with a couple of Tylenol, made him swallow them down with a glass of water, then tried to get him to eat some applesauce, a few spoonfuls; enough for the drugs to stick to on the way down. That done, she went to the bathroom and ran cold water out of the faucet, soaking a small towel and a washcloth and laying them over his bare chest and brow. He complained a little about that, but left them alone.
She sat with him until he fell asleep, thinking of what she might do to save him.
And when she’d decided, she slipped out of the room to find her son.
32
Shane shook his head vehemently, not even waiting for her to finish. “You’re
not
going!” he exclaimed, eyes smoldering, his voice raised to drown out her protests. “I said
forget
it! If anyone goes it ought to be
me
! You need to stay here and take care of him!”
Pam appealed to Rudy, who was standing further back, half-eaten by shadow. “
Talk
to him!” she implored, her expression underscored by firelight. “Make him see the sense of it!”
“I would,” Rudy answered, “but I’m afraid I agree with him. If anyone goes to town, it ought to be Shane. I don’t condone it, but he’s better qualified than you, and your skills are better used
here
.”
“But he’s just a
baby
!” she cried, horrified.
“
Mom
,” Shane murmured, flashing her a warning look. “I’m
sixteen
years old! I’m not a baby!”
“If I may, Shane?” Rudy interjected, turning to the boy’s mother. “What you’re proposing, Pam, is something akin to combat. The army recruits boys Shane’s age for such purposes. Boys who are quick and strong. They do not, as a rule, recruit 35-year-old women, however admirable their courage or nursing skills.”
“Now just a minute,” Pam objected, two red spots flaring high on her cheeks.
“Oh come on, Mom” Shane said, cutting her off. “He’s right and you know it! I can drive there and back in fifteen minutes!”
Here, Rudy interrupted. “You may have been able to do that in the past, Shane, but it won’t be so easy now; not
nearly
so easy. The nearest pharmacy, as your mother pointed out, is the Walgreen’s on Hudson Street. That’s in a good-sized shopping center off a busy arterial. I doubt very much if you’ll be able to drive up and dash inside. The roads, once you get to the bottom of the hill, are likely to be filled with obstacles, completely impassable in places.”
“So I’ll take Dad’s mountain bike,” Shane countered. “I’ll go around them.”
Rudy considered this then shook his head. “A bicycle doesn’t offer any protection if you find yourself cornered,” he pointed out, referring indirectly to the infected dead. “A car wouldn’t offer much either, at least not against a dozen or more, but you’d be better off on foot than a bike; it’s not as fast, but it would give you more agility.”
“You’re
not
going!” Pam maintained, her stance and her jaw set against it.
“What about a motorcycle?” Shane proposed, ignoring her. “A dirt bike?”
Rudy nodded. “That would be ideal, but where would you find one?”
Shane grinned. “The Sturlings have one! I saw it in the back of their garage!”
“Have you ever driven a motorcycle?” Rudy asked, doubtful.
Shane’s smile faltered.
“
No
he hasn’t,” Pam cut in, seizing triumphantly on this fact. “He hasn’t even learned to drive a stick shift!”
“How hard can it be?” Shane argued. “I can practice right here in the street until I get the hang of it.”
Rudy shook his head. “The sound of the engine will carry. It might attract… others,” he said uncomfortably.
“
I
can drive a motorcycle,” a voice quietly volunteered.
The three of them turned to look at Larry.
33
“I’m
serious
,” Larry asserted, frowning at their expressions. “Back when I was Shane’s age. I couldn’t afford a car and needed something to get me to work and to school, so I bought a second-hand Honda. I didn’t join a bike club or wear a leather jacket, and I sold it as soon as I could afford a car, but I rode it for two or three years, in all kinds of weather.”