I exhale, weighing our options. She’s probably right about the hospital, and without cell service, I can’t check to see where the closest urgent care facility might be. I glance at my phone again to find one tiny flickering bar, but when I try Andrew a second time, it still doesn’t go through.
“All right, let’s try to get your fever down,” I say, sliding one arm under her shoulders and the other beneath her knees.
“What are you doing?” she murmurs. “I can walk.”
“No, you can’t.” I lift her easily into my arms. She’s even lighter than she looks, like she’s made of air instead of flesh and bone like the rest of us.
“You’re right.” Her head rolls to rest against my chest, her skin so hot I can feel it burning through my sweater. “I overdid it, Jeffrey,” she mumbles as I carry her down the circular staircase to my left, assuming the bedroom must be on the first floor. “I always do this. I work and work and work so hard, and then I fall apart and get sick. And I promise myself I won’t ever do it again, but I always do. Always.” She sniffs, and her shoulders begin to shake. “I’m a failure.”
“You’re not a failure.” I flick on the lights at the bottom of the stairs, revealing a smaller sitting room with a couch and floor-to-ceiling bookcases that hold enough paperbacks and board games to keep a family busy all winter. The door to the bedroom is on the other side of the room. I start toward it, adding, “When work defines you, it’s easy to let it take over.”
“It does define me,” she says, sniffling as I move through the bedroom to the bathroom, relieved to see a larger-than-expected bathtub. “But what else am I supposed to do? Work won’t be sad when I leave it behind, Jeffrey. Work loves me, but not in that way. Not in the sad way.”
“I’m going to run you a bath, all right?” I sit her down on the closed toilet seat and squat in front of her, taking both of her hot hands in mine. I wait until her gaze focuses on my face before I ask, “Do you think you can stay awake in the bath for a little while? Lukewarm water will help bring the fever down. And while you’re soaking, I’ll get my bag from the car. I have a first aid kit with medicine in it.”
“I bought pain reliever. It’s upstairs. In the grocery bag.” Her eyes shine and her lips twitch down as she adds in a tragic voice, “I forgot to unpack the groceries.”
“It’s okay.” I smile as I squeeze her hands. “Nothing to cry over. I’ll unpack them, bring your medicine, and then see if I can find cocoa or something in the pantry. For when you’re done with your soak.”
“Cocoa sounds nice.” A single tear slips down her pale cheek. “You’re so nice. Why are you always so nice?”
“I’m not always nice. I was very frustrated with you on the drive up here.”
“Why?”
“Well, you’re a terrible driver, for one. You shouldn’t be allowed on the road.”
She sniffs and nods. “Well, yes, but I’m usually better. I think. I’m in an unfamiliar place, and I’m running a fever.”
“Good points, both.” I pluck her hat from her head, placing it on the bathroom counter near the sink as I smooth the sweat-damp strands of hair from her flushed face. “And then there’s the fact that you and your sister are trying to pull a dirty trick on my brother. An illegal dirty trick. You do realize that marriage fraud is a crime.”
“That’s what my sister said. My other sister, Zan. But that’s not what’s happening. She doesn’t understand. And you don’t understand.” She smacks her lips in a way that for some reason I find rather adorable. “People don’t understand.”
“Understand that you don’t want to be in an arranged marriage?” I arch a brow. “A lot of people would understand that, Elizabeth. I know most people consider Andrew a catch, but to you, he’s a stranger. And who in their right mind would want to marry a stranger?”
“No, it’s not that.” She sighs, her head lolling forward before she jerks it up again. “Oh, boy…the room is spinning. And I think my… I think…”
“You think what?” I reach for her scarf, easing it apart at the neck, releasing a puff of heat from her burning skin. “We need to get you cooled off. A fever this high is dangerous.”
“I think there are termites in my bones,” she mumbles as I reach for the tap and twist it on, releasing a groan from the plumbing in the wall and a rush of slightly yellow water that thankfully clears in a few seconds. “You ever feel like that?” she asks in a louder croak, to be heard over the rushing water. “Like there’s something in there, just…gnawing away?”