Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 153871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 769(@200wpm)___ 615(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 769(@200wpm)___ 615(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
Marilyn runs toward the bedroom, where the door is closed. Maybe he’s sick?
“Rex?” I say at the door.
“Daniel?” a weak voice says from inside. I open the door and the bedroom is dark, the curtains pulled shut and taped together. There’s a lump on the bed and I walk over to it.
“Rex,” I say again, “are you okay?” I know it’s Rex under there, but for some reason, all I can think of is how my brothers used to hide under the covers and jump out and scare me.
I reach for the bedside lamp, but Rex grabs my hand. He pulls the covers down slowly and I can see that he looks tense.
“Hi,” he says. “I thought you were in Detroit.” His voice sounds strained.
“Oh, yeah, well, I came back early. I wanted to talk to you. Are you sick? What’s wrong?”
He smiles a little shakily.
“Sorry I didn’t answer when you called. I just get these headaches.” He makes a motion like he’s waving it away and pats the bed next to him. I sink down and run my hand over his back.
“Well, I hear orgasms are good for headaches,” I tease, leaning down to kiss him.
He winces.
“Mmm, I don’t think so just now.”
Now that I’m close to him I can see that the sexy wrinkle between his brows is deeper than I’ve ever seen it, and that his face is tight with pain. The bed smells warm, like he’s been lying here a long time. Oh shit.
“Do you get migraines?” I ask him, keeping my voice very low and even.
“Yeah,” he scrapes out.
God, that sucks. When Ginger gets them she’s in so much pain she can barely even cry because it makes it hurt more.
“Shit,” I say. “What can I do? Do you have medicine? Can I get you anything?”
“Can you take Marilyn for a walk?” he asks. “I let her out to pee this morning, but—”
“Yeah, of course. But what can I do for you? Do you have medicine?”
He mmhmms softly. “In the bathroom. But I can’t keep it down.”
I get up slowly and quietly walk to the bathroom, since light and sound are clearly not Rex’s friends right now.
I find the medicine sitting on the sink in the bathroom, and the slight sour smell makes it clear that he’s been sick in here. In the kitchen, I find a jar of applesauce and cut the pills into tiny pieces, hiding them in a spoonful of applesauce.
“Can you sit up a little?”
Rex drags himself up.
“Give me your wrist,” I tell him, sitting next to him on the bed. With one hand, I squeeze the pressure point on his wrist that should help him feel less nauseated. “Try and swallow this,” I say, holding up the spoon in the other. He makes a face, but swallows it. I put the spoon down and use my hand on the pressure point in his other wrist.
“Close your eyes,” I say softly, and I keep the pressure on his wrists and start telling him about the conference. Just rambling on to distract him.
I tell him how Detroit reminded me a little of North Philly, with the big, crumbling stone churches and the streets arcing around them instead of laid out in a grid. I tell him how cool I thought it was when this badass old professor got asked a convoluted question by a young guy trying to prove how smart he was and she paused for a second and then told him that she wasn’t really interested in that conversation because it didn’t seem to have value to anyone but academics, and how I wish that someday I could be brave enough to call someone on their bullshit like that. I tell him that I watched the Food Network for the first time and want to watch it with him so he can tell me what everything is. I don’t tell him how sorry I am for yelling the other night, though. I’ll do that later.
Little by little, I feel him relax; his jaw unclenches and the rigid set of his shoulders loosens. I lean down and kiss him on the forehead.
“I’m going to take Marilyn out. I’ll be back soon. You just rest.” I tuck the blanket back up around him and close the bedroom door.
It’s chilly, so I grab Rex’s quilted flannel coat from the hook beside the door.
“Your dad’s sick, huh?” I say to Marilyn when we get outside, and she barks in answer and bounds around me. I walk for a while, breathing in the clean-smelling air, and Marilyn runs off in front of me, scratches at something, then runs back, like she’s scouting ahead. With every breath, I smell the combination of cedar, wood smoke, and musk on Rex’s jacket and I pull it tighter around myself as if he were walking with me.