by Noelle Adams
Paul swallowed hard. He wasn’t going to answer. He didn’t share this kind of thing. With anyone.
He heard himself mumbling, “I can’t reach him. Ever.”
Emily made a hoarse sound of emotion and reached down to hug him tightly. He hugged her back, needing her, needing something.
She hugged him for a long time, and then she didn’t really pull away. She just adjusted so she was nestled against his side, with her cheek against the side of his chest and her arm wrapped around his belly—the way she’d done unconsciously in her sleep on that first night.
Paul draped an arm around her and held her against him. He knew he shouldn’t. He should pull away. And, if she’d said anything, if she’d asked him any more questions, he would have.
She didn’t speak again, though. Just held him until she fell asleep and kept clinging to him even in her sleep.
Paul didn’t fall asleep again for a long time, but he took a kind of comfort from Emily’s warm presence that he hadn’t experienced since he was a child.
He knew his role in this marriage. He was supposed to take care of Emily.
But that night it felt like she was taking care of him.
SEVEN
Emily woke up slowly, painfully.
The sensations of heat and discomfort were the first things to break through the dark blur of sleep. Then she was aware of a voice saying, “Emily. I’m sorry. Let me get you to bed and you can go to sleep again.”
She knew the voice, of course, but she was too groggy and disoriented to figure out where she was, when it was, and why the voice was talking to her. She felt so hot that her mind jumped to Egypt, and she wondered if she’d somehow fallen asleep next to a pyramid.
“Huh?” she managed to grunt, struggling to open her eyes. Her head ached. Her body ached. Even her eyes ached as she tried to pry them open.
“I’m sorry,” Paul said again. “I just need to get you to bed.”
His fuzzy face gradually sharpened into focus. He was leaning over her. Wearing a suit. Had a gentle look in his eyes.
Finally, Emily remembered where she was. They were back in the apartment in Philadelphia, and Vincent Marino’s trial started this morning.
Jittery nerves had gotten her up early, so she’d showered and dressed in one of the new suits for the trial Paul had convinced her to buy yesterday. She’d had a headache so she’d drunk several cups of coffee and made herself eat a decent breakfast, but she’d still been ready to leave early, so she’d sat down on the couch to watch the news. She must have fallen asleep.
“No, I’m not going to bed,” she mumbled, trying to process what Paul had just said. “I’m going to court with you.”
“You can’t.” Paul helped her sit up. “You’re sick.”
She’d had that headache this morning, but she was sure she hadn’t had a fever. Now, however, even the change in positions made her head whirl, and she was so hot she breathed in little pants. She rubbed her eyes and tried to make herself focus. “I don’t think I’m sick.”
“Your fever must have spiked really fast,” he explained, taking her arm and pulling her up to her feet. “You seemed all right earlier, but I just took your temperature. It’s already almost 102⁰.”
“It is?” she asked, still feeling fuzzy and bewildered, even as she walked slowly with Paul toward her bedroom. “It can’t be. I can’t be sick again so soon.”
“I’m sorry,” Paul repeated, his voice very mild. “I’ve called the nurse, and she’ll be here soon.”
“You’ll be late.” Hit with a wave of hot dizziness, Emily stopped abruptly in the middle of the hall and clung to the lapels of Paul’s suit jacket while she tried to breathe deeply.
Paul wrapped an arm around her for support. “I’ve got time. I need to get you to bed, and then I’ll wait for the nurse to get here.”
When the dizziness faded some, she leaned on him until she’d reached her bed, where she sat down with a sigh of relief. She allowed him to help her take off the jacket of her dark blue suit and then slip off her shoes and jewelry.
“Wait,” she said, after a minute, as she finally realized what was happening, “I need to go to court with you.”
Paul had gone over to the dresser and was pulling a tank-top and pair of cotton boxer shorts from a drawer. He glanced back at her as he replied, “It’s just jury selection today and maybe opening statements if they choose the jury quickly enough. It’s nothing you need to be there for.”
“I need to be there with you,” she said, blinking at him groggily and wishing her head didn’t ache so much. “You can’t go by yourself.”
Paul returned to stand beside her. “You need to rest—not worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
He reached down to unbutton her top, since Emily hadn’t gotten any farther with her undressing. Relieved to get the hot, confining clothes off, she tugged her top off and unhooked her bra. She automatically held an arm in front of her bare breasts, even though Paul was looking away as he silently offered her the tank-top.
She experienced another wave of heat and was glad to be in cooler clothes. The feverish sensations were familiar, though, and they caused her stomach to twist unpleasantly. “Shit, I don’t want to do this again.” She slid her skirt down her legs.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
After she’d put on the shorts he’d found in the drawer, Emily started pulling out the pins that were holding her hair up, setting them down on the nightstand. Paul went into her bathroom, and she didn’t know why until he returned with two elastic bands for her hair.
She finger-combed her hair into two loose ponytails, which had been the only hairstyle that hadn’t driven her crazy during her last bout of fever. Then she lay down on the bed and pulled the covers up, a knot of dread in her gut.
She knew what to expect this time, and the knowledge of how miserable she would feel for the next twenty-four hours terrified her.
Paul brought her some Advil and a fresh bottle of water. After she’d swallowed the pills, he stood next to the bed and looked down at her.
He was cool and handsome with his black suit and tie. His dark hair and gray eyes were distinct and striking. His expression was controlled and unrevealing.
But as Emily looked up at him, she thought for some reason he looked really young. Almost lonely.
“I should be with you today,” she whispered, even though she knew she wasn’t physically capable of it.
Paul gave her a small smile. “I’ll be fine. Try to rest.”
Emily closed her eyes, fighting the urge to cry. For the last several days she’d felt almost normal, seeing Egypt, laughing and arguing with Paul, dealing with the frustration of growing more and more attracted to him with no outlet for that attraction.
But now she was sick again, and Paul had that gentle look in his eyes again—treating her like an invalid instead of a regular woman.
Plus, Emily had endless hours of pain and suffering to look forward to, instead of being with her husband at a time when he would really need her support.
There was nothing she could do about it, though. She felt absolutely miserable, so she tried to do as he’d suggested and rest.
* * *
The morning wasn’t as bad as it could have been.
Paul had gone through an agency to find professional nurses to care for her, and he’d picked out one to watch her during the days and another one during the nights when she was sick. They’d met and interviewed both of them the afternoon before they’d left for Egypt, and Emily could already tell they’d chosen well.
Amy, her day nurse, was a plain woman in her mid-thirties. She was professional and matter-of-fact, rather than gentle and maternal, but she had a sense of humor and obviously knew what she was doing.
More than once, Emily was surprised when Amy predicted her needs before she could even ask. Emily felt terrible all morning, but her fever never spiked past 103⁰—which she thought might be because Amy was so good at keeping her as
comfortable as possible.
Emily was able to doze off for most of the morning, and she was lying in a semi-conscious drowse when she became aware of the nurse wiping her hot face with a cool washcloth.
It felt good. Emily would have dozed off again without stirring, but something felt different about the way the wet cloth stroked her face. It felt softer, gentler. Then a few strands of loose hair were brushed away from her face, the light touch almost a caress.
Emily’s eyes flew open.
Paul sat on the edge of her bed, his eyes uncharacteristically tender as he continued to wipe her hot face with the washcloth.
She smiled up at him without thinking, since she didn’t feel too terrible at the moment and she was glad to see him.
Paul smiled back. “How are you feeling?”
“Okay.” Then she realized what his presence here meant. “Wait. You shouldn’t be here. You need to be at court.”
“They recessed for lunch, so I came to see how you’re doing.”
“I’m okay.” She arched her neck as he slid the washcloth down her neck and then around to the nape, the cool moisture feeling incredibly good. “Where’s Amy?”
“I gave her a break.” Paul rewetted the washcloth in a bowl of ice water that Amy had set on a small folding table near the bed. Then he brought it back to wipe her face again.
“But you need a break too.” Emily was getting a little chilly, so she pulled the blankets up to her shoulders. “You should go have—”
“I’ll grab some lunch on the way back to court. How do you like Amy?”
“I like her a lot. She’s good. She’s quiet and stays out of the way, so she hardly ever bugs me. But she has good ideas to make me feel better. She gave me a bath with lemon and eucalyptus oils that worked really well.”
“Good,” Paul murmured. He must have realized she was getting cool because he put up the washcloth. “You seem in better spirits than last time.”
“I suppose that means I’m not as grumpy. My fever isn’t as high yet, and you’re catching me at a good moment. I wasn’t exactly sweetness and light all morning.”
“I’m glad you’re doing all right. I was worried about you.”
“You shouldn’t be worried about me. You’ve got the trial to worry about. How’s jury selection going?”
“It’s taking a long time, so it looks like opening arguments won’t start until tomorrow.”
The achiness of her body intensified so quickly it almost overwhelmed her, and she had to fight desperately to remain focused on the conversation. “How are you?” she managed to ask. “Are you doing all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“And…and your dad?”
Paul glanced away. It took him a long time to answer, during which Emily suffered from consecutive waves of hot and cold. Finally he muttered, “He hasn’t looked at me. Not once.”
Emily felt a flood of pity, so strong it vied with her physical discomfort. She dragged her hand out from under the blanket and fumbled it around until she found Paul’s arm. She squeezed it. “I’ll go with you tomorrow,” she told him hoarsely, using the last of her strength.
She was suddenly too hot again, so she pushed down the blankets impatiently and tried to breathe deeply.
Paul didn’t say anything, which was a relief. So was the wet cloth he started to wipe her face with again.
* * *
Emily’s fever rose in the afternoon, but it didn’t spike so high that she became delirious. She was exhausted and aching and ready for it to be over by the time Paul returned at five-thirty, but her fever showed no signs of breaking.
She tried to pull it together enough to ask how things went and discover how Paul was doing, but she just couldn’t concentrate for long enough to have a real conversation. Even though she'd been given excellent care all day, everything was getting on her nerves now, and she was cranky with both Paul and Amy.
She tossed and turned and tried to get comfortable, and she snapped at anyone who tried to help her. She wanted desperately to sleep, but she felt too bad to do anything except fall into a hot, restless doze. The approaching night rose up before her like a bleak, endless nightmare.
She just wanted to feel better again.
Paul must have called Dr. Franklin at some point, although Emily wasn’t aware of his doing so. Her doctor arrived at the apartment at about seven-thirty that evening and examined her with brisk efficiency.
Emily did her best to keep her mouth shut during Dr. Franklin’s examination, since anything she said was rude and uncalled for.
He hadn’t spoken to her either, except for an initial greeting, but after he’d done the routine steps, he said, “I’m going to take a little blood, if that’s all right.”
It wasn’t all right. Emily felt bad enough already, and she didn’t want to be poked with a needle. Paul was standing behind Dr. Franklin and watching her steadily, though, and he’d probably bully her into it if she tried to object.
So she held out her arm and let the doctor take her blood.
“Thank you, Mrs. Marino,” Dr. Franklin said, after he was done. “Now I’m going to give you a new medicine, one that I think will help you feel a little better.”
Emily turned back to him, feeling a surge of hope. “Really?”
He nodded and gave her a sympathetic smile. Then he stood up and walked out of the room with Paul.
Emily wondered if everyone thought the fever had done something to her ears. Her hearing worked perfectly well, but everyone had conversations as if she'd gone deaf.
She heard Paul and Dr. Franklin talking about her in the hallway.
Dr. Franklin said, “I know it’s difficult for you to see her suffering, Mr. Marino, but she seems to be progressing as we expected. I’m afraid this won’t be the worst.”
“I know it won’t be the worst,” Paul replied, sounding like he was gritting the words out through his teeth. “That’s why I've asked for something to help her tolerate this better.”
“I’m going to give you something for her. I wouldn’t normally prescribe narcotics for a fever, but I think, in your wife’s case, the most important thing is to minimize the symptoms and make her more comfortable. Given her situation, I’m less worried about the other risks and side effects, and I believe this should ease much of her discomfort. Don’t leave these next to her bed for her to take on her own. And don’t give them to her if her condition is manageable with other methods. And watch her carefully after she takes the first one. If any of her symptoms grow worse, call me immediately.”
“I understand. Thank you. Why did you take the blood sample?”
The voices faded then, as the men must have walked too far away for Emily to hear them.
She tossed around in her bed, pushing the covers down to the bottom. She muttered to herself about Paul, who was too busy chatting with the doctor to remember his poor, suffering wife and return with her new medication.
* * *
Emily was able to sleep for several hours that night. Her fever had gone down a degree or two by the time it got dark outside, and the pill she’d taken had made her feel fuzzily comfortable for the first time all day. She hardly noticed Lola, the kindly nurse who sat with her all night.
When she woke up at about six in the morning, however, she knew immediately she still had a fever, even before Paul came in to take her temperature and told her it was back up to 102.6⁰.
Last time, the fever had only lasted one day, so she’d been counting on feeling better this morning.
She wasn’t. She was still sick. She still couldn’t go to court. She still had another miserable day waiting for her.
And she was still hot, sweaty, sloppy, and achy in bed, while Paul looked like he’d stepped off the pages of a magazine.
When Amy arrived at about seven-thirty, Emily was feeling pretty depressed, but she tried not to whine as the nurse drew her a lemon-eucalyptus bath and then helped her change into a clean top and shorts.
Wh
ile she was in the bath, Amy changed the sheets on her bed, so it felt and smelled fresh when she crawled back in.
Paul came to see her before he left for the courthouse and gave her one of her new pills to take. He’d been quiet that morning, and a little voice in the back of her mind pestered Emily, telling her that the trial would be really hard for him and she needed to somehow help him through it.
But the fuzziness from the medication hit her almost immediately, and she dozed off into a restless sleep before she realized he’d even left.
The next thing she was aware of was a lot of noise from somewhere in the apartment.
She tried to drag herself out of sleep, but a heavy stupor had settled over her like a weight. Finally, she managed to open her eyes and turn toward her bedroom door.
She was surprised when she saw Ruth, the nice woman who cleaned the apartment, coming into her bedroom.
“Wha—” she tried to ask, but her mouth was too dry to form the complete word.
Ruth’s expression was kind as she walked over, picked up the bottle of lukewarm water, and helped Emily take a sip. “There’s been an accident,” she explained. “Your nurse cut herself real bad as she was helping me make you some broth. She had to go to the emergency room.”
Emily knew she should be shocked, worried by this news, but her brain couldn’t function that way. She just stared at Ruth, feeling hot and dazed.
“I called Mr. Marino, and he’s having the agency send over a new nurse. So I’m going to sit here with you until the new nurse comes.”
“Thank you,” Emily managed to say. She was afraid the good pill was starting to wear off, since her body was beginning to ache dully.
Ruth took the damp cloth Amy had been using on Emily’s face, got it wet in the bowl of cold water, wrung it out, and then wiped it over her face. It was too wet and dripped water all over, but it still felt good.
“I’m so sorry you’re sickly, Mrs. Marino,” Ruth murmured. “You’ve been so good for him. I can see the difference so clearly, and I hate to see you both suffer.”
For some reason, the words and the expression on the older woman’s face made Emily’s dry eyes burn.
