by Cheryl Wyatt
“Women are trouble,” she murmured.
“Tell me about it,” Jack said, his smile deepening as he rubbed a thumb across his scar. Almost as though he knew her mind was replaying Sully’s story.
Weird how they could slip into unspoken sync one second and be at odds the next.
That she remembered nearly every one of Sully’s daily stories about Jack was a tribute to the strong memory God had blessed her with. Without it, she’d never pass EMT school. Not with her comprehension problem and her reading disorder.
Maybe those daily stories of Jack also accounted for the tenderness she felt for him right now, in this dim, intimate setting where the lamp illuminated the pleasant facets of his face. The man could be a top-notch movie star. His features were so striking that it was hard not to feel all awkward and befuddled around him. Except, right now, she felt comforted and completely comfortable and safe in his protective, caring presence.
Their eyes met and held with a powerful array of emotions, ones she couldn’t even begin to decipher just yet. She needed a distraction so she said, “Soup was superb.” She’d never tried it at the diner. She saved soup eating for when she was sick, which was hardly ever.
Smiling, Jack said, “I do run a diner in my spare time you know. The recipe is Dad’s. Although I confess to having help from Darin. And Naem sent this homemade Israeli pita bread to dip in it.” Jack unwrapped a foil packet at the edge of her tray.
“Oh, you all love me.”
Jack startled at that. Her throat hurt too much to explain she’d meant it in a comradely sense. “Sure you don’t need to see a doctor? Maybe get a strep or flu screen?” he asked.
“If I feel worse in a couple hours, I will.”
Jack picked up a thermometer that Patrice must have set by Olivia’s bedside. Although Olivia didn’t remember when. She must’ve been drifting in and out of sleep all day.
Jack removed the lid from the thermometer, put a probe cover on and swept a thick lock of Olivia’s hair away from her ear. He inserted the thermometer into her ear and smiled. “Tympanic is more accurate to the core body temperature,” he told her.
The thermometer beeped and his brow furrowed at the reading. He met Olivia’s eyes. “102.5. You need to see a doctor, Liver.”
She laughed at that inside joke, glad it was a way they could cope with the devastating effects of Sully’s stroke, but then the laughter made her start coughing. She quickly faced away from Jack and tried to cover her mouth with a tissue. Maybe he shouldn’t have been seated so close. She dearly hoped Jack didn’t get her germs.
He didn’t seem concerned, although he did rise to use her sink to wash his hands. He also pulled out his cell phone and made a call while at the sink. Olivia took a second to rest her itchy eyes. What seemed only a moment later, a second voice had joined Jack’s.
Jolting awake, Olivia bolted up. Or tried to. Dizziness accosted her head. It felt like a cinder block. She promptly fell back to the pillow. She blinked at the man’s name tag. Dr. Riviera from Refuge Memorial Hospital. That’s who Jack must’ve called by the sink. How long ago had that been? By the level of light peeking in past her blinds, it looked to be late in the day now.
Dr. Riviera nodded to Jack. “I see what you mean.”
“What?” she asked in a terribly frail voice. She was sweating bullets and freezing now.
“Olivia, try to blow your nose but hold it closed.”
She eyed him oddly, then realized she’d seen this test. “Okay.” The doctor did a nose swab, then a throat culture.
“Jack said your symptoms came on pretty suddenly?” the doctor asked. Olivia nodded, simply because her throat felt like it was on fire now.
Who did house calls nowadays, anyway? She was glad for this doctor, and grateful to Jack for getting him here. She tried to convey that with her eyes. Jack nodded, his smile strong but tender.
After several minutes, the doctor said, “Your strep screen is negative but you are positive for influenza B.”
“Ugh. I can’t be sick. I have two tests this week that I can’t miss.” She was already behind because of the tests she’d failed and had had to make up, barely passing each.
The doctor smiled but shook his head. “No school or work for the rest of the week.”
What? No. “That’s four whole days.”
“Yes. Any less and I fear you’ll end up hospitalized, young lady. School can be made up. Rest, meds and fluids are in order.” To Jack he said, “I’ll call in some Tamiflu for you to pick up. Have her start taking it immediately.” The doctor wrote something down on paper. “Here are the other instructions for her care.” He looked abruptly up at Jack. “Also, if you’ve had mouth-to-mouth contact with her, or anything of that nature, we should probably treat you, as well.”
“What?” Jack’s eyes widened. “Mouth to mouth—”
“As in kissing, Jack. Not CPR.” Dr. Riviera leveled him with a humorous look. “Nice try for density, man.”
Jack blinked, then blushed as red as the plastic Solo cup Olivia’s Sprite was in.
She wanted to giggle at the confounded look on Jack’s face and, in fact, nearly did.
She pressed her face into her pillow to keep it in, because if she laughed she’d start coughing again, and coughing really hurt her throat.
“Yeah, so I’ll just go get that Tamiflu,” Jack said stiffly and went to wash his hands.
The doctor set some other medications next to Olivia. Then he said to Jack, “Let me know if you need me to call in two orders of Tamiflu.”
“I do not,” Jack said firmly, and sent the doctor a stern look.
Olivia had missed that endearing no-nonsense scowl.
Dr. Riviera studied Olivia to see if she’d refute Jack’s denial. “No kissing?”
Olivia shook her head and tried not to start giggling again. “No, but he was in the path of a rogue cough earlier,” she whispered to the doctor.
“Okay, so, for the close proximity let’s go ahead and start Jack on Tamiflu, too.”
Jack whirled. “Beg your pardon?”
“Just a precaution, Jack,” the doctor said.
Jack sent Olivia a surly look, as if maybe he knew she’d ratted him out over the cough.
She raised her chin, daring him to argue with the doctor.
He shook his head and closed the door a little harder than necessary upon exit.
Olivia rasped out a laugh. “He thinks you don’t believe him.”
“Or he thinks you told me he kissed you.” Dr. Riviera grinned. “Although I will say you two looked pretty cozy when I walked in.”
“Pretty sure that, since I don’t remember you walking in, I was comatose.”
“Strike that, then. Jack seems worried about you. He was glued to your side when I walked in.”
Olivia felt flustered. They hadn’t been that close. Had they? “Either way, I think you sufficiently embarrassed him,” Olivia said.
“We’re old military buddies. Believe me, it wouldn’t hurt the guy to loosen up and laugh again.” Dr. Riviera faced Olivia. “We work out together and give each other grief on a regular basis. Trust me, I owed him one in terms of a good razzing. I’m just glad you played along.”
She smiled and looked at all the stuff he’d brought. She’d never had the flu, to her knowledge. Of course, her parents rarely, if ever, took her to the doctor when she was ill. She couldn’t recall a time when they’d gotten her help when she’d needed it, which was why her dyslexia wasn’t discovered until her senior year in high school. The school guidance counselor, who also happened to be a part-time EMT, picked up on it while helping Olivia work through grade struggles.
She’d been a lifesaving friend and a mentor of sorts to Olivia, especially through family trauma and drama. Then she’d perished in a car cras
h later that year. Olivia had been devastated, and determined then to become an EMT and eventually a paramedic, which had also been her counselor’s dream. Olivia’s heart ached remembering the kindness, the lasting impact and the restorative feeling of an adult finally believing in her and helping her.
Dr. Riviera’s voice cut into the hard memory. “Jack has my number. Have him call me if you feel worse.”
“I will if he’s here.”
“He gave me his word he’s taking care of you. That is the only reason I’m not making you go to the hospital. I’d prefer you not be exposed to all the bacteria there, anyway.”
Olivia was shocked. Had Jack offered to do that? Or had the doctor asked him?
“If you get to where you can’t drink or keep fluids in, he needs to bring you to the ER. Or if your fever rises above 103. Or if you become short of breath or feel worse in any way whatsoever.”
She nodded, knowing all of that and glad for the recall, even amid illness. “Thank you.”
Patrice poked her head in. “Oh, excuse me. I didn’t know you were still here.”
“Just leaving, actually.” He winked good-naturedly at Olivia. “Since Patrice has been exposed, we’re treating her with Tamiflu, as well.”
So his kissing question was all just a ploy to give Jack a hard time. She grinned, really liking this doctor. He said to Patrice, “Jack went to the pharmacy to get the meds I called in.”
“Oh, good. I’ll sit with her until he gets back.”
Dr. Riviera handed Patrice a mask to put on, then explained what all of the items that he’d brought were for. Olivia listened as best she could with the fog in her brain. Patrice walked the doctor to the door, then rapidly returned to Olivia’s bedside.
“You look so ill.” Patrice dabbed Olivia’s brow with a cloth. “Can I get you anything?”
“Actually, can you help me take a shower? I’d feel better.” She probably smelled like a pond, she’d perspired so much.
Plus, Jack was coming back and she knew she looked a wreck.
“Are you sure you’re up for that?”
“Maybe if we put that plastic chair in there, I could just sit under the water for a bit. I think the water mist would break up my cough, too.”
“Okay, sure.” Patrice grabbed towels, fresh pajamas and turned on the water before helping Olivia in. After a brief shower, she dressed and let Patrice help her back toward the bed.
“Dizzy?”
“A little.” Her legs were wobbly and profoundly weak by the time she made it back to bed. She fought tears. “What if my instructors don’t let me make up the week’s tests?”
“They will. We’ll pray they do.”
Olivia nodded and leaned on her friend as she pulled the fresh covers back. “Clean sheets and blankets. You made my bed?”
“With help. Jack came back before you got out of the bathroom and he helped change your linens.”
“How embarrassing.”
“He even put peppermints on your pillowcases. He seemed glad to have something to do. He’s a problem solver. So putting him to work when he feels helpless is a good thing.”
“The dangerous and highly decorated commander Jack Sullenberger, helpless? What’s he feel helpless about?”
Patrice almost said something, then paused. She studied Olivia, then her closed door and leaned in. “He’s really worried about you, Olivia. Seeing you this ill has really thrown him off-kilter. Just between me and you—I think he really cares.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen that side of him lately. The soft, mushy side he tries to hide.”
Patrice helped pull the covers up around Olivia and then rested hands on her shoulders. “No, sweet naive one. I meant that I think he really cares...about you.”
Whoa.
Olivia let her gaze skip across the bedside table to the thermometer. “Check your temp. I think you’re the one in a delirium-drenched fever now.”
Patrice laughed. “Say what you will. I’ve known Jack for a long time. I’ve never seen him this way toward anyone.” She brushed damp but freshly shampooed hair from Olivia’s eyes. “No, mark my words. There is something there. Definitely not my imagination, Olivia.”
While Olivia grappled with Patrice’s words, Patrice took great care to rearrange and meticulously straighten the items the doctor had left. “There. Much better and brighter.”
“Aw. You put them into a flower shape.” Olivia smiled. Her nightstand now looked like a flu treatment garden. “You are such an artist at heart. You need to pursue design school, Patrice.”
She nodded. “Yeah, once I take care of—other things, maybe I will.”
“Promise?” Olivia shifted in bed to sit straighter but couldn’t get high enough for her liking.
Patrice helped Olivia lean forward, then stuffed another pillow behind her. “I promise that, if you promise me something in return.”
Olivia settled back into the pillows and took the Tamiflu capsule Patrice gave her. “Promise what?”
She leaned in and whispered, “To give Jack a chance if I’m right.”
Gulp.
Olivia blinked at Patrice but the sound of a door opening and closing followed by Jack’s baritone voice threading down the hallway prohibited them from further discussing it. Which was probably best. With her not feeling up to par, the idea held more appeal than it probably would have if she were in her right mind.
Once the flu fled and Olivia was well and caught up on rest, the notion of kissing Jack—and of pondering a romantic relationship with him—would stop running on a constant loop in her mind. She hoped.
Her defenses were simply down.
“He’s probably just stressed about me being sick because we’re one server down at the diner. All this is just a temporary glitch. You’ll see.”
Patrice smirked and handed Olivia a glass of water. The knowing glint in her eyes, as well as the fact that Patrice didn’t feel inclined to defend her claim, left Olivia wondering. Was Patrice right? And, if so, what would that mean? It wasn’t like Olivia could do something about it. Too many roadblocks. Or, in Jack’s case, roadside bombs.
The thought of him returning to war zones frightened her like never before.
Sully was making fabulous progress, for which she was grateful. But that also meant that Jack would likely return to duty soon. Once he was on the other side of the world again, she’d be a million miles away from his heart. Then any seed of sweet surrender that Sully’s stroke had planted between them would surely wither before it even had the chance to grow.
* * *
“Olivia?” Jack whispered so as not to startle the sleeping beauty. He wasn’t used to seeing her without all of her dark makeup and rock concert jewelry. Her face was striking, her eyes more stunning than usual.
And staring right into his in the next blink.
“Hey, Liver.” He used their special endearment, glad to see it still elicited an instant smile. “I hated to wake you but we’re already late on your next dose of Tamiflu.”
“No, Patrice just gave me one,” Olivia said, counting the pills that were left. She’d had three?
“That was last night. I let you sleep as long as I could,” he said softly as she stretched and stirred.
Her arm emerged from under the blanket, to reach for the water, he thought. But instead, she rested her hand on his. And patted. And patted. And patted. He dipped his head, trying not to snicker. “You can be so nice,” she murmured in a half daze.
He chuckled. “And that surprises you?”
She turned over, more awake now. “Mmm, yeah, kinda.” She struggled to sit up.
Jack leaned over to help her by sliding his arm behind her back and lifting her higher in the bed and then to a sitting position. “Better?”
She nodded, but ave
rted her eyes.
It could be the fact that they were practically nose to nose was making her nervous.
“You shouldn’t be this close.”
“You’ve gone over twenty-four hours without a fever and had several doses of Tamiflu. I doubt you’re contagious anymore.” He handed her a tube of lip balm. “Here. Your lips are chapped.”
She met his gaze. When her eyes dropped to his mouth then away, he realized how intimately he was holding her. He eased her shoulders back onto her pillows and put space between them. They reached for her water at the same time, and their hands connected.
She quickly pulled hers back. “Sorry.”
He smiled. “What are you afraid of, Olivia?” His voice sounded thick to his own ears. He’d meant the question in a teasing sense, sort of like kids on an elementary school playground attempting to avoid cooties.
But when her eyes met his, they were more telling than she probably realized. The attraction flared, and this time his gaze dropped to her mouth before returning to her eyes.
He knew exactly what she was afraid of.
This attraction had started out a slow simmer on day one and now, after three days of his being at her side, had boiled over. There wasn’t a lid in sight that could stop it.
To deny it would be dumb. To acknowledge it aloud, not much better. Ignoring it altogether seemed the safest option. So that’s what he did. Or tried to.
Once she got better, this weirdness would go away. Yet the thought of no longer taking care of her made him sad in ways he didn’t know how to comprehend or process.
“Tamiflu?” she said, breaking him out of his mixed-up thoughts.
“Yeah.” He reached for the dose, peeled the paper back and slid the capsule into her hand. She popped it into her mouth with more energy than he’d seen her have in days, then swigged several sips of water as he held the cup. Afterward, she let out a long breath without coughing.
“Feeling better?”
She nodded. “Much.”
