Page 39 of Grump Hard
And there’s no way I’m asking the maids, the cook, or Arthur to come in today.
“I’ll text the staff and tell them to stay home,” I say, pulling out my cell. “No need for them to risk exposure.”
Elliot nods. “Sounds good. I can stay with the sicklies today and tonight.” He shoots a small smile my way. “I’m assuming you have plans?”
I do have plans.
But looking at my siblings—both of whom are genuinely miserable, even if Ashton is hamming it up a bit—I know what I have to do. I can’t leave Elliot here alone, and I can’t risk exposing Holly to the flu if I’ve already been infected.
“No, we’re in this together, brother,” I assure him, clapping him on the shoulder. “If you want to get them water and something for their fever, I’ll make coffee and place a grocery delivery order.”
“Coffee. God, yes.” Elliot’s shoulders sag. “Thank you. So much. Be sure to order plenty of Sprite and Ginger Ale and that electrolyte drink they give to kids when they’re dehydrated. Oh, and plain crackers and white bread. And extra tissues and disinfectant wipes. I have a feeling we’re going to need them.”
Over the next hour, we triage our patients with ginger ale, water, and trash cans strategically positioned for used tissues (and possible yarfing). I locate the digital thermometer in the hall bath on the second floor, sparing us the strain of squinting at the mercury in the old one, and sketch out a medication schedule that won’t result in accidental overdoses.
By the time we’re done, the living room looks like a proper sick room, and it’s late enough to text Holly without risking waking her up on a lazy Saturday.
I find a quiet corner in the library, away from the groaning and the blaring of the telenovelas Ashton insisted on watching to work on her Spanish—even as she complained that thinking in another language was making her headache worse.
Pulling out my phone, I relay the latest, unfortunate developments—Bad news. Ashton and Bran came down with the flu. I’m going to have to cancel tonight. I’m so sorry. I was really looking forward to it.
Almost instantly, three dots appear at the bottom of the screen. Oh no! Poor Ashton and Bran. Are they okay?
They’ll survive. I think. Though Ashton has insisted on dictating her will into her voice memo app in between blowing her nose. Just in case.
Holly shoots over a crying face. The poor thing. I get it. Being sick is the WORST.
Agreed. Still, I’m sorry that I have to cancel. I hope you can forgive me.
The dots appear again, pulsing for quite a bit longer this time, before—Luke Ratcliffe, are you seriously asking for forgiveness for taking care of your sick family? Don’t be crazy, Grumpy. You’re being a good big brother, and I’m proud of you. Also, I confess…I’m a teensy tiny bit hungover. I never have more than one drink, and those Old Fashioneds weren’t messing around. It’s probably a good idea for me to stay home tonight and reflect on the consequences of my party girl actions.
I grin down at the phone. You’re the farthest thing from a party girl. You’re a gingerbread house champion who had every right to celebrate a little more than usual.
You know what? You’re right! I’m going to go look at my medal again right now while I have coffee and gloat some more. Her smug-looking emoji makes me chuckle. I don’t think I gloated enough last night, do you?
Not nearly enough. You should gloat for the entire weekend. Bare minimum.
She shoots over a heart emoji, and I like the way you think.
I shoot back an arched brow emoji, and I like the way you kiss.
I like the way you kiss, too. And I’m looking forward to kissing you some more at your earliest convenience. So, don’t get sick. Go wrap yourself in plastic wrap or something, okay?
I’m about to text back that I’m pretty sure that’s a good way to suffocate, but that I’ll figure something out, when Elliot calls from the other room, “Luke! We’re already out of tissues. Can you grab some toilet paper to tide them over until the grocery delivery arrives?”
I have to go, I text instead. Duty calls.
Go forth and nurse, Nurse Ratcliffe! Hope everyone feels better soon! xo
That “xo” again…
I stare at it for a little too long before pocketing my phone and heading back to the disaster zone that is now the mansion’s living room.
By the evening, the situation has deteriorated significantly.
Around five o’clock, Elliot, who has been looking progressively paler throughout the afternoon, finally admits defeat and retreats to his room with the beginnings of fever and chills.
Which leaves me the last Ratcliffe standing.
