Page 34 of Sugar
She smiles, but it’s weak. “Never better.”
“You still nauseous?”
“Mhm.”
“Do you need to go back in?”
“Fuck no,” she protests. “Just drive and let me focus.” She squeezes her eyes shut and scooches forward in her seat so that her face is an inch from the air vent. With the sun shiningthrough the truck’s windows, I can see she’s a little green. My heart cartwheels as concern takes hold.
I jump into the seat and peel out of the lot.
When I tell her I’ll take her to my cabin and then go back out for food, she whines and insists we stop for food on the way. “The ranch is outside of town and it’ll take too long. Food is the only thing that’s going to help. Trust me. I need to eat.”
I don’t understand how hunger can lead to . . . well,this. But I oblige, stopping at June’s Café for a quart-sized container of potato soup and a handful of packaged crackers. When I ask if they have any cans of ginger ale, Olivia looks through the large front windows at Ava, still hunched over in the truck. “Is she okay?”
“I have no idea,” I say honestly.
She must hear the worry in my voice, because she runs to the kitchen and reappears a minute later with a whole pack of the soda.
“Thanks for this.”
Olivia waves a hand. “It’s nothing. Let me know if she needs anything else—I’m happy to run something over.”
I dip my chin in thanks, and then hurry back outside.
Ava nearly moans at the smell of the soup as I tuck the brown paper bag it’s wrapped in on the bench seat between us on top of the case of ginger ale. “Holy shit,” she whispers, eyes still closed. The air conditioning blows her dark air out around her face. Even queasy, she looks . . . radiant.
Blood rushes into my face as I force myself to drive.
When we finally pull up to the front of my cabin, I grab hold of the food and ginger ale and push out of the truck so I can go help her out. But when I round the hood and make it to the other side, she’s already swinging the door closed and marching up the steps to the front porch.
“Damn,” I mutter.
She shoots me a glare. “Less gawking, more moving.”
I chuckle, some of the tension in my shoulders easing. “Yes, ma’am.”
Inside, I pull a bowl out from the cupboard and fill it with half the container of soup. Ava waits at the small wooden table next to the bay window, strands of sunlight slicing through her hair. I set the bowl and a spoon in front of her with a package of crackers, and then fill an old mug from the cupboard with some ice and as much ginger ale that will fit.
“Thank you,” she says between spoonfuls of soup.
“You need anything else?”
She shakes her head, mouth full.
I can’t help but watch her eat. It’s clear that she’s really, truly hungry, but I’m still nervous that all of this food she’s pouring into her stomach will just come right back up. She reaches for the mug—a chipped brown one that readsCOWBOYon the side—and tilts it toward her lips, taking a drink. Her eyes flick to me, standing in the middle of the kitchen like an idiot.
“What?” she asks, setting the mug back down.
“Just making sure you’re okay,” I admit.
She picks up her spoon again. “Don’t you have a ranch to run? You should be out with the horses.”
“Not until I know you can keep all this down.”
She stills, the spoon stopping halfway to her mouth, a dollop of soup spilling onto the table. “Kasey, I’m fine.”
I cross my arms over my chest.
