you heard from them?”
“They’ve been calling all morning. The Rochester airport is closed, so they’re stuck in New York City. They can’t get a flight out until tomorrow, and they can’t even find an available hotel room.”
“What are they doing?”
“Your mom said they were staying with Mike and Phyllis.”
“Oh … the Shreves.” We see them every few years. My mom and Mike grew up in the same town outside of Boston. Their families were friends and my mom used to baby-sit for Mike when she was a teenager.
“Your mom said that Aimee and I went to the zoo with their daughter, Virginia, when I was little, but I don’t remember.”
I didn’t say anything. My throat hurt so badly, I felt like I’d swallowed shattered glass.
“Can I get you anything?” V asked after a moment. “Juice or water?”
I shook my head.
“I guess I’ll let you get back to sleep.”
V pulled the door closed but didn’t shut it the whole way.
I must have fallen asleep again because the next time V came into my room, I was having a stress dream. I don’t even remember what it was about, but I could tell I’d been grinding my teeth.
“I’m sorry to wake you up,” she said. “I told your parents you were sick, and your dad said you should drink echinacea tea, so I made you a cup of it.” V set a mug on the coaster on my bedside table. “I didn’t put honey in because I wasn’t sure if vegans eat honey.”
“Thanks,” I said. I was surprised she knew about that, how some vegans think eating honey is exploiting bees’ labor. I don’t happen to be one of those vegans, but I appreciated the gesture.
V chewed her thumbnail. “I thought you’d like to know that I fixed the smoke detector. I even tested it with a match and it still works.”
I wasn’t sure what to say. I pulled my blanket up to my shoulders.
V glanced around my room. “Mara?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry for what I said last night … the whole domestic-violence thing. Sometimes I have a big mouth. It was a dumb thing to say.”
“You were just joking. Sometimes I can get too sensitive.” I paused before saying, “I’m sorry I shoved you.”
“I’m sorry I shoved you, too.”
I felt choked up. V had this pinched look on her face, like she was going to cry. She started out of my room. As she reached the doorway, I said, “V?”
She turned around. “Yeah?”
“Thanks again for the tea.”
“No problem.”
I dozed for the rest of the day. A few times I got up to pee or eat applesauce, but all I wanted to do was crawl back into bed.
In the early evening, I was propped up with some pillows reading
High Fidelity
when the phone rang. A moment later, V peeked into my room.
“It’s James from Common Grounds,” she said. “Do you want to pick up?”
My stomach lurched. I’d been trying not to think about what had happened with James, but when V said his name, I wanted to hide under my covers and never come out.
“No,” I said quietly. “Tell him I can’t talk. Tell him I’m sleeping.”
I was sick for most of the week. We had a snow day on Monday, so I didn’t miss school. When my parents got home from the airport that afternoon, they made me drink two cups of echinacea tea and take about a gazillion milligrams of vitamin C. Even so, I felt like hell on Tuesday, so my dad drove V over to the high school. My mom called the main office and asked Rosemary to tell my teachers to send my assignments home with V.
I slept on and off all day, waking only to blow my nose. When V got home, she dropped off a pile of homework on my desk, but I didn’t even look at it. My head was drowning in so much mucus, I could barely think.
By Wednesday, I still felt crappy, but I got up to e-mail the teacher who coordinates tutoring sixth graders and told him I wouldn’t be able to make it. Then I sent an e-mail to my statistics professor at the college and explained why I missed class yesterday and said I would probably miss again
“They’ve been calling all morning. The Rochester airport is closed, so they’re stuck in New York City. They can’t get a flight out until tomorrow, and they can’t even find an available hotel room.”
“What are they doing?”
“Your mom said they were staying with Mike and Phyllis.”
“Oh … the Shreves.” We see them every few years. My mom and Mike grew up in the same town outside of Boston. Their families were friends and my mom used to baby-sit for Mike when she was a teenager.
“Your mom said that Aimee and I went to the zoo with their daughter, Virginia, when I was little, but I don’t remember.”
I didn’t say anything. My throat hurt so badly, I felt like I’d swallowed shattered glass.
“Can I get you anything?” V asked after a moment. “Juice or water?”
I shook my head.
“I guess I’ll let you get back to sleep.”
V pulled the door closed but didn’t shut it the whole way.
I must have fallen asleep again because the next time V came into my room, I was having a stress dream. I don’t even remember what it was about, but I could tell I’d been grinding my teeth.
“I’m sorry to wake you up,” she said. “I told your parents you were sick, and your dad said you should drink echinacea tea, so I made you a cup of it.” V set a mug on the coaster on my bedside table. “I didn’t put honey in because I wasn’t sure if vegans eat honey.”
“Thanks,” I said. I was surprised she knew about that, how some vegans think eating honey is exploiting bees’ labor. I don’t happen to be one of those vegans, but I appreciated the gesture.
V chewed her thumbnail. “I thought you’d like to know that I fixed the smoke detector. I even tested it with a match and it still works.”
I wasn’t sure what to say. I pulled my blanket up to my shoulders.
V glanced around my room. “Mara?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry for what I said last night … the whole domestic-violence thing. Sometimes I have a big mouth. It was a dumb thing to say.”
“You were just joking. Sometimes I can get too sensitive.” I paused before saying, “I’m sorry I shoved you.”
“I’m sorry I shoved you, too.”
I felt choked up. V had this pinched look on her face, like she was going to cry. She started out of my room. As she reached the doorway, I said, “V?”
She turned around. “Yeah?”
“Thanks again for the tea.”
“No problem.”
I dozed for the rest of the day. A few times I got up to pee or eat applesauce, but all I wanted to do was crawl back into bed.
In the early evening, I was propped up with some pillows reading
High Fidelity
when the phone rang. A moment later, V peeked into my room.
“It’s James from Common Grounds,” she said. “Do you want to pick up?”
My stomach lurched. I’d been trying not to think about what had happened with James, but when V said his name, I wanted to hide under my covers and never come out.
“No,” I said quietly. “Tell him I can’t talk. Tell him I’m sleeping.”
I was sick for most of the week. We had a snow day on Monday, so I didn’t miss school. When my parents got home from the airport that afternoon, they made me drink two cups of echinacea tea and take about a gazillion milligrams of vitamin C. Even so, I felt like hell on Tuesday, so my dad drove V over to the high school. My mom called the main office and asked Rosemary to tell my teachers to send my assignments home with V.
I slept on and off all day, waking only to blow my nose. When V got home, she dropped off a pile of homework on my desk, but I didn’t even look at it. My head was drowning in so much mucus, I could barely think.
By Wednesday, I still felt crappy, but I got up to e-mail the teacher who coordinates tutoring sixth graders and told him I wouldn’t be able to make it. Then I sent an e-mail to my statistics professor at the college and explained why I missed class yesterday and said I would probably miss again
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