“You’re bringing food to a sick person; it would be awkward anyway,” Sue said.
“He’s probably faking it just so you’ll cook for him. I would,” Harley said from his corner.
“Shut it, Harley. Not everyone thinks with their stomach. Don’t listen to him, Lou.”
Lou pulled a shepherd’s pie from the oven, covered it with a lid, wrapped it in towels to keep it warm and from overheating things around it, and set it at the bottom of a large crate. Next to it, Sue added a container of chicken noodle soup. Harley added a box of still-warm scones, Irish soda bread, and fresh orange marmalade. Sue helped make a batch of fresh clotted cream and poured it into small jars. The three stood around looking at the crate.
“Can tomorrow be my turn to be sick?” Harley said. Sue patted his back.
“I can make you some soup if that will make you feel better,” Sue said. Harley smiled a sloppy grin.
“I think I’ll be going before it gets awkward here, too,” Lou said. She picked up the crate and headed to Al’s.
When Al opened his apartment door, Lou’s first impulse was to take a step back. He did not look good. Sweat dripped from his face as he clutched a tattered blanket around his sloped shoulders, looking as if he could crumple into a ball at any moment.
“Oh my God. You shouldn’t be out of bed,” Lou said. He had sounded awful on the phone, but she wasn’t expecting the sweaty, pathetic figure who opened the door. How could he be pale and flushed at the same time? All business, she walked past him into the kitchen to set the overflowing crate down. She came back out and placed a gentle hand on Al’s sweaty forehead. Her lips pursed and she looked him sternly in the eye. “Get back to bed. You shouldn’t be out.”
“But—”
“Go. I’ll bring up some soup.” She pointed toward the stairs and waved her hand, indicating he’d been dismissed.
Lou walked back into the kitchen. She stopped in the middle to assess the facilities. Clean, nice copper, quite a lot of cookbooks—always a good sign. She saw the electric kettle and teapot. She filled the kettle and plugged it in. While waiting for the water to reach near boiling, she unloaded the crate and rummaged around the kitchen for supplies with the efficiency and comfort level of someone used to a well-stocked kitchen. By the time steam began leaking out, Lou had put the shepherd’s pie in the oven to stay warm and filled a tray with food to bring upstairs. Once she poured the hot water over the waiting tea leaves, she climbed upstairs to her waiting patient.
As she crested the top step, Lou looked at Al propped up in the center of his comfy-looking bed. His bed stand held a pile of scrunched tissues and a scattering of Walgreens cold medicines. Poking out from his closet was an open suitcase overflowing with rumpled clothes. She’d help him get that in order.
Lou set the tray across his lap and settled on the edge of his bed. He coughed a few times—it looked as if it hurt.
Al sat up a little and said, “You didn’t have to do this.”
“Of course I didn’t, but what’s the point of sleeping with a chef if you don’t get some of the perks?”
Al winced a little.
“You okay? What is it? Are you achy?”
Al shrugged.
“Can I get you some medicine?”
“I took some right before you came.” His voice sounded a little scratchy. Lou touched his forehead, and Al closed his eyes as if enjoying the sensation.
“It must be starting to work. You feel cooler.”
Lou brushed her fingers down Al’s temple and cupped the side of his cheek. His blue eyes seemed to plead with hers, begging for an answer to a question he didn’t ask.
“Eat. You’ll feel better,” Lou said.
Al looked down at the laden tray and cleared his throat.
“This looks amazing. Is that clotted cream? And marmalade?” He picked up a scone gently, then cupped it between both hands. He looked up at Lou, eyes wide.
“It’s still warm.” He split it open, spread a generous amount of jam over one half, and topped it with a glob of cream.
• • • • •
Al chewed slowly, retreating to his childhood. If he closed his eyes, he could smell his grandma’s house. On Sundays after church, his family would visit and have tea and scones fresh from the oven. After, he and Ian would chase her chickens and play jousting where their parents couldn’t see.
“These are amazing. Did you make them?”
“Harley made the scones and jam, and a loaf of soda bread downstairs. Sue made the clotted cream and helped with the soup and shepherd’s pie.”
“There’s shepherd’s pie? Where?” Al scanned the tray as if it were hiding between the tea and soup.
Lou chuckled. “It’s staying warm in the oven. If you’re still hungry after this, I’ll go get you a plate.”
“I don’t deserve this.”
“Everyone deserves a little pampering when they’re sick. I’m sure you’d do the same.”
“Of course. I’d bring you mountains of cheese and frozen custard and coffee with too much cream and sugar.”
“And stacks of eighties teen movies?”
“The very best ones.”
“See? You’d spoil me, too.” Lou ran a hand through his hair. Al leaned into her gentle touch. “I’ll leave you to it. Let me know when you’re done and I’ll take the tray away.” Lou retreated back into the kitchen.
Somewhere between anxiety and guilt, Al fell in love. Lou had descended into his false den of airborne disease to coddle him back to health with a basket filled in heaven. It wasn’t just her spoiling him. With her business struggling, she couldn’t afford to get sick, yet here she was tidying his home and starting his laundry.
He could hear her emptying the dishwasher. This had to stop. He moved the tray so he could roll out of bed, picked it up, and carried it downstairs. When he entered the kitchen, Lou was no longer emptying the dishwasher. She stared at the wall next to the entrance, just a few feet from where he stood. Briefly worrying she’d had a seizure of some sort, he recalled what hung on the wall and blushed.
Lou noticed Al’s pinkening. “You probably don’t want to hear this, but this may be the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.” Al took his place next to her so he could admire the collection with her. Now that at least one secret was out, he wanted to share the moment.
“It started out as a random impulse buy at the museum, and now it’s a nice bit of our history. These are all the best times I’ve had in Milwaukee. They’ve all been with you.”
She turned to him, eyes shinier than usual, then leaned in to softly kiss his lips. Her lips were warm and dry.
“I’m sick.” Al tried to sound like he meant it.
“I don’t care.” Lou took a step closer to wrap her arms around his neck. Al responded immediately and eagerly, pulling her so tight that her breath whooshed out.
“You’re sick. You shouldn’t be tiring yourself,” Lou mumbled between kisses.
“If this is what sick feels like, I don’t ever want to feel better.” Al lifted her, wrapping her strong legs around his waist, and carried her upstairs.
• • • • •
“I think we’ve discovered a miracle cure,” Al whispered.
Al and Lou were buried deep beneath his soft, cozy covers, savoring the lazy freedom of afternoon sex. They lay on their sides, he behind her, arms wrapped around her rib cage.
“Perfect timing. I need a new career.”
“Mmmm, I don’t think so. I’m not sharing.” Al nuzzled her neck, trailing kisses from her shoulder to her ear, then back down. Lou giggled. She could feel it releasing all the tension, the uncertainty. The afternoon sun filtered through the tinted glass; a warm breeze whispered from somewhere.
“Bit selfish, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely. But you are my miracle.”