“If she could make him well by putting him to bed and kissing him good-night, she would, but first she had to bring down the fever and make him comfortable. She covered him with a blanket and went to put the soup on the stove and soak the towels in cold water. Then she sat by his bed in the same chair she’d fallen asleep in the last time she was there, holding a cold compress on his head while he drifted in and out of sleep. In her other hand she held the medical guide and read about chicken pox.... Sometimes he muttered something about the clouds and the precipitation or the wind speed. She brushed back the thick blond hair that stuck to his forehead and prayed that he only had chicken pox. What if she hadn’t come? What if he’d been lying here alone and he got pneumonia? When he blinked his eyes she put her arm around him and helped him sit up. “You’re still here,” he said, squinting at her with bleary eyes. She nodded and handed him a glass of apple juice. Seeing him lying helpless almost made her forget how independent he usually was.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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