Chapter 22 #2
“Okay, honey.” I clutch a hand over my mouth and speak in muffled words. “Call if you need anything.”
While I walk to the kitchen, my phone buzzes with an incoming message from Claire. She’ll grab the meds and bring them to the house. In the meantime, I field calls from Penelope with new travel details, set up a tray for Harlan, and practice my deep breathing.
In the forty-five minutes between the text and when Claire arrives, poor Harlan makes three more trips to the bathroom.
And I make three trips to the laundry room to cover my ears, hum, and wait it out.
The doorbell rings, and I glance in the direction of Harlan’s room. “I got it, honey,” I call to him. Because he’s going to rise from the dead and welcome a guest? I shake my head. If he still wants to date me when this is all over, it’ll be a miracle.
When I swing the front door open, the sight of Claire makes me want to cry.
Dressed in her typical running gear, long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, she reaches out for a hug but stops midmotion. “Oh, Meredith.” Claire’s deep blue eyes grow big. “How bad is it?”
Claire. Childhood friend sitting in the front seat of my mom’s car when the incident happened. She knows. And she’s pulled me out of the Bad Place several times over the last few decades when vomit was in my vicinity.
Ridiculous tears fill my eyes. “It’s really bad.” I hope Harlan can’t pick up on my whisper.
Coughing and hacking float from the guest room into the entryway, and my body seizes up.
She grabs my hand and drags me outside. “Let’s ignore what’s happening in there.” She waves a hand toward the house.
I pull in a deep breath and nod.
“I don’t know who this Penelope person is, but by the time I got to the pharmacy, the entire order was packaged up, paid for, and ready to go.
The clerk let on he wasn’t super happy to do a rush job on a holiday weekend, but it got done.
” She holds out one large brown paper bag, stapled at the top, and one white plastic bag.
“But I added a few survival things for you. Everything full of gluten, dairy, sugar, and preservatives just like you like them.”
Claire can’t eat any of my favorite stress foods, but she supports my consuming enough for the both of us.
I take both bags from her, clamp the brown one in place under my armpit, and open the thin plastic bag. People magazine, a book of sudoku puzzles, a giant bottle of hand sanitizer, three cans of Lysol, and seven kinds of chocolate. My girl knows me well.
When I finish pawing through my stash, I glance up to thank her. But her intense stare stops the words from coming out of my mouth.
She turns her head and looks at Harlan’s rental car for a beat, then directs her attention to the bags. “When you’re ready, I would love to hear about your new friend who is holed up in your house. Because that’s not Stanley’s car.”
I feel my face flush. Stupid caring, observant teacher friend.
She rummages through her purse. “I’m gonna take off if I can find my keys.” Her head snaps up. “Oh, the weirdest thing happened at the pharmacy. They asked me if I knew Harlan Holcombe.”
My heart races. “What did you say?”
“There were a lot of hushed tones behind the counter, then the guy told me to forget it.” Claire laughs. “Can you imagine? If I knew Harlan Holcombe, you couldn’t be my friend anymore because you’re still on Famous People Probation.” She shakes her head. “He sure was hot as Hercules, though.”
He still is hot.
I force a smile and some laughter. “I’m so grateful for your help.”
She shoos the words away with her hand. “No problem. I’m sorry we didn’t catch up this week, but maybe over Christmas break we can swing a lunch.”
“I’ll pull you away from your grading, Miss Stark, to make sure we connect.” Holding up the bags, I cringe. “I hope you don’t think I’m a wimp.”
“Sweetie, I was there.” She takes a step closer. “I was there. Anyone would experience panic attacks if their mom pulled cheese-filled hot dogs from their hair while under the running water of a dirty gas station sink.”
My body shudders as I giggle. “Love you.”
She turns on her heel and, without looking at me, holds up her keys and shakes them. “Love you too.”
Upon entering the house, I freeze and listen for the sounds of illness.
Nothing. Thank God.
I return to the kitchen, unpack the various meds, and dole out the appropriate doses. After placing them on a tray with crackers and Sprite, I carry the load down the hallway.
When I arrive at Harlan’s room, I gulp. Shifting the tray to balance precariously on one arm, I knock on the door.
“Come in,” he calls, his voice sounding like sandpaper.
I plaster on a bright smile and shove the door open with my elbow. My face falls when he comes into view.
Pasty-white Harlan sits on the end of the bed, elbows shaking, while gripping his knees.
“I come bearing gifts.”
Harlan’s eyes slowly move to find mine. They are glazed with signs of a fever.
“I’m not sure what you can keep down, but here’s the Tamiflu and Advil. We’re supposed to alternate with Tylenol. And I set out some crackers and Sprite.”
His silence unnerves me. Setting the tray on the side table, I step back and wait.
He clears his throat, and the pained expression on his face is disturbing. “I’ve got something for you.”
Harlan outstretches his arm, and for the first time I spot something stuck to the end of his finger. The round sticker quivers with his movements. I reach out my forefinger at a careful, painstaking angle to tag it, avoiding contact with Harlan’s skin in the transference.
I rotate my wrist to see the sticker. Once the picture and words are in my vision, I grip my stomach with my free hand and burst out laughing when I recognize one of my sticker creations. Staring back at me is a fat-cheeked, cheerful bunny.
No bunny helps with vomit like you!