through his hair. “It’s no good, Sid.”
“What’s no good?”
“I called. They don’t want him. I guess the ER has had dozens of these cases and they can’t do anything. Fluids and rest, they said. It’s a virus, so antibiotics won’t do anything. They sent me there.” He pointed an accusatory finger at the computer. “All the things to do with various stages of fever and signs he might be dehydrated—if that happens I can take him in—they can give him IV fluids. But not until it’s been twenty-four hours because they're too busy.”
Calm, calm, calm. The last thing she needed was to react badly and have that exaggerated in Grant's response. “Man, that sucks. Can I get you guys anything then? Or do you want me to move my car and stay? I’m in a fifteen at the moment because I thought we were leaving.”
“Sprite? Chicken soup? What do sick people eat?”
“Those things, and maybe saltines.”
“Yeah. That’s good.”
She ran to the closest grocery and got what they needed, deep breathing all the way. When she got back she checked on Ricky, too. Purple blotches had formed under his eyes and the rest of his face was red from fever. He recognized her, but he wasn’t with-it enough to have a conversation. It almost sounded like he apologized for being too drunk to dance. He really wasn't coherent.
“Do you need any help with him?” she asked Grant when they’d shut the bedroom door.
“No. I don’t want to expose you, too. I mean, I’ve already been exposed. He can’t have contracted this last night, and dinner with his mom is the only place he’s been that I wasn’t with him since last Friday.”
“What about his restaurant?”
“I called. Nobody else is sick there, and I’m there all the time, too, so if that's where he got it, I still would have been exposed.”
“I appreciate you not wanting to pass it on, but I'm checking on you later, okay?”
He started to hug her then changed his mind. “Consider yourself hugged, but in a germ-free way.”
She made a kissy face at him and left, fighting the urge to cry until she got to her car.
1. 7. Sarah McGrath:
Portland, Oregon
My Job Wants to Kill Me
Sarah and David were cooking dinner and discussing the death of the governor when Sid got home. The governor was the second state politician to die and it was reported that others were sick. Sarah almost mentioned it to Sid, but Sid's face stilled her.
“Ricky's sick,” Sid said without greeting them.
“Sick?”
“Flu.”
“But they just had the shots.” But Sarah knew they'd already had this conversation. Sid's brother Jeff was right—the vaccine wasn't doing any good.
“It's worse than that,” Sid went on. “A nursing home I visited in Astoria had a bunch of people die—death rate without the vaccine was about half. Death rate with it, nearly one hundred percent.”
“What?” That was too much to take in. Her defenses were keeping her from processing.
“The vaccine isn't just ineffective, it's dangerous,” Sid said, never one for vagaries where words were concerned.
“You're sure?” Sarah asked.
“Sure enough that I'm pursuing it, professionally speaking. I have to verify, as always.”
David threw Sarah a worried look. He knew she was worried about the vaccine and that work would make her get it. She stood to pace. She was normally calm and matter-of-fact, a nurse, trained to handle a crisis with cool efficiency. But she wasn't equipped to face this.
“Grant's fine, though, right?”
“He seemed fine.”
That was good. He'd had the vaccine, too. Sarah had been friends with Grant since grade school. They'd both grown up in Medford and Sarah knew she was the first person the teenage Grant had confessed to that he thought he was gay.
“Sarah, what's that matter?” Sid asked.
“Work is giving me seventy-two more hours to get it or they'll quit scheduling me.”
“I guess you have to, then. Grant's fine. I've only heard this about old or
“What’s no good?”
“I called. They don’t want him. I guess the ER has had dozens of these cases and they can’t do anything. Fluids and rest, they said. It’s a virus, so antibiotics won’t do anything. They sent me there.” He pointed an accusatory finger at the computer. “All the things to do with various stages of fever and signs he might be dehydrated—if that happens I can take him in—they can give him IV fluids. But not until it’s been twenty-four hours because they're too busy.”
Calm, calm, calm. The last thing she needed was to react badly and have that exaggerated in Grant's response. “Man, that sucks. Can I get you guys anything then? Or do you want me to move my car and stay? I’m in a fifteen at the moment because I thought we were leaving.”
“Sprite? Chicken soup? What do sick people eat?”
“Those things, and maybe saltines.”
“Yeah. That’s good.”
She ran to the closest grocery and got what they needed, deep breathing all the way. When she got back she checked on Ricky, too. Purple blotches had formed under his eyes and the rest of his face was red from fever. He recognized her, but he wasn’t with-it enough to have a conversation. It almost sounded like he apologized for being too drunk to dance. He really wasn't coherent.
“Do you need any help with him?” she asked Grant when they’d shut the bedroom door.
“No. I don’t want to expose you, too. I mean, I’ve already been exposed. He can’t have contracted this last night, and dinner with his mom is the only place he’s been that I wasn’t with him since last Friday.”
“What about his restaurant?”
“I called. Nobody else is sick there, and I’m there all the time, too, so if that's where he got it, I still would have been exposed.”
“I appreciate you not wanting to pass it on, but I'm checking on you later, okay?”
He started to hug her then changed his mind. “Consider yourself hugged, but in a germ-free way.”
She made a kissy face at him and left, fighting the urge to cry until she got to her car.
1. 7. Sarah McGrath:
Portland, Oregon
My Job Wants to Kill Me
Sarah and David were cooking dinner and discussing the death of the governor when Sid got home. The governor was the second state politician to die and it was reported that others were sick. Sarah almost mentioned it to Sid, but Sid's face stilled her.
“Ricky's sick,” Sid said without greeting them.
“Sick?”
“Flu.”
“But they just had the shots.” But Sarah knew they'd already had this conversation. Sid's brother Jeff was right—the vaccine wasn't doing any good.
“It's worse than that,” Sid went on. “A nursing home I visited in Astoria had a bunch of people die—death rate without the vaccine was about half. Death rate with it, nearly one hundred percent.”
“What?” That was too much to take in. Her defenses were keeping her from processing.
“The vaccine isn't just ineffective, it's dangerous,” Sid said, never one for vagaries where words were concerned.
“You're sure?” Sarah asked.
“Sure enough that I'm pursuing it, professionally speaking. I have to verify, as always.”
David threw Sarah a worried look. He knew she was worried about the vaccine and that work would make her get it. She stood to pace. She was normally calm and matter-of-fact, a nurse, trained to handle a crisis with cool efficiency. But she wasn't equipped to face this.
“Grant's fine, though, right?”
“He seemed fine.”
That was good. He'd had the vaccine, too. Sarah had been friends with Grant since grade school. They'd both grown up in Medford and Sarah knew she was the first person the teenage Grant had confessed to that he thought he was gay.
“Sarah, what's that matter?” Sid asked.
“Work is giving me seventy-two more hours to get it or they'll quit scheduling me.”
“I guess you have to, then. Grant's fine. I've only heard this about old or
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