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“I’m sorry I’m not there with you.”
Patrick’s voice sounds downcast over the phone and even through his own splitting headache and self-pity David hates that his husband sounds so unhappy. He shakes his head in denial; it hurts so he stops almost immediately.
“Not your fault the conference was this week.” His throat hurts with every word and he barely gets to the end of the sentence before the coughing starts again.
Patrick hums in sympathy as the shudders wrack David’s body, fighting to clear the scratch in his throat. Patrick’s hundreds of miles away but David presses the phone as hard to his ear as his aching muscles will allow, desperate to feel closer to him. Under the blankets, a full body shiver overtakes him and he burrows deeper underneath them as the coughs finally die down into a miserable moan.
“Oh David,” Patrick murmurs. “I just wish I was there to look after you.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine,” David croaks, trying his hardest to sound courageous and noble. It doesn’t work. Instead he sounds mostly congested – the letter ‘n’ is hard with a blocked nose.
Somehow in the movies, the whole ‘being ill’ thing can come across as dignified, even glamorous. A long-suffering hero languishing bravely against the pillow while their loved ones gather around to admire their strength and resilience while lavishing them with care and affection.
The truth is very different, with less elegance and many more crumpled tissues and bottles of cough medicine.
But as miserable as David is, and as much as he too wishes his husband were there with him, he isn’t going to make Patrick feel worse by heaping guilt onto him. It’s just the flu.
“It’s just the flu,” he echoes out loud to Patrick.
“What do you mean ‘just’? The flu sucks.”
And, well, David can’t argue with that. He sighs, the air catching in his throat and transforming into another cough. Groaning, he clenches his eyes closed and drags the blankets over his head, wrapping himself in the soothing dark warmth of the bed. The pillow rustles under his head as he squirms his head back and forward, searching fruitlessly for a comfortable position. It’s several seconds before he realises Patrick has gone silent, but David can hear the faint tapping of computer keys, the familiar rapid cadence of Patrick’s fingers on his laptop.
“What are you doing?” he asks, suspicion clawing at him. He’s proved right with Patrick’s answer.
“Checking flights home.” David’s about to protest when Patrick tuts, frustration and disappointment colouring his voice when he continues. “The earliest one with seats available is Friday. The one I’m already on. Let me just check the trains…”
“I told you, no. Stay there. I don’t want you to miss the conference.”
“And I don’t want you to be alone,” Patrick counters.
“Patrick. We’ve had your spot booked for months and it’ll be good for the store. Don’t leave just because I’m not well.”
“I still don’t like the idea of you alone there. Let me call Stevie?”
“In New York this week,” David reminds him and Patrick groans.
“Right. I forgot.” His reply is almost lost under the sound of David’s next sneeze. When he speaks again his voice in thoughtful. “Your sister? She’s still in town, right?”
“She’s here to see Twyla,” David protests weakly. Not that the thought hasn’t occurred to him but he’s already dismissed it for a number of reasons. The main one being that he doesn’t think she’ll want to give up the time with her best friend when they haven’t seen each other for months and she only has another week before she’s due back in New York. He doesn’t want to ask only to have it be awkward when she says no.
(Although he’d be lying if he said the lingering memory of the Tamagotchi mass-murder doesn’t also play into his reasons for not wanting to ask. Alexis doesn’t have a great track record for keeping ailing creatures alive.)
“She’s here to see you too,” Patrick says. “I’m sure she’d want to help.”
“Haven’t I told you about the Tamagotchis?”
“Several times.”
“Then I don’t know why you think she could help.” His voice is growing weaker and he clears his throat. It’s like crumbs of glass scraping at his windpipe and he winces. “Fuck, everything hurts.”
Patrick makes a sympathetic noise over the phone. “I know, honey. I’m gonna go in a minute and let you sleep. But just… please can I ask Alexis to check in on you?”
David groans softly. Arguing takes more strength than he has and he’s sure Alexis is going to refuse anyway so in the end he gives in. “Fine. She’ll say no anyway.”
**
Alexis, apparently, does not say no.
After David hangs up with his husband he tries his hardest to sleep, but his body aches and whatever position he lies in is uncomfortable. He tosses and turns, his nose stuffy and his aching throat getting drier by the second as he’s forced to breathe through his mouth.
And so it happens that he’s still regretfully restless when he hears the sound of keys in the door downstairs and someone entering the house.
There’s no time to be alarmed, or for his sluggish brain to even begin to think how he’s going to protect himself from home invaders when he can’t even sit up without getting breathless, before he hears the click of heels on the hardwood floor in the hall and a familiar voice calling up to him.
“David?”
He doesn’t answer. He tries but his throat is too dry and his glass of water an insurmountable distance away on the bedside table. The way he feels it, it might as well be in Peru.
He curls his knees up, tucking himself into a ball under the blankets, half-believing he must have dreamt her anyway.
But then the bedroom door opens, whispering softly over the floor.
His sister’s entrance is less quiet. “Oh my god David, it’s like a cave in here!”
He pulls the blanket down just far enough to throw as withering a glare as he can manage at her but while the spirit is willing, the flesh feels like a sodden, useless bag of sand, its finest days a distant memory.
She casts him a quick look, nodding when she sees he’s awake, but other than that takes no notice of his glare. She sighs, picking her way across the rug towards the window.
“Patrick called me and asked me to drop by. Said you were sick.”
“No shit.” He knows he’s being an ass but he can’t stop. He’s too tired and achy to attempt politeness, although he thinks his caustic tone is somewhat undermined by the bags under his eyes and the pathetic state of his hair. (He hasn’t looked at it in two days; he can only imagine what it looks like but it feels limp and sweaty.)
Alexis reaches the window and before his listless brain can tell his mouth to stop her, she flings open the curtains, leaving David hissing and dragging the blanket over his head once more, cocooning himself away from the harsh light.
Alexis’ voice is less than impressed. “You aren’t a vampire, David. Come out.”
“No,” he moans. “Too bright. Hurts my eyes.”
From outside his haven, his sister sighs again, loud enough for David to pick it up through his heavy duvet. “Alright fine. But I’m opening the window. You need some fresh air in here at least.”
David stubbornly remains under the covers for a handful more seconds until his sister’s voice comes again.
“Okay, Dracula. It’s safe.”
Slowly he lowers the blankets, relieved to see that she’s telling the truth and the room is cast into dimness once more. The bottom edge of the curtains waver slightly in the breeze from the open window but other than that there’s no sign that she’s touched them at all. Alexis is now leaning against the chest of drawers regarding him critically.
“Yeah, Patrick’s right. You’re sick.”
A timely sneeze proves her point, as if it needed proving.
“I never said I wasn’t.”
“Why didn’t you call me?” she asks and is he crazy or is that a tinge of hurt in her tone? “Why did it take Patrick – who is a sweetie and I love him, don’t get me wrong – to call if you needed someone to help you?”
David makes an aborted attempt at a shrug but gives up because coordinating all the muscles involved is taking more conscious effort than he’s capable of.
“Didn’t think you’d want to.”
Even in the low light, David can see her rolling her eyes and thinks that’s a bit unfair. He’s sick, she should be more sympathetic. Before he can say this, however, she replies:
“Of course I don’t want to. Nobody wants someone they love to be sick enough to need taking care of. But I would have come.”
The words fall so easily now from her mouth, where years before it would be almost impossible. For both of them. He’s always felt love for her, but the ability to express it is a more recent step and he suspects the same is true for her. David wants to blame the flu for the sudden tightening of his throat, but he knows it isn’t the whole truth.
Still, he doesn’t want to start crying – and in his weakened, tired state, it’s a very real possibility – and so he steers them back into less emotional waters.
“What make you think I need taking care of? Anyway do I need to remind you-”
Alexis holds up an elegant finger, cutting off the remainder of his protest before he can utter it. In that way she has, she seems to know exactly what he’s about to say. “Please don’t bring up the Tamagotchis again. Those were toys, David. You’d be much harder to kill.”
“Very reassuring, thank you.”
She ignores him. “And as for what makes me think you need taking care of-” she pauses, swinging her arm expressively around the room. He follows her gesture, taking in the rumpled bedclothes, the tissues piled on the bedside table that he couldn’t summon the energy to take across the room to the wastepaper basket, the cough medicine bottle beside the lamp. She gives him a pointed look where he lies wrapped like a burrito in the blankets but still shivering. “Look at this place.”
He really can’t argue with that. The evidence of his illness is everywhere. He doesn’t say anything and Alexis purses her lips, evidently more concerned with his silence than his pathetic attempts at protesting. “It’s not like you to have nothing to say.”
She walks over to the side of the bed, leaning over to press the back of her hand to his forehead. The movement is faltering and cautious but as he’s feeling sick and sorry for himself, yearning for care and concern, he appreciates the gesture nonetheless.
Until she draws back a little too quickly, wiping her hand on the bedcovers.
“Ew. You’re all sweaty.”
He glowers at her. “I have the flu,” he bites out.
Alexis peers at him and at least she looks a little worried, even if her temperature taking skills are lacking. “Have you eaten today?”
David thinks back. The last thing he ate was probably a slice of toast and, while time is a bit hazy, passing in fits between disturbed naps, he doesn’t think it was today. Yesterday afternoon, maybe?
“No.”
Alexis shakes her head, exasperated. “You need to eat.”
“I know, but-” David cuts himself off before he can finish. Even in his own head ‘the kitchen is all the way downstairs’ sounds like a feeble excuse.
“Lucky for you Twy sent some soup when I told her you were sick. I left it downstairs. I’ll go heat it up and be back in a few minutes.”
David is too familiar with Twyla’s meadow smoothies to be sure about how lucky he is.
“What flavour is it?” he asks as Alexis walks to the door.
Alexis turns in the doorway and shrugs again. “It’s greeny-yellow?”
“That’s not a flavour.”
“I don’t know. She was being nice, I didn’t ask!”
She leaves and David is left with little to do but hope for one of Twyla’s less-adventurous food combinations.
When Alexis returns, clutching a bowl of soup – which is indeed an unusual shade of yellow – David drags himself to sitting. But for as off-putting as the colour is, what he can smell through his blocked nose does smell appetising and his stomach rumbles on cue. Alexis lays the bowl on his lap and he stirs it a couple of times, watching the coils of steam rise off it before taking a small, tentative spoonful. It’s potato and leek with some kind of spice that gives it a little kick of heat. It’s actually not bad. Plus it’s warm, heating him from the inside out and his body appreciates the first food he’s given it in almost twenty-four hours.
He finishes the bowl, only realising when he looks up to hand it back to Alexis that she’s watching him with a satisfied half-smile.
“Good? See, you should trust Twy. She’s a sweetheart and really wanted to help you out. She said she got the recipe from this old book she found in the back of a cupboard when she was cleaning out her grandma’s place. Guess she was a good cook.”
David nods and returns the bowl to her outstretched hand. He feels a little guilty for his ungrateful reaction earlier – Twyla didn’t have to make him anything.
“Thank her for me.”
Alexis sets the bowl down on the chest of drawers. “I will but you can thank her yourself too. You’ll be up and about in a couple of days anyway.”
Even with the boost the soup has given him, David still feels pretty terrible. He can’t imagine ever not feeling this way but then isn’t that always the way when you’re sick?
He hums doubtfully and then clears his throat which is starting to feel scratchy again after the temporary respite from the warm soup.
Alexis huffs. “God, milking it much? It’ll pass and much quicker if you take care of yourself. Now, can you take more medicine yet?”
David checks the clock on the bedside table. “Yes.”
“Okay. Medicine, then drink some water, and try to get some rest.” She picks up the medicine bottle and holds it out to him, waggling it from side to side. David takes it and the measuring spoon and swallows some of the liquid, grimacing as it heads down his throat. He doesn’t like this flavour but it’s all they had in the cabinet.
Alexis watches him and then takes the bottle from him once again, peering at the label as he drinks some of the water from the glass on the bedside table to wash away the taste.
“Now try and sleep,” she says when he’s done. “I’ll wake you for your next dose.”
He wants to say that he doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep but she’s already turning away, picking up the discarded soup bowl and heading to the door.
Before she gets there, however, he does gather himself enough to whisper after her. “Alexis?”
She stops. “Yes?”
“Thank you for coming.”
“I was obviously not going to leave you here alone,” she says as if the idea is ridiculous and maybe he should have realised that it is. “Now rest. Or I’ll call Patrick and tell him what a bad patient his husband is. And he’ll stay away another week to avoid you.”
“He wouldn’t,” David says instantly and Alexis smiles.
“No, he wouldn’t. I had to use like, all my negotiating skills to persuade him not to run out and rent a car to drive home to you. Promised him I had it covered.”
She looks pointedly towards the pillows and David doesn’t argue; he feels warm in a way that he doesn’t think can be attributed to the fever and he lets himself relax into it, into the cosy security of being cared for. Alexis and Patrick, both working together to help him.
He obeys her wordless hint despite the fact that he is certain he won’t sleep, watching her satisfied little nod as she leaves the room, pulling to door quietly closed behind her.
But to his surprise, he does sleep. He isn’t aware of the drifting, in-between state, of unconsciousness sneaking in to take him, only of jerking awake, the sweaty blankets tangled around his legs some indeterminate time later. The remainders of a dream in which he was alone in the store, snowed under and stressed out by endless customers and difficult requests and sticky fingers rearranging the stock are still fading from his head as he groans, unsure at first what woke him.
Then a hand comes down on his shoulder, shaking him lightly and he startles, tugging away and regretting it immediately when his head throbs.
“What?” he croaks, his eyes blinking open. It’s darker in the room now and his eyes take a moment to focus before fixing on his sister standing beside the bed.
“Chill, David!” she chastises softly. “It’s me. God, you’re hard to wake up. I was calling you from downstairs for like, five minutes.”
“Why didn’t you just let me sleep?” he moans, his heartrate slowing now he knows he isn’t under attack. His throat is hoarse and he attempts to clear it. It doesn’t really help and he’s unable to fight off the brief coughing fit that follows.
“That’s why,” Alexis replies when his final cough has died away. “It’s time for medicine and some more food.”
“Not hungry,” he retorts automatically although now that he thinks about it… maybe he could manage some more soup or a sandwich.
“Urgh. Why are you making this so difficult?” Alexis huffs. “Sit up. You need to eat something and Twyla’s been an angel, she just dropped off a stew and some other stuff I texted her for.”
“Twyla was here?”
“Mmm. She had to get back to the café but she said get well soon.”
David untangles his legs from the blankets, sniffing through his blocked nose as he struggles to a sitting position, slumping back against the headboard once he’s managed it. Even that short movement has left him breathless, his muscles aching.
“Tell her thanks.”
“I told you, tell her yourself. Text her or something when you feel up to it. She’d like that.”
David looks at her. She really has grown in the last few years. Time was, she wasn’t so invested in the feelings of others. Or at least, she never used to show it. She’s softened over time, just as he has, their hard edges smoothed away.
He’s so distracted by his thoughts that it takes a few moments to register that the medicine bottle she’s picked up from the bedside table, and is currently taking out of the box, is not the same as before.
“That’s not ours.”
Alexis unscrews the cap, and hands the bottle to him, followed by a measuring spoon. “I asked Twyla to pick it up. You didn’t like the other one.”
David looks at it. It’s honey flavour and his lips twist into a sideways smile. It’s a little thing but the thought behind it serves to make him happier than he’s been in several days and it’s a nice change from the misery, sickness and lethargy.
He takes a dose, relief flooding through him when the sweet liquid slides down his throat. It’s much better than the other one.
“Is it okay?” Alexis asks when he’s finished and handed the bottle back.
“Yes. Much better.”
“Not hard. That old one looked disgusting. Now. Stew?”
He eats the stew she hands him – it’s good and he finishes it all, along with the two slices of bread Alexis has brought to accompany it. When he’s finished, she removes the bowl and leaves him alone, taking his dishes downstairs where he hears her clattering about and the sound of water running into the kitchen sink.
He lies down and begins to doze, full and comfortable, despite the aches in his body. When Alexis returns some time later to check on him, he allows her to convince him to drink another glass of water before he settles down to sleep properly once more.
The next day is pretty much the same. Alexis arrives with some toast for his breakfast, earlier than he thought she’d be and when he questions it she tells him she slept in the guest room. He feels guilty, for taking her away from her time with her friend but she waves him off impatiently, telling him not to be ridiculous.
At least she does get to see Twyla – the café owner seems to be sincerely taking pleasure in cooking things for her and for David and she brings another soup for lunch on the second day. David thinks he hears them talking and laughing downstairs but he’s half-asleep at the time and can’t be sure. He’s grateful that they don’t come up – he still feels sick and can’t imagine how bad he looks.
He does find time to text Twyla his thanks, though, to which she responds with you’re welcome and a cheerful stream of wishes for him to feel better soon. For dinner Alexis makes them both some chicken pasta and if it’s a little under seasoned he appreciates the effort anyway.
The gratitude fades rapidly when, after dinner she starts to bug him about his hair and the stale smell in the bedroom, insisting that he needs to shower.
“I’m sick,” he argues, hating the whiney tone in his voice.
“And stewing in your own germs is going to help?” she retorts. “You know taking a shower makes you feel better.”
“Not when everything hurts.”
“David. I’m not saying do your whole skincare thing. But just five minutes, wash away the grime, sort out whatever’s going on here a little.” She waves her hand, palm out, in his general direction and he tries his hardest not to be offended. It’s easier than he anticipated; food and rest may have been working their magic so far but his energy levels are still low enough that he doesn’t have any to spare for too much indignant huffing.
Maybe tomorrow.
For now he sighs heavily but slowly gets out of bed on shaky legs. Although he wouldn’t admit it to her, internally he thinks that maybe she has a point and a shower would help him feel fresher. Or maybe he’ll vomit on the shower floor instead.
So he’ll either feel more human or be able to say he told her so. Either way, she’ll stop needling him about it.
He isn’t up to a long shower but to his relief he manages not to throw up on the pristine tile. He stands under the spray, allowing the warm running water to wipe away the layer of sweat and grime and soothe his muscles while he washes with the expensive bergamot body wash Patrick saw David eyeing up online and treated him to ‘just because.’ By the time he’s finished, he has to admit that Alexis was right – he feels a hundred times better than just half an hour before, despite the tightness lingering in his chest, his stuffy nose and headache.
He towels himself dry and dresses in a clean set of sleep clothes that Alexis had the foresight to remind him to take with him into the bathroom with him. (“You’re really going to get clean and then climb back into the same gross, sweaty clothes, David? I don’t think so.”)
His new clothes are soft and fresh, smooth against his skin and he can’t help the small smile as he emerges from the bathroom. And then stops short at the sight in front of him.
“You know how to change a bed?”
Alexis straightens from where she’s laying the final pillow on the bed. The look she gives him is half-amused, half-frustrated. “Um… yes? It isn’t hard. And did you really think you’re the only one dad roped into helping at the motel when they needed another pair of hands?”
David had never really thought about it. He’d figured that his proximity to Stevie was what had him dragged into helping but he should have realised that Alexis, living in the motel as she did, wouldn’t be able to completely avoid it either.
He blinks at the bed, crisp clean sheets inviting him in and moves towards it, unable to resist their call.
“I knew you were snooping,” he gripes at her but without heat behind it. “I never told you where we keep our bedding.”
Alexis sighs. “I texted Patrick and he told me. Trust me, I wouldn’t go snooping. Not in here.”
David pulls back the cover and slides in, suppressing the moan that pushes at his lips at the feel of the crisp, cool cotton against his skin. Alexis continues talking while David relaxes back against the soft pillows. “I’m absolutely positive I’d find things that would tell me details no sister wants to know about her brother and his husband.”
True. David is extremely pleased she stayed out of the bottom drawer of the bedside table for one.
“Does that mean you’ve snooped elsewhere then?”
“Yep,” Alexis chirps without shame. “Not that there’s much to see. Except what is up with those candlesticks tucked away on the bottom shelf of the bookshelf in the study?”
He instantly knows exactly what she means. “The ones with the fish on the sides?”
Alexis nods, her face twisting in distaste. “Those are the ones.”
“A wedding gift from one of Patrick’s cousins,” David explains.
“Oh! That’s… I guess that’s…” Alexis breaks off, giving up her valiant effort to be diplomatic. She lasted about three seconds, which is two and a half longer than David would have expected. “They’re awful David.”
“I know,” David says. “Patrick knows too, don’t worry. But he likes to take them out now and then and put them somewhere to see how long it will take me to notice. He thinks it’s funny.”
The memory of it, of the glint of mischief in his husband’s eyes when David walks into the kitchen to see the monstrosities standing proudly on the sideboard, makes David’s heart lift in happiness. It is kind of funny. And even if it wasn’t, David would put up with a lot for the sight of Patrick’s amused, delighted face.
“You could just like… ‘lose’ them,” Alexis suggests, complete with finger quotes in the air but the sentence is barely out of her mouth before David is shaking his head firmly.
“No. I couldn’t.” Patrick enjoys their little game too much. David does too. He doesn’t say as much to Alexis but judging by the look on her face when he peers up at her she knows what lies behind his refusal.
“Well I wouldn’t have them in my house,” she says. Her tone is laced with genuine affection as she continues, “But whatever I guess. You two are very sweet.”
He can see the nose poke coming before she even lifts her finger. He doesn’t fight it, taking the gentle tap before accepting the medicine bottle she hands to him.
After another nap, he’s feeling more himself, well enough to stay awake while Alexis sits with him, chatting lightly to fill the time. He doesn’t contribute as much as he normally would – his throat is still a little sore but it’s soothing to listen to his sister’s familiar voice, listen to the rise and fall of her tone according to her mood. He hears all she says of her life in New York, and hears all she doesn’t say about how much she misses her family. They talk often on the phone nowadays and see each other when they can but after spending years side by side in motel rooms, the distance is a wrench for them all.
She tells him about her job and the projects she’s working on. She seems happy and David is pleased she’s found something that she enjoys and that she’s good at. When she talks about how much she’s been looking forward to this trip to Schitt’s Creek, her face brightens and David feels a stab of guilt for taking up so much of her time.
When he tries to express this, however, she doesn’t let him finish the sentence.
“David, stop,” she says. “You were one of the main reasons to come back.”
David pulls the blankets over his mouth to hide his smile but he doesn’t believe he’s fooled her for a second.
With her by his side, there’s no time to feel sorry for himself or lonely. The conversation rolls naturally or falls away into a silence they can both just sit in without pressure and more than once David finds himself thinking that it’s a bit like the old days at the motel.
The expression on her face when he catches her eye makes him believe she’s thinking the same thing.
Patrick calls before bed, and David puts him on speakerphone briefly so Patrick can thank Alexis for taking care of David before she slips out to let David talk to his husband in private.
“So how’s Alexis been?” Patrick asks. “A good doctor?”
“You expect me to believe you haven’t been texting her constantly?” David asks and Patrick’s pause – half a second too long – before responding is answer enough.
“Only because I care. And I worry that you’re downplaying how sick you’re feeling to make me feel less guilty for not being there.”
“Downplaying things... Not really my style,” David responds. It might not be the best of his character traits but he knows he has a tendency to be dramatic and there’s no point in hiding it from Patrick. Patrick knows who he married. And he makes a point of telling David often how delighted he is with his choice.
“I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”
“I know. And to answer your question, yes. She’s been good.” He clears his throat, the tickle that lingers making it a little croaky still. “I’m feeling a lot better.”
“That’s great!” Patrick exclaims. “Better than the Tamagotchis then?”
“I think she’s redeemed herself.” David picks at the duvet cover with his fingers. “I don’t like that she’s had to spend so much time looking after me though.”
Patrick makes a quiet reassuring noise on the other end of the phone. “She doesn’t mind; she told me so. You can’t help being sick.”
“I know but she had other plans for this trip.”
“She still has a few days left. And I’ve already told her that if you’re feeling up to it in a couple of days maybe we could have her and Twyla over for dinner. To say thank you. I hear Twyla did some cooking for you?”
“Yeah. It was nice of her.”
“People care about you David. They love you. They want to help.”
“I know.” It’s a fact he’s had to get used to over the last few years. He still sometimes struggles with it – the ingrained lessons of the past have been hard to overcome.
“And I can’t wait to get home so I can tell you to your face how much I love you,” Patrick says. “I’ve missed you.”
“Even when I’m a sneezing, coughing, sweaty mess?” David fishes.
“I’d say especially then but that would be weird,” Patrick replies. “I don’t like you being sick, of course I don’t, but I want to be with you however you’re feeling.”
David looks at the clock on the bedside table. “Twenty hours.”
“Nineteen hours forty minutes,” Patrick corrects instantly in a way that makes it clear he’s been counting down for much longer than this. “With no flight delays, good weather, and decent traffic from the airport. I’ve worked it out.”
“Of course you have.”
“Well, I don’t like being away from you. I love you, David.”
“I love you too. I can’t wait to see you. It’s been a long week.”
“I know. It’s nearly over now.”
Patrick promises to keep David updated with his travel progress and after they hang up, Alexis comes in to say goodnight and bring him a fresh glass of water plus a new blister pack of lozenges. He takes them and sets them down on the bedside table, in case he should need them during the night.
She’s almost at the door when he softly calls her name.
“Hey, Alexis?”
She turns, her long hair brushing her shoulders as she looks at him in the bed.
“Do you need anything else?”
“No. No. I just...” He looks at her for a long moment, at his little sister. They’ve had their problems in the past but when it comes to it, they’ve both stepped up for each other when needed. It’s comforting to know that as much as other things have changed in the last few years, that hasn’t.
“Thank you,” he says, trying to communicate so much more by the words. Alexis’ eyes are instantly understanding.
“Any time, David,” she replies, her own words laden with meaning and she gives him a smile before leaving him to sleep.