His Other Life

Chapter 13

THIRTEEN

GEMMA

April, three years ago

The fever dream was the same again. It started true to reality with Gemma pushing open the door to the lobby of the building where Jonah’s company kept a small condo for their employees to stay in as needed. She wore jeans and a puffer jacket, and she had a canvas tote full of food staples hooked over her arm. Her winter boots marked her walk through the lobby with dull thuds, and while this trek took longer in the dream, and the elevator bank stretched on into infinity, the gist of it was still true. She got inside and pressed the number two button. The doors closed.

It was when they opened that the dream changed.

When she’d actually gone to Jonah’s place a week ago, she’d followed the carpeted hallway until she found the number of his unit. She’d contemplated leaving the bag and texting him from her car, but then she’d decided to make sure he was okay, so she’d knocked instead. He’d opened after a long minute, eyes glossy above his mask.

“Delivery,” she’d said, handing him the bag. “I got what you asked for and added a few other nice-to-haves.”

He’d taken the handles from her and peered inside. “Oh my gosh, I can’t thank you enough.”

He’d been in sweats and a thick hoodie—a far cry from the put-together version she’d met in the office. But in Jonah’s case, it wasn’t the clothes that made the man. That much was clear.

“How’s the fever?” she’d asked.

He’d twisted away, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow as a cough rattled through him before answering. “Up and down.”

“There’s cough syrup in there,” she’d said. “Hopefully that helps you get some rest.”

He’d taken a step back. “Sorry, I don’t want to get you sick.”

She’d agreed, and they’d said goodbye shortly after that. Before she knew it, she’d been on her way back to the car.

Now, trapped in her own Covid daze, every time she closed her eyes and let fatigue pull her under, the elevator doors slid open, and Jonah was no longer inside the condo—he was waiting on the second-floor landing. At first his back was turned, but when he heard her, he spun around, elated to see her. In the dream, he wasn’t sick at all. He took her bag from her then lifted her up in a tight hug.

“I’ve been waiting all day for this,” he said.

And it felt so good to be wanted.

Gemma woke with a start, drenched in sweat and with her hair stuck in thick tendrils to her cheek. She rolled onto her back and kicked off her covers. The dream always stopped there or outside his place, so in other words, frustratingly short. Even in her current state, she craved knowing what would happen if they went inside.

She pushed herself up to sitting and reached for the glass of water on her nightstand. It was full, which meant Cheryl must have replaced it while she slept. Gemma’s shoulders slumped. She’d told her aunt to stay away to avoid catching this. Everyone had underestimated how contagious it was. She’d only seen Jonah for a few minutes, and she’d still gotten sick. Though she supposed she could have caught it at the grocery store or work around the same time too.

Gemma put on a mask and left her room to go to the bathroom, trying not to make too much noise in case it was the middle of the night. The past few days, time had turned into an abstract concept not helped by the darkening blinds in her room. It could be midnight, ten in the morning, or five in the afternoon at any given time.

“Gem, is that you?” Cheryl called from the living room.

Gemma paused by the bathroom before continuing to the end of the hallway so she could see her aunt. “It’s me.”

Cheryl lifted the remote to pause her show. “What are you doing up? You look terrible.”

“Thanks. What time is it?”

“Two thirty.”

Afternoon . When was the last time she ate something?

“Are you hungry?” Cheryl asked as if reading her mind. “I can heat up some mac and cheese if you want.”

Gemma’s stomach growled. “Thank you. But put it outside my door, okay? I don’t want you to get sick.”

“I haven’t been sick since?—”

“2011, I know. I’m just saying. Why risk it?”

“Fine. How are you feeling?”

“A little better I think.”

“See, it’s not that bad.”

Gemma turned and retraced her steps. She wasn’t getting into that debate again.

She’d told the truth; she was feeling better. Good enough for a quick shower. Refreshed, she returned to her room where a tray with mac, a bag of chips, and a handful of carrot sticks waited on her bed.

“Thank you,” she called out the door, but her aunt had resumed her show and didn’t respond.

She’d eaten half the bowl of pasta when her phone dinged next to her pillow. Thinking it was probably Sadie, she picked it up mid-drink and almost spat out her water. It was him. Jonah.

Driving back up north today finally , he texted. Just wanted to say thank you again for saving me from starvation and misery. I hope the flowers were delivered.

The food somersaulted in her stomach as she stared at the words. They instantly conjured the dream version of him, smiling at her, so she shook her head and put the phone down. A large mixed bouquet had arrived at the office two days after she’d stopped by his place. The card had been addressed to the whole office as a thank you for exceptional care, and Gemma had fought hard to stop herself from reading more into the gesture, but now, his text made that fight futile.

Her phone dinged again. First with a photo from somewhere along the road—a snowcapped mountain in the distance—then, How are things on your end? Still working?

What should she do? He was asking a direct question so it would be rude not to answer.

Not right now, she typed. I got sick too , but my aunt is taking care of me .

His answer was immediate. Oh no!!! Now I feel horrible!

She smiled to herself at his overuse of exclamation marks. Don’t. I could have picked it up anywhere.

But I shouldn’t have asked you to bring me food when I was sick. I’m so sorry!

She scooted back on her bed and put a pillow behind her. I’m getting better already. Don’t worry about it.

Another photo came through—this time a selfie of him with an exaggerated sad face—followed by: Are you sure?

Dammit if he wasn’t even cuter than she remembered. Square jaw, rounded upper lip, strong nose. Kind eyes.

I’m sure , she typed. I’ll be good as new in the next few days. She hesitated but then continued, So what will you be doing when you get home?

The moving dots seemed to go on forever before his response came through. Working mostly. I can do a lot of my sales virtually, so that’s what’s in store.

He hadn’t mentioned his job before. What kind of sales?

Pharmaceuticals. A real thrill ride. Ha!

You don’t like it?

It pays the bills. And I’m good at it.

She could see that being true. He’d certainly been easy for her to connect with. And when you’re not working?

You know. This and that.

Was he being intentionally vague? She couldn’t help but notice he still hadn’t mentioned a wife.

I should get back on the road, he continued. Really hope you feel better.

Thanks.

And I’m sorry again if you got it from me. I almost feel like I should make it up to you somehow. Maybe dinner next time I’m in town?

Gemma stared at the screen. She hadn’t seen that coming. I’d be up for that. If any places are still open. She added a fingers-crossed emoji.

If not, I’ll cook. See ya.

Gemma dug her teeth into her bottom lip. “See ya,” she whispered as she put her phone away.