Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
LOTTIE
I’m dying. That’s what I expected the nurse practitioner to tell me when I was seen at the walk-in clinic an hour ago. It’s the only thing that made sense. My head is pounding, and I’m so dizzy. The sunlight hurts, the house is too cold, and I thought a ghost came to visit me when I woke up this morning.
Okay, in hindsight, that last one might have been from the fever ravaging my body, but it sure as hell looked real.
“You’re not dying, Ms. Sinclair. You simply have the flu and strep throat. I’m honestly surprised you haven’t had any symptoms before now, and if you did, you should have worn a mask so as not to infect everyone in my waiting room.”
The fill-in nurse practitioner was kind of a bitch. I miss Josie, but she’s still out on maternity leave.
“Lottie?”
I close my eyes and count to ten. Walking into the Briar Patch in my pjs and slippers was a terrible idea, but I was hoping, just once, that Lady Luck would be on my side.
Hearing Winona Sharkton behind me is basically Lady Luck laughing in my face.
Winona and Herald have owned the Briar Patch for longer than I’ve been alive, and Winona’s family owned it before that. As the only store in town, they hold a monopoly.
“What in the heavens?” She gasps, then places a cool hand on my forehead. “Have you been to the clinic, dear?”
I try to step back but bump into a row of Band-Aids. “Yes, Mrs. Sharkton. Don’t get too close. I’m lucky enough to have strep and the flu.” The words are muffled through my medical mask. I’m so exhausted, I could cry.
“Herald, grab me a chair,” Mrs. Sharkton shouts across the store to her husband. Not a minute later, he shuffles down the narrow aisle with a chair. He would do anything for his wife, including dragging a chair into the middle of a walkway without questioning why.
Setting it down, he turns to me.
“Oh, Ms. Sinclair. You look dreadful.” Herald is a transplant from London with an affinity for tweed, which is why I’m certain they keep the air at an arctic sixty degrees in here.
Mrs. Sharkton gently guides me to the chair as Mrs. Perez rounds the corner.
“Lottie, dear, what’s happened?” She scurries toward me.
“Flu and strep, can you believe it?” Mrs. Sharkton says on my behalf.
The two women begin to squabble over the best way to nurse me back to health, and knowing it’ll take a while, I drop my chin and close my eyes.
“You rest. I’ll start a basket for you while the ladies…discuss.” Mr. Sharkton pats my shoulder, then shuffles away.
“Well, she can’t drive herself home in this condition.” Mrs. Perez clucks.
“I agree. Why these young folk refuse to ask for help is beyond me. It took a village before me, and it’ll take a village after me. One of these days, they’ll understand that.” Mrs. Sharkton tuts.
“I’ll be fine,” I mutter. No matter what I say, my immediate future is out of my hands, and I’m in no shape to fight it.
“Where’s that boyfriend of hers? Thought for sure he’d be out here doing her errands. He may need to work on his tone, but he was in here buying one of every feminine product we own in case Kara becomes a woman under his watch. Seems like this is something he’d take care of too.”
He what? Freaking Thane. How is it possible for someone to worm their way further into your heart with tampons?
“He doesn’t know.” I don’t bother lifting my head. Their disapproval coasts over me from a mile away.
“Now, why not?”
“Because I’m not a child, Mrs. Perez.” Shit. “Okay, I admit that sounded like a sulky teenager, but I assure you, I’m a grown woman capable of taking care of myself, sick or not.”
It might have more of an impact if I had opened my eyes during my little speech, but that seems like unnecessary effort right now.
“Pfft. Even grown-ups need their mamas once in a while.” Mrs. Sharkton pats my hair away from my face. It sticks in places, possibly from dried drool or sweat, but it doesn’t deter her from poking at me.
“I don’t remember much about my mom.” That’s the fever talking, and I snap my lips shut.
“Don’t you worry, Lottie. You’ve got lots of mamas now.” Mrs. Perez’s voice comes from a row or two over.
“What’s going on, Lottie?” Mr. Abboud shouts. “You in need of a mama?” His voice nears, and I rest my head against the pile of Band-Aids I knocked over. I’ll come back tomorrow and fix them.
“No, Mr. Abboud. I’m not feeling well.”
“Oh, I know just the thing. Just the thing. Hang tight, I’ll get you a basket. I’ll slip your mail into the basket too, so you don’t need to worry about anything.”
Telling him that Mr. Sharkton already has a basket started feels like too much work.
Somewhere in the store, Mrs. Perez and Mrs. Sharkton bicker about the best kind of soup, while Mr. Abboud tells them soup isn’t what I need.
I’ll sit here for a moment and gather my strength. Then I’ll tell them that I really only came in for ginger ale and some cough drops.
I start to fall and jerk awake just before sliding to the floor. At my feet are three baskets overflowing with everything from saltines and four different brands of soup to fresh ginger and a heating pad.
“Ah…”
“Oh, good. You’re awake,” Mrs. Sharkton says from a chair next to me.
She’s knitting, my head is pounding, and I’m more confused than I’ve ever been in my life.
“You fell asleep, and we didn’t want to disturb you. Took your temperature while you were out too. It’s real high, Lottie, so you needed the little nap. Here, drink this.” She holds up a bottle of orange Gatorade with a straw sticking out the top and presses it to my lips.
Unsure of what to do, I take a sip.
“You let me sleep? In the middle of the first aid aisle in the general store?” Maybe I’m hallucinating.
“Well, what would you have me do? You’re sick, child. You need rest, and we needed to get your supplies.”
This is why I love this place. This is the most ridiculous thing anyone has ever done for me, but they do it because they care. You can’t make up the shit that happens in Sweetbriar, Tennessee—no one would believe it.
“Herald will pull your car around when you’re ready, and Leroy will follow him to give him a ride home after they unload your wellness wares.” She nods at my feet.
I can’t begin to imagine what I’m supposed to do with gingerroot, and I’m too tired to ask.
“Thank you. I just want to climb into my bed.”
“Herald,” she shouts. “The patient’s ready.”
“She didn’t sleep long.” Mr. Sharkton hums in disapproval. “You need rest and fluids. You have your keys, Lottie?”
“I can drive myself, really.” But my eyelids fall heavily, so I give in. Reaching into the pocket of my sweatshirt, I pull out my car keys and hand them to him. “Thank you.”
Mrs. Sharkton helps me stand. “Piece of advice?”
I nod since she’s going to say her piece no matter what I say.
“Let Thane in. Men like him want to protect. He’ll think he’s a failure if you don’t let him help when you need it. And Lottie?”
I peer up at her even as my head swims.
“We all need help sometimes. Even strong, independent women. Asking for help and trusting you’ll receive it is one of the strongest things we can do because we’re admitting to being vulnerable and trusting someone to be there for us. Thane may be an unorthodox boyfriend, but I knew when I saw him at Sandy Shae’s yesterday, picking out earrings as if they were an engagement ring, that his alpha exterior was shielding a big gooey center.”
I can’t even picture Thane at Sandy’s shop, and if I didn’t think my head would explode, I’d smile. He must have hated all the beeswax candles and incense.
“I’m sure whatever he chose for Kara was perfect,” I say absentmindedly.
Mrs. Sharkton’s brows rise, but she doesn’t say anything as she walks me out to my car, and for that I’m grateful. My energy is depleted, and I just want my bed.
“Your chariot awaits.” Mr. Sharkton has the passenger door open, and the second I’m seated, he shuts it behind me.
I press my hot face to the cool glass and close my eyes. When I open them again, I’m home.
Everything aches as I crawl upstairs with a bag of medicine dangling from my wrist.
I don’t remember the last time I was this sick. It’s miserable.
Mr. Abboud and Mr. Sharkton are bickering in my kitchen about where things go, and I let them. Bed is the only thing on my mind.
By the time I get to the top of the stairs, I’m covered in sweat but shivering. I took a dose of meds at the Patch, but it hasn’t kicked in yet. The walk down the hallway stretches on to infinity.
Someone knocks at the front door. There’s not a chance in hell that I’m making another trip down four billion stairs.
“I’ve got it, Lottie,” Mr. Abboud calls.
I drag one foot in front of another until I face-plant into my bed.
“Where is she?”
I don’t hear Mr. Abboud’s response as I begin to drift away.
“Sweetheart?”
I swat at hands as they attempt to slip under my shoulders.
“I’m fine, go away,” I grumble.
“Sweet little liar.”
I attempt to open my eyes and manage to get one to flutter to life.
“Hey.” Thane peers down at me with concern etched into his features. It makes my body heat and shiver simultaneously.
“Hey.” Keeping my eyes open is too much work.
“You need to get up, little liar. Your bedsheets are soaked.”
Still? I’d woken tangled in sheets and a little delirious from fever, but that was over an hour ago. Wasn’t it?
I pry my heavy lids open. It’s dark outside. I must have fallen asleep.
“Shh. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
I’m lifted into the air on a cloud as darkness takes me.