Page 21 of One Sultry Summer

My insecurities came from my self-doubt about my appearance and economic status. Random thoughts run away with me as I slip on a sundress. I gather a pair of no-show socks and slip them on before the tennis shoes. I stand in front of the mirror and slide my fingers through my hair.

I opened my purse and pulled out my identification and credit cards. I also pulled out some cash and tucked it, my ID, and credit cardsinto a pocket in my dress. My phone chimed with an incoming text message.

Devin: I’m feeling better. I’ll be ready to go whenever you need me. Just give me five minutes.

Me: Are you sure?

Devin: Yes. Something didn’t settle right last night. But I feel better now.

I dialed his number so I could hear how his voice sounded. There’s something about text messages that gets lost in translation. Unlike a voice, in a text message, you can’t see or hear people’s true inflection.

“Good morning.”

A gravelly voice responded. “Morning.”

“You don’t sound so good.”

“My throat feels raw.”

“Goodness. You probably need more rest.”

“Nah.”

“Do you need medicine?”

He groans. “Hold on.” I hearrustling, before a large clatter. I didn’t know if the phone was being tossed down, but I did hear his heaving, and it made me shiver. He must have caught something from a passenger on the plane, which was the only place we’ve been in such an enclosed space.

I hung up, went to his room, and knocked on the door. “Devin?” I continue to knock; each one getting louder than the prior. The one time I wished my mother were here. Being a nurse, she would know what to do in cases like this. He doesn’t answer and it worries me.

I turned to go downstairs and ran into a firm surface and stumbled backwards.

“Whoa there.” Hands stop me from falling. I look up at Wyatt, his hands firmly grip my waist. His eyes study me intently. “What’s wrong?”

“I was on the phone with Devin, and I thought he went to see if he had any medicine because he wasn’t feeling well. I heard a loud clattering noise, and he didn’t come back on the phone. Now he won’t answer the door.”

His face softened. “What are his symptoms?”

“Um. Loss of appetite, vomiting….”

“Anything else?”

“I’m unsure.”

“Okay. Stay right here, keep trying and see if he answers. I’ll be right back.” He moved swiftly, avoiding the elevator and running down the set of stairs. I picked up my cell and tried calling him again. I put my ear to the door and faintly heard it ring.

I pounded on the door frantically. “Devin!? Can you hear me?” I repeated myself over and over.

“Ms. Masterson, please step aside.” His deep voice caught me off guard, this time for a different reason. I stepped aside and watched him unlock the door with what I can only assume was a master key. Without thinking, I followed him inside. I was afraid of what we’d find, but I had to know if Devin was okay.

When we stepped into the room the bed was unmade. The door to the bathroom was wideopen. I scanned the room and didn’t see him. Wyatt went further in, then yelled. “He’s here!”

He was lying on the bathroom floor, out cold. In the palm of his hand, he held his phone. My heart pounded when I saw how pale his skin was. Wyatt placed his fingers on Devin’s wrist; I assumed to check his pulse.

“Has he been tested recently for COVID?”

“We both underwent testing before we left, and our results were negative.”

“Do you know if he’s taking any medications?”

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