Page 34 of Marriage is a Shore Thing
I cradle the back of her head with one hand and run the device over her forehead with the other. I expect Geneva to grimace at having her temperature taken, but her dark eyelashes flutter closed, almost helplessly. When her brow smooths peacefully, I set the device aside. The result on the digital screen reads 101°F, meaning Geneva doesn’t have heat stroke—thank goodness.
My mouth opens to tell her, but instead, I dampen a washcloth and gently clean her forehead, her cheeks. The sound she makes in her throat—soft, vulnerable—sends goosebumps shooting over my skin, almost breaking me. Based on what I know about Geneva’s history, it’s probably been years since someone looked after her like this.
“Gen.”I don’t think I’ve ever heard my voice more ragged, tortured.
She turns her face away, lashes squeezed shut like she’s in pain. “Do I need to go to the hospital?”
“No. But can you tell me how you’re feeling? Is anything hurting? Pain in your stomach? Shortness of breath?”
Her mouth opens and closes twice before she mutters, “I’m fine.”
“Don’t lie to me.” I say it too gruffly but don’t regret it. I need to know what I’m dealing with.
Her shoulders sag in unmistakable surrender. “Everything hurts. I woke up achy and sore, but I figured it was just from hitting the bag extra hard this week.”
“Okay.” That’s consistent with flu, especially this strain that has more head and body aches and less upper respiratory symptoms. “What about a headache?”
Geneva nods, but it’s not her defiant chin bob. It’s a small, defeated movement that makes my chest squeeze. “My hair hurts.”
I understand what she means. My sister’s scalp used to ache every time she got the flu growing up. The memory of sitting on our lumpy couch, Disney movies playing while we slurped popsicles, jabs me like a searing poker, and I quickly force it away.
“Alright, this is what we’re going to do. Let’s take your hair down.” My hands are already working the elastic from her damp ponytail as Geneva draws her knees to her chest. “Then let’s get you dry and cool and give you some antipyretics.”
“Some what?” Her brow is smooth again, lashes closed as she rests her cheek on her knee.
The corner of my mouth lifts. “Tylenol. Ibuprofen. Medicines that reduce fever and will also take away some of the pain. You’ve likely got the early strain of flu that’s circling around. Now, lean back for me. I’m going to rinse out your hair.”
Geneva doesn’t move, just opens her eyes. My heart rate ticks up at her soft yet assessing expression, and I can’t not touch her. With the elastic free, I run one thumb over her temple and down her cheek to the corner of her jaw.
“I know I’ve changed a lot, asked a lot of you,” I say, threading my fingers through her sweat-damp hair. “But can you let me take care of you? Just this once.”
She’s silent for so long I’m certain she’ll refuse. The clicking on of the AC, the slight drip of the faucet, and the blood rushing in my ears is my only company.
“I’m tired.”
“I know, darlin’.” It takes all my willpower not to kiss her temple. “We’ll get you in bed soon. Lie back, okay?”
Geneva’s surprisingly pliant as I rinse her hair in the cool water, but she kicks me out of the bathroom so she can dry herself and change into a lightweight sleep set. I busy myself by pulling the comforter off her bed, turning her ceiling fan on high, and closing her blinds. When she opens the bathroom door to find me sitting beside her bed in a kitchen chair, she grimaces.
“What are you doing with that?”
“Knitting a sweater.”
“Van.”My name is a growl, and it makes me impossibly happy. “I’m not some dainty Victorian lady convalescing. You don’t need to sit at my bedside.”
“You said you’d let me take care of you this once.”
Her arms cross. “I technically didn’t say—”
“We need to cancel dinner with Joanna. Do you want me to call her?” I cross one ankle over my knee, leaning back like the hard wooden chair is the most comfortable thing I’ve ever sat in.
Geneva reaches for her phone on the bedside table as she crawls beneath the sheet. “I can do it.”
I can’t help performing a visual assessment while she speaks to Joanna. Already, Geneva looks better. The sweating has decreased, and her color has returned to normal. Geneva refuses Joanna’s offer of soup and to activate the Wilks Beach emergency text chain.
“But could you let people know that the flu is here and to take care of themselves?” she asks Joanna. “I’d hate to get anyone sick.”
Geneva listens for a long time before saying, “No. No. I’ve got my handsome doctor husband to take care of me, after all.”
