Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 264(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 264(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
I’m sick off and on all day. I doze, I cry, I throw up some more, and mostly I feel like crap. Weak and dizzy and I gag every time I even think about last night’s dinner. I take a bath very slowly and carefully. I sip some water and eat a cracker. When that stays down, I eat a few more and eventually manage to make a grilled cheese and eat it.
I go through my work emails on my phone but I don’t have my laptop or tablet—they’re in the crow’s nest still. If I hadn’t insisted on going back for them, we wouldn’t have been in danger and I could’ve gone home with Mickey and spent the night in his arms.
Mistakes were made, that was for sure. I spend the rest of the evening starting my next prep course and taking abundant notes. My heart isn’t in it but it’s a decent distraction. Around ten, I get a call from Mickey.
“Hello?”
“Are you okay?” He asks gruffly.
“Yeah,” I answer weakly.
“I heard you were sick. I got your tablet and all, thought I’d bring it by or I can have one of the guys deliver it.”
“No, that’s fine. That’s nice of you. Go on and bring it by,” I say.
“Okay. I’ll be there in like five minutes.”
I scramble out of bed and drag a brush through my hair. It doesn’t help much. I look like a pasty gray ghost or a dying Victorian child with big dark circles and clammy pale skin. I grab a robe to cover my pajamas and run down to the door. He’s about to ring the bell when I open it.
He’s so big that he fills the doorway and towers over me. It’s a physical sensation, how large he is, and my stomach swoops in response. He holds out my laptop and table alongside my notebook and file folders.
“I don’t really care if you do any work while you’re sick. I just wanted an excuse to drop by and check on you,” he says.
“I know,” I tell him, my voice too high and thready.
“You think it was the duck fat thing that made you sick?” He asks.
I’m about to answer when the mere thought of the duck fat makes me recoil, stomach heaving. I clap a hand over my mouth and dash for the kitchen sink where I throw up. I cough and choke, rinse my mouth right from the faucet. His hand on the small of my back startles me.
“I thought you left,” I stammer.
“Why would I leave with you this sick?” He asks.
“I’m sorry, this is embarrassing. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“I thought maybe you were upset after last night, but I can see you’re actually really sick.”
“Check to see I’m not playing hooky?” I ask.
“Not unless I can stay and play hooky with you,” he says in a low voice that’s nearly a growl.
“You don’t have to,” I start.
“Would you feel better if I stayed a while?”
“Of course, I would but then we’d be right back where we started from. There’s no way for us to be together. There’s too many moving parts. Too many complications. The least of which being I’m Rory’s baby sister.”
“Let’s get one thing straight right now, Mary Kathryn Donahue,” he says and his face is angry all of a sudden. Not the dialed-up charm anger but the kind he lets me see.
I like it when he says my full name, I admit it. It gives me the shivers in a good way.
“You’re more than just Rory’s little sister. You are a strong, beautiful, fierce, independent woman who deserves the world.”
“Thank you,” I say, and I don’t qualify whether I’m thanking him for the compliment, thanking him for bringing my laptop, or for being the single brightest spot in my entire life. I’m afraid if I try to explain, I’ll just start crying. So I walk him to the door. I feel about a hundred years old, my steps heavy and plodding.
“Goodbye, Katie,” he says. “This was—something special.” I nod, blink furiously.
“It really was. I’ll see you at work but only at work,” I tell him and shut the door.
I go back to my room and cry myself to sleep, hoping tomorrow will be a better day.
Except again, I wake up right at dawn, sick as can be. Maybe it’s a virus, I think, and I google what is going around near me. Apart from a respiratory virus, there isn’t much in the way of contagion currently. I give it another day to make sure I have no fever.
By the third day I drag myself to the walk-in clinic. I’m lightheaded, still puking multiple times a day and tired beyond description.
After what seems like ages I get called back, weighed, wondering how I gained three pounds while throwing up for the past few days and my vitals checked. I describe my symptoms and gloss over the contents of the tasting menu that doesn’t bear thinking of.