Page 48 of Ripped

“Fine, then don’t wake him up.”

“But then, how do I know what his temperature is?” My voice is squeaky, my skin is prickly, and my heart is trying to beat its way out of my chest. If Donnie is really sick, if he needs to go to the hospital… I don’t know how to do any of that stuff. I don’t know how to take care of him the way he took care of me.

“Connor, breathe. It’s going to be okay.”

“How do you know that? You don’t know that.”

“Connor, stop it.” Her voice is steely and sharp.

I snap my mouth shut.

“You’re going to let him rest and when he wakes up, you’ll take his temperature. What’s his name?”

“Huh?” What does Donnie’s name have to do with his temperature?

“The person who’s sick. What is his name?”

“Uh, Donnie?” I don’t know why I said it like I wasn’t sure what it was.

“Donnie? That’s his name?”

“Yes, Donnie.”

“Okay, if Donnie’s temperature is above one-hundred-and-four, then take him to the hospital.”

“Wait, wait. I need to write this down.” I switch her to speaker phone and pull up my notes app. “When should I take him to the hospital?”

“If his temperature is above one-hundred-and-four.”

“And how do I get him there?”

There’s a beat of silence before she speaks, voice resigned. “Don’t worry about that right now.”

“Okay, okay, I can do that. What else?”

“You can give him acetaminophen or ibuprofen. Just follow the instructions on the bottle.”

“Instructions on the bottle, okay.” My fingers tremble as I try to type on my phone. Why won’t autocorrect work when I goddamn need it to work?

“If he’s sweating, he’ll need lots of fluids to make up for it.”

“He is. He’s sweating a lot.”

“You might need to help him shower, if he’s up for it. Then clean, dry clothes and clean, dry linens. Make sure he stays warm. Sometimes a cool towel on the forehead feels nice.”

“Shower. Clothes. Linens. Cool towel on forehead. Okay, anything else?”

“That’s it. If the fever doesn’t break within a couple days, you might need to take him to the hospital. But we’ll deal with that when the time comes.”

“Yeah, okay. Maybe it’ll break before then.”

“Connor, are you okay?” Her voice is softer now. She’s not asking about the fever.

I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling like an idiot. Twenty-fucking-six years old and calling my mommy because I’ve never taken care of someone with a fever before. Roger would’ve known what to do.

“Yeah, I think so.”

She sighs, sending a rush of air over the phone’s mic. “All right, well, call me again if you need anything else.”

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