Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Reed
Annie should have already been at Crane House. After Jackson asks for the second time, I give up trying to pretend I’m not simply waiting for her to arrive. Her tripod is still folded in the corner as if it’s just waiting on her like I am.
I pull off one glove and call her. She answers on the sixth ring.
“Hello?” The single word comes out rough and congested.
“Annie?”
“I’m coming.” Something thumps on her end, followed by a frustrated sound.
“Where are you?”
“Lanie’s. I overslept.” She clears her throat and immediately coughs. “Tell Jackson not to touch that wall until I get there.”
I walk outside, away from the saws. Over the past week, the morning air has gone from merely chilly to obnoxiously cold. “You’re sick.”
“No. I’m just tired.”
“You sound sick.”
“I sound like somebody who just woke up.”
A muffled voice rises behind her: Lanie, telling her she isn't going anywhere. Annie says something I can’t make out, and then Lanie comes on the line.
“She’s sick,” she says.
“I heard.”
“She’s also got one leg in her jeans and seems determined to freeze to death on that ridge.”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Good, because I’ll be damned if I can talk any sense into her when she gets like this.”
I hang up and find Jackson inside. “Annie’s sick. Don’t open the workroom wall yet.”
He glances toward her empty tripod. “She all right?”
“Sounds like the flu. I’m going to Lanie’s.”
“I’ll keep everybody on the west side until we hear from her.”
“Call if something can’t wait.”
That old reflex nearly kicks in. The one that would have me driving and calling everyone I can to come and handle this for us.
I could hold Annie’s hand while a private nurse comes in and takes care of all of the more difficult stuff.
I could have food delivered, a doctor on Zoom, and the whole thing could be handled within the afternoon, even if Annie didn’t get any better for four days.
And Annie would hate every minute of it.
At Lanie’s, I find her sitting on the ottoman, fighting the button on her jeans. Her whole body shakes beneath an old gray sweater. Her cheeks are flushed, but the skin around her mouth is pale. One boot sits on the floor beside her. The other is still by the door.
“If you’re going to tell me that I can’t go to Crane House, don’t.”
“Okay, I won’t tell you that you can’t go to Crane House.”
Behind me, Lanie makes a dismissive noise.
“But I will tell you that it’s colder than a yeti’s butt crack and you’re going to be miserable the whole time.”
She stops and looks at me. “A yeti’s butt crack?”
Lanie appears behind her with crossed arms. “She called me a tyrant five minutes ago.”
Annie tries once again to negotiate the button on her jeans. “I have to go. Tyrants or yetis not withs…” She stops. “Withstanding? Is that the word?”
I crouch in front of her. Her eyes are glassy. She’s so flushed she looks like she’s already been out in the cold air for an hour.
I raise my hand and put the back of it against her forehead.
“Jesus, Annie. You’re burning up.”
A hand appears over my shoulder. Lanie pushes a thermometer into my hand.
“You’re both ganging up on me,” she says, but she’s losing steam. She’s given up on the button and is leaning against the wall.”
Annie gives me a look that would humble most men, but I’ve already spent too many weeks being put in my place to let it stop me. She takes it. After a few beeps, I pull it from her lips.
“One hundred two point four,” I read.
“That explains the shaking,” Lanie says. “If medicine doesn’t bring it down, or it climbs, we’ll call the clinic. For now, I’ll get the Tylenol.”
“But Crane House,” she says. The protest is weak. Watching her want something so bad but being physically unable to get to it hurts me more than I’m willing to admit.
“It’ll be there when you get better,” I say, and she moans. “For now…”
I slide my forearms beneath her and carefully lift her.
“Reed,” she says, but there’s no fight left in it. “What are you doing?”
“Getting you to bed,” I say as Lanie leads me down the hall toward her room.
The bed’s unmade, clothes strewn on the floor where she no doubt attempted to conduct her typical morning routine.
By the time I’ve gotten her to the bed, she’s given up the fight, leaning on me.
I resist the urge to hold her to me a second longer and position her on the bed.
Between Lanie and I, we strip off the jeans and sweater.
In a matter of minutes, she’s in a comfortable set of sleep shorts and a Dollywood t-shirt.
“I’m cold,” she says, shivering. Lanie moves to her side, bundling her up.
“What does she need?” I ask Lanie.
Lanie recites a list as I type it all out on a note in my phone.
Bear Claw has one pharmacy that’s locally owned, but it luckily has everything we need save for the ingredients Lanie gave me for the broth Annie’s used to drinking when she can’t keep anything else down.
I grab every flavor of cough drops and a stuffed bear wearing a t-shirt that reads “I heart Rocky Top.”
Lanie examines the haul when I organize it all on her kitchen table. She picks up the bear.
“Always wondered who bought these things,” she says, turning the bear over and looking at the tag.
“Now, you know. It’s idiots like me.”
“You said it. Not me.”
“When did she take the first dose of Tylenol?” I ask, opening the notes app on my phone.
“Nine-thirty,” she says, watching me. “I can take care of her.”
“I have no doubt about that.”
“I’ve been doing this longer than you have.”
“And I’m sure you do it better,” I say, looking up at her. If this is a test, I’m not sure if I’m passing or failing, but I don’t let that stop me. “But if you don’t mind, I’d like to be here for her. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do. And you can call me an idiot if that helps as well.”
She huffs. “You’re not an idiot. A little pathetic, but not an idiot.”
If my wife weren’t sick, I’d likely laugh at that. “I’ll take it.”
She points toward the hallway. “She’ll need water.”
I nod.
When I walk in, Annie's cocooned under two quilts. Her hair is plastered to her temple, damp with sweat. I set the water and electrolyte drink on the nightstand, hoping she'll at least look at them.
“I don’t want either of those.”
“I brought crackers.”
“Don’t want those either.”
“How about just a little bit of water?” I ask, picking up the bottle and uncapping it.
She sighs, then tries to sit up, shivering the whole time. I pull a chair to the edge of the bed. She takes the bottle from me, her hand unsteady. I hold the bottom, and neither of us comments as she manages to take a sip.
I perch on the edge of the mattress and slide an arm behind her shoulders. She lets me help, her weight leaning into me for a second before she props herself up. I hold the bottle to her mouth. "Small sips."
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” she manages, “but I hate you seeing me like this.”
“I’ve seen you sick before.”
“Yeah, but usually there’s someone else to do the messy part.”
“Would you rather someone else be here?” I ask. I’d not considered that she might not want me here. My heart twists at the thought of leaving her here sick.
“No,” she says, and I swallow my sigh of relief.
She drinks, then turns her face away. I help her lie back and pull the quilts up. When I brush the hair off her forehead, she gives me a look I can't quite figure out.
“Get some sleep,” I say.
“What about the stained glass?”
“I sent photographs to three conservators this morning.”
Her brow furrows. “You did?”
“Jackson said it needs a specialist. Apparently no one around here knows what to do with that sort of thing.”
“You don’t have to handle everything.”
“I’m not handling everything.” I lay a cool, damp cloth across her forehead. “I’m finding you options. You can decide.”
She watches me for another moment before her eyes close. “That cloth feels good,” she whispers.
I stay until her breathing evens out.
My first shot at broth is a disaster. I follow the recipe, or I think I do, but it says three cloves of garlic and I toss in three whole bulbs. By the time Lanie catches on, the garlic is strong enough that I know she won’t ever have to worry about vampires.
“There’s no way that’s fit to eat,” she says.
I dip a spoon in and taste it. The combined punch of salt and garlic coats my tongue. “No. But if you have any paint that needs stripping, it might work for that.”
Lanie walks over and looks at the empty garlic skins. “You do know that a clove isn’t a whole bulb, don’t you?”
“I do now.”
She shows me how much salt to use and keeps the heat low. The second batch takes longer. It's plain and watery, but Lanie tastes it and gives a grudging nod.
Upstairs, Annie manages four spoonfuls before sinking deeper into the pillows.
“The first batch could’ve stripped paint off Crane House,” Lanie tells her.
Annie looks at me over the rim of the spoon.
“If the house has pests in the spring, it might be useful.”
A weak laugh escapes her. She immediately presses a hand to her temple. “Don’t make me laugh. My head’s splitting.”
“Sorry.” I set the bowl aside and offer her water.
She drinks without arguing this time.
By late afternoon, the medicine has brought her fever below one hundred one. Then she wakes sweating, the back of her shirt damp and the sheets beneath her clammy. Lanie finds clean bedding. I carry Annie to the sofa to rest while Lanie changes the sheets.
“I can walk,” she protests against my shoulder.
“Maybe so,” I say, settling her against the sofa cushions. “But I’d feel better if you didn’t. And more importantly, so would you.”
She doesn’t have an answer for that.
Once Lanie has changed the sheets, I carry Annie back to bed. This time, she doesn’t protest.
“You can go back to your hotel,” she says once she’s settled back against the pillows. “If you want to.”
I reach over and brush the hair from her eyes. “I’m right where I want to be if you don’t mind me being here.”
“I don’t mind,” she says weakly before closing her eyes and falling asleep.
Near midnight, Lanie brings a blanket and points toward the chair beside Annie’s bed. “That thing will punish your back.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s older than both of you.”
“I’ll survive.”
She looks at Annie, then at me. “Wake me if her temperature goes up.”
“I will.”
The house settles after she leaves. Pipes click inside the wall. Outside, I’m pretty sure I hear some sort of animal foraging below the window. It’s nothing like Stanhope House, where all the sounds seem to require approval before making it past the front door.
Annie sleeps fitfully. Occasionally, she says something in her sleep. At one point, she calls out for her mama and the sounds seems to have the ability to reach inside my chest and clutch my heart. Another time, it’s my name she says. I shift closer, letting her know I’m right there.
Sometime after two, I fall asleep.
The movement of the mattress wakes me. Annie is pushing herself upright, hair stuck to her face.
“What do you need?”
“I’m cold.”
I touch her cheek, then reach for the thermometer. One hundred two point eight.
Once she has another does of Tylenol in her, I wipe her brow and help her get settled under the covers. She looks down and I realize for the first time that are fingers are laced.
“What if I never give you children?”
The question steals my breath. I move closer before I’ve taken a breath. “Annie.”
Her eyes lift to mine.
“You’ve always wanted babies, Reed. What if I can’t give you that?”
The fever’s making her loose-tongued. There’s a good chance she won’t even remember this conversation tomorrow, but part of me hope she does.
“You’re right, Annie,” I say, bringing her hand to my lips. She doesn’t pull back. “But I didn’t just want children. I want children with you.”
“But what if you can’t have them with me? What if this is it?”
“Then this is it.”
She stares at me.
“I had my family before we ever started trying,” I say. “I had you. Children were something we hoped to add. They were never supposed to be the price of our life counting.”
“I don’t want you to blame me later, Reed.”
It takes everything in me not to slip into bed beside her and pull her to me. “I’d never blame you for that, Annie. And if you tell me right now that you never want to have children, I’d be okay with that because there’s only one thing I can’t live without, Annie, and that’s you.”
A tear slips down her cheek, and I reach up, wiping it away. Her skin is hot and damp.
I bend and kiss her forehead. She closes her eyes and keeps hold of my hand. Within minutes, she's asleep again.
Light seeping in past the curtains wakes me and, for a minute, I don’t remember where I am. The first thing I realize is that my neck aches and my foot is numb. Then I look up and see Annie. She’s awake, watching me from bed.
“How long have you been up?” I ask.
“I don’t know.”
I check her temperature. One hundred point three.
“Better.”
“Still terrible.”
“Not great, but it’s going down. You scared me a little last night.”
Lanie appears in the doorway. “How do you feel?”
“Like I lost a fight.”
“But better?”
“A little.”
Lanie nods and leaves us, giving me one last assessing look before she does. There’s still the sense that I’m being tested, and I’m not certain if I’m coming up short or not.
“When I first woke up, I thought I dreamt it,” Annie says, pulling my attention back to her. She’s staring at the ceiling.
“Dreamt that you were sick?”
“Our conversation last night.” She turns back to me. “Did you mean it?”
I resist the urge to reach over and touch her. “I meant every word, Annie.”