Chapter 5
The weekend before the coming-out ball, Olympia woke up with a raging fever. She'd been feeling funny for two days. She had a scratchy throat, a stom achache, a stuffy nose, and by Saturday night, she felt like death. Her fever was 102. She was slightly better on Sunday, but the stomachache was worse. She was practically in tears when she came downstairs on Sunday morning. Harry was making breakfast for Max, and she noticed that her son's face was bright red. She took Max's temperature right after breakfast. His was 103, and he said his tummy itched. When she looked, she saw that he had a nasty rash. It was coming up in tiny blisters, and when she took out her trusty copy of Dr. Spock, which she had kept since Charlie was born, what Max had perfectly matched the description of chicken pox, as she suspected.
“Shit!” she said, as she closed the book. This was not the week for either of them to be sick. She had to have all her wits about her, she had a mountain of new cases in the office, and Margaret had taken the week off. And she hated leaving Max with a sitter when he was sick, if she was even going to be well enough to go to work herself. She called the pediatrician, who told her to soak Max in the tub with a powder he recommended, use lots of calamine, and keep him in bed. There was nothing else they could do. Luckily, her own fever abated on Sunday night. She still felt terrible, but at least hers was only the flu, or a bad cold, and hopefully would be gone in a few days. Charlie was due home on Tuesday night, and could help her with Max. The girls were coming home on Wednesday afternoon. Ginny called her late Sunday night. She sounded awful. She said she had bronchitis, she sounded like she was dying of consumption as she coughed into the phone.
“Stay in bed tomorrow,” her mother warned her. For the moment, she sounded too sick to fly home.
“I can't, I have finals,” Ginny said, and promptly burst into tears.
“Can you ask them to give you makeup exams?” Olympia suggested. “You sound too sick to go out.”
“Makeups are on Friday. If I do that, I won't be home till Friday night.” She sobbed miserably. She felt awful, and didn't want to miss the ball that weekend.
“You may not have any other choice than to take makeup exams.”
“What if I have a red nose?”
“That's the least of it. Go to the infirmary tomorrow, and see if they'll put you on antibiotics so you don't wind up with an infection and get really sick. That should help.” She had gotten them both meningitis shots before they went off to school in September, so at least she knew it wasn't anything worse than a bad cold or at worst bronchitis, and antibiotics would keep it from turning into pneumonia. Ginny sounded just terrible. So far, Veronica hadn't caught it, but sharing a tiny room with her sister, it wasn't going to surprise Olympia if she got sick, too. “Max has chicken pox,” her mother said mournfully. “Thank God all of you have had it. That's all we'd need. The poor kid feels awful, too. We're a mess,” Olympia said ruefully. It was turning into a hell of a week, with invalids everywhere.
On Monday, she felt better, Max felt worse, and Ginny called to say they had given her antibiotics, so Olympia was hopeful she'd feel better by the end of the week. She'd gone to take her exams and burst into tears when she called her mother, and said she was sure that she had failed. She managed to squeeze in the information that her hot new romance, Steve, was being a jerk, but he said he was still coming to the ball. It sounded like a mixed blessing to her mother, but she didn't have time to ask for the details. The sitter had just come for Max, and sick or not, she had to go to work.
Olympia sat at her desk blowing her nose all day. The stomachache was better, her nose was running, she had a headache, and she had ordered containers of chicken soup from a nearby deli throughout the day. She called the sitter every hour, who told her that Max was all right, but by the end of the day, he was covered with spots. Clearly, it was going to be a challenging week.
It had started to snow that morning, and by afternoon, there were five inches of snow blanketing the city. It said on the radio that the schools would be closed the next day. They were expecting ten more inches during the night, and declared it a blizzard by five o'clock. Olympia thought briefly about calling her mother-in-law to ask her if she needed anything. She didn't want her to go out and fall on the ice as the temperature dropped that night. She dialed her number, there was no answer, and Olympia didn't get out of the office herself till after six that night. She nearly froze to death looking for a cab, and by the time she got home she was soaking wet, and chilled to the bone. Max was propped up in bed, watching videos, and covered in calamine lotion.
“Hi, sweetheart, how's it going?”
“Itchy,” he said, looking unhappy. His fever had gone up again, but at least Olympia's hadn't. She had had a miserable, stressful day in the office. And Harry had left a message at the house that he had an emergency at work, and wouldn't be home till at least nine. She couldn't wait for Charlie to come home the next day, and at least give her a hand in cheering up Max, who looked sick, feverish, and bored. Charlie was terrific with him, and Olympia was feeling overwhelmed. It didn't help that Harry was out when she felt sick herself.
She made chicken soup for herself and Max, put a frozen pizza in the microwave for him, and blew her nose about four hundred times. She had just tucked him in for the night, turned off his light, and walked into her bedroom, longing for a hot bath, when the phone rang. It was still snowing heavily outside. It was Frieda, who apologized for calling her. She knew Max had chicken pox, and inquired how he was.
“Poor kid, he looks awful. He's covered with calamine. I didn't think that many spots could fit on one child. He even has them inside his ears, nose, and mouth.”
“Poor thing. How's your cold?”
“Miserable,” Olympia admitted. “I hope I get rid of it by Saturday night.”
“Yes, so do I,” Frieda said, sounding vague. And for the first time ever, Olympia had the impression that her mother-in-law was drunk. She hadn't noticed it at first, but she was definitely slurring her words. For an instant, Olympia was afraid she'd had a stroke. She'd had a heart attack five years before, but had been fine ever since.
“Are you all right?” Olympia asked, sounding worried.
“Yes…yes…I am…” She hesitated, and her daughter-in-law could hear a tremor in her voice. “I had a little mishap this afternoon,” she said, sounding embarrassed. She loved her independence, managed well on her own, and never liked to be a burden to anyone. She rarely told anyone when she was sick, but only reported on it days or weeks later.
“What kind of mishap?” Olympia asked, blowing her nose.
There was a long pause, and for a moment, Olympia was afraid she'd fallen asleep. She definitely sounded drunk.
“Frieda?” Olympia roused her, and heard her stir at the other end.
“Sorry… I'm feeling a little drowsy. I went to get some groceries before the storm got worse. I slipped on the ice. But I'm fine now.” She didn't sound it.
“What happened? Did you get hurt?”
“Nothing serious,” Frieda reassured her. “I'll be fine in a few days.”
“How fine? Did you see a doctor?”
There was another long pause before she answered. “I broke my ankle,” she said, sounding chagrined and feeling foolish. “I fell on a patch of ice on the curb. It was such a stupid thing. I should know better.”