Page 82 of Keep Me

“Sylvie is burning up,” I reply in a frenzy.

Martha brushes past me into the library and goes straight to where Sylvie is out cold. She rests her hand against Sylvie’s cheek and forehead, making her wince in her sleep.

“It’s just a fever,” the woman replies. “Nothing to be worried about, sir.”

“What should I do?” I reply worriedly.

She lets out a clipped chuckle. “Let’s get her to her bed—”

“My bed,” I bark. “I mean…ourbed.” I’m a stammering mess and trying to make sense without sounding out of my mind. The housekeepers know that Sylvie keeps her own room even though she’s my wife, but barely sleeps in it.

“Of course,” she replies, thinking nothing of it. “Help me carry her then.”

“I’ve got her,” I say as I easily scoop Sylvie off the couch.

She immediately wakes up and stares at me with a glossy-eyed expression of confusion. “What…are you doing?” she says in a sleepy, slurred tone.

“Take her to bed, and I’ll get something to bring that fever down,” Martha says, leaving the room—not nearly fast enough.

“You’re sick, mo ghràidh.” I kiss her forehead, hating how hot her skin is against my lips.

“I’m fine,” she stutters, trying in vain to climb out of my arms. She barely has the energy to lift her head.

“No, you’re not,” I say in a bellowing command. “You have a fever, and you need to be in bed.”

When I reach my room, I realize how cold it is, feeling bad that I just took her from a warmer space. After resting her under the covers of our bed, I tuck her in again. She curls onto her side and falls back to sleep in a moment.

Then I get to work building a fire in the fireplace. I don’t often have one going in here, but this will warm the room faster than the furnace.

By the time Martha returns with a tray, I have a warm blaze going. She sets the tray on the bedside table. There’s a pot of tea, water, some medicine, and a thermometer.

Then, she stands up and stares at me as if she’s waiting for further instructions.

“What now?” I ask in confusion.

“Take her temperature,” she replies, hiding her annoyance at my stupidity. “Anything over thirty-nine-point-four degrees, and you should call an ambulance.”

My eyes widen. Anambulance?

“But don’t worry, she doesn’t feel that hot. Just keep her fever down with some aspirin. Make sure she gets lots of water and lots of rest.”

“Wait, wait, wait.I’msupposed to take care of her?” I ask in a panic.

The look Martha gives me can only be described as astonished judgment. “Well, youareher husband, Mr. Barclay. Who better than you?”

“But I don’t know what I’m doing,” I nearly shout in return.

Her face cracks with a smile. Then she pats me on the arm. “It’s a cold, sir. Just give her what she needs, and she’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” I reply with a nervous gulp. She makes it sound so simple.Give her what she needs.But how the hell am I supposed to know what she needs?

“We’ll be right downstairs until the end of our shift. You should really eat, sir.”

“I’m fine,” I reply stubbornly. I can’t possibly eat like this. My stomach is in knots, and Sylvie is still burning up in my bed.

The next thing I know Martha is gone and I’m alone with my sick wife. On the bright side, the room is warm now.

I hope it’s nottoowarm.

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