In the living room, I make the first call to Linda, and tell her that David is ill and won’t be coming to the office. While I’m making the second call to Larry, Mrs. Daniels walks into the living room.
“Mrs. Preston!” she exclaims in pleasant surprise. “You’re back.”
‘No, I’m not.’ I almost say, but I stop myself. “David is ill.” I tell her, watching her face crease in concern. “He has the flu.”
She shakes her head in an expression of wonder. I suppose that, like me, she has never seen him sick before.
“I’ll make some soup.” She offers.
I smile gratefully. “That would be perfect.”
After I make my calls, I take a shower and find something to wear from my old clothes, which are still in the walk-in closet. When Mrs. Daniels brings in the soup, I wake David up to eat. He’s so weak his fingers shake as he picks up the spoon.
“Let me.” I say, taking the spoon from him. He doesn’t object, but watches me suspiciously as I feed him.
“I’m sure I can feed myself.” He says, without making any effort to take the spoon from me.
“I’m sure you can.” I agree, hiding my smile.
Some hours later, he wakes up and asks for more soup. I feed it to him again, wondering at the half smile on his face.
“Why’re you smiling?” I ask suspiciously.
“Nothing.” He says with a chuckle.
“The fever must have fried your brain.” I say teasingly, “If
you’re smiling for no reason.”
He sighs, “My brain was fried the day I met you, Sophie.” He replies cryptically.
I pause, and then force my hand to continue moving the spoon towards his mouth. ‘Don’t say things like that!’ I want to yell at him. Don’t say things that make me hope, because I don’t want to hope. I want to know that you love me.
Afterwards, he falls asleep again. I suppose he must have been pushing himself very hard to fall so sick, so fast. With nothing else to do, I watch him sleep. Already he seems stronger, his breathing even. I should go, I think. There’s no reason left for me to be here.
Yet I’m reluctant. I don’t want to leave him. I remind myself that we never got a chance to talk. I should wait until he’s strong enough, then I’ll ask him whether he meant what he said outside my apartment.
And then what.
What if he says that I heard wrong, that he didn’t really mean it. What if he rejects me all over again?
No, I should go, I decide. I’m only staying because I want to remain in the illusion that nothing is wrong, that we’re still together. Sighing, I go to find my bag in the living room, and then go into the kitchen to tell Mrs. Daniels that I’m going.
She takes one look at my bag, and her motherly face falls. “You’re leaving?” She asks. There is no censure in her voice, but disappointment is clear on her face.
“I... yes.” Why do I feel the need to apologize? “David’s much better now.”
She nods slowly. “Of course.”
“I think you should make him something a little more substantial than soup for dinner.” I continue, eager to escape the feeling that I’ve somehow let her down. “I’ll just go check on him before I leave.”
David is sitting on the edge of the bed when I enter the room, his hair wet from the shower. He’s pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms, but his chest is bare. His eyes are sharp and alert, all hint of tiredness gone. They rake me when I enter the room, taking in the bag I’m carrying.
“You’re leaving.” He states tersely.
“Yes.” I say cautiously. Why am I the one feeling bad about leaving, when he’s the one who pushed me away in the first place? I swallow. “You’re obviously feeling better.”
“And so you’re leaving?” he repeats slowly.