opened the door. “Jason?”
He raised his brows. “In the flesh. You gonna invite me in, or are you quarantined?” He worked to disguise the shock he felt at her pallor, her frailty, her droopy hair. Every last sparkle had left her eyes.
“I look a mess,” she said.
“Hey, I’m a doctor. I deal with sick people every day.”
She wore an azure-blue spa-styled robe, which seemed to gobble her up due to obvious weight loss. Her shoulders slumped and the furry slippers she wore made a shuffling sound across the entryway as she walked him inside.
A small, untidy living room revealed she’d been lying on the sofa, with a dented pillow on one end and a crumpled blanket cast over the back. The bright peach living room walls contrasted with the dreary hostess, and a fireplace served to keep her warm.
“So here’s your pay check. Figured you might need it.”
“How thoughtful of you.”
“If you need me to deposit it for you, I can do that, too.”
“That’s very kind.”
“You lie down,” he said. “Point me to the kitchen and I’ll heat this up.” He held up the bag with the soup in it.
She gestured toward the hall. “I don’t have much of an appetite.”
“You need to eat. Now sit.”
A few minutes later, after scavenging for a bowl to microwave the soup he’d bought from the best deli in Santa Barbara, he served her supper, and brought a bowl for himself.
She seemed grateful, but somehow humbled.
“This is so embarrassing. I hate for you to see me like this.”
He slurped a taste of broth. “Don’t give it another thought. Just eat.”
She took a dainty sip and nodded her approval. As she continued to eat, he surreptitiously studied her face. For the first time he noticed a faint butterfly rash across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. Perhaps she was still feverish.
When she’d eaten half the bowl, she cast it aside on the coffee table. “It’s very good, but I’ve eaten so little all week, I’ve lost my appetite.”
“Then I’ll be back tomorrow morning with fresh rolls and fluffy eggs.”
“I can’t let you do that.”
“Of course you can. I’m a doctor. Let me help you get better. Now, tell me your symptoms and I’ll try tofigure out if you need antibiotics or something. I’ve got my bag in the car; I can give you a check-up if you’d like. And, while I’m out there, I’ll bring in more wood for your fire and start this one up again.”
“It’s Lupus,” she broke in.
He stopped his rambling.
“I have Systemic Lupus Erythematosus. I caught an everyday virus, something Gina brought home from pre-school, and now I’m having a flare-up.”
That explained the rash on her face. “How long have you had SLE?”
“I developed it after Gina was born. I’d had lots of weird symptoms for years, but I think the post partum hormonal imbalance finally knocked me over the line.”
“I had no idea,” he said, feeling an overwhelming desire to somehow make her life better. Easier. She’d given no clue that she lived with a chronic autoimmune disease. Especially one that could be as debilitating as Lupus. “You’re under a doctor’s care?”
She nodded. “I see a Lupus specialist. And I add some complementary herbs to my regimen, too.” She offered a wan smile. “Sometimes the cure seems worse than the disease.”
No wonder she was such an alternative medicine advocate. Now it all made sense.
Satisfied she was doing the right thing, he relaxed. “Let me make you some tea.” He jumped up, wanting nothing more than to wait on her.
He realized, by her obvious hesitation, she probably didn’t want any tea, but even when sick, she was gracious.
“There’s some chamomile leaves in the cupboard next to the refrigerator,” she said in an anemic voice.
Or maybe she was just too weak to protest.
As he went about boiling water he called out, “Where’s Gina?”
“With her father.”
A pang of guilt made him realize he was relieved he wouldn’t see
He raised his brows. “In the flesh. You gonna invite me in, or are you quarantined?” He worked to disguise the shock he felt at her pallor, her frailty, her droopy hair. Every last sparkle had left her eyes.
“I look a mess,” she said.
“Hey, I’m a doctor. I deal with sick people every day.”
She wore an azure-blue spa-styled robe, which seemed to gobble her up due to obvious weight loss. Her shoulders slumped and the furry slippers she wore made a shuffling sound across the entryway as she walked him inside.
A small, untidy living room revealed she’d been lying on the sofa, with a dented pillow on one end and a crumpled blanket cast over the back. The bright peach living room walls contrasted with the dreary hostess, and a fireplace served to keep her warm.
“So here’s your pay check. Figured you might need it.”
“How thoughtful of you.”
“If you need me to deposit it for you, I can do that, too.”
“That’s very kind.”
“You lie down,” he said. “Point me to the kitchen and I’ll heat this up.” He held up the bag with the soup in it.
She gestured toward the hall. “I don’t have much of an appetite.”
“You need to eat. Now sit.”
A few minutes later, after scavenging for a bowl to microwave the soup he’d bought from the best deli in Santa Barbara, he served her supper, and brought a bowl for himself.
She seemed grateful, but somehow humbled.
“This is so embarrassing. I hate for you to see me like this.”
He slurped a taste of broth. “Don’t give it another thought. Just eat.”
She took a dainty sip and nodded her approval. As she continued to eat, he surreptitiously studied her face. For the first time he noticed a faint butterfly rash across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. Perhaps she was still feverish.
When she’d eaten half the bowl, she cast it aside on the coffee table. “It’s very good, but I’ve eaten so little all week, I’ve lost my appetite.”
“Then I’ll be back tomorrow morning with fresh rolls and fluffy eggs.”
“I can’t let you do that.”
“Of course you can. I’m a doctor. Let me help you get better. Now, tell me your symptoms and I’ll try tofigure out if you need antibiotics or something. I’ve got my bag in the car; I can give you a check-up if you’d like. And, while I’m out there, I’ll bring in more wood for your fire and start this one up again.”
“It’s Lupus,” she broke in.
He stopped his rambling.
“I have Systemic Lupus Erythematosus. I caught an everyday virus, something Gina brought home from pre-school, and now I’m having a flare-up.”
That explained the rash on her face. “How long have you had SLE?”
“I developed it after Gina was born. I’d had lots of weird symptoms for years, but I think the post partum hormonal imbalance finally knocked me over the line.”
“I had no idea,” he said, feeling an overwhelming desire to somehow make her life better. Easier. She’d given no clue that she lived with a chronic autoimmune disease. Especially one that could be as debilitating as Lupus. “You’re under a doctor’s care?”
She nodded. “I see a Lupus specialist. And I add some complementary herbs to my regimen, too.” She offered a wan smile. “Sometimes the cure seems worse than the disease.”
No wonder she was such an alternative medicine advocate. Now it all made sense.
Satisfied she was doing the right thing, he relaxed. “Let me make you some tea.” He jumped up, wanting nothing more than to wait on her.
He realized, by her obvious hesitation, she probably didn’t want any tea, but even when sick, she was gracious.
“There’s some chamomile leaves in the cupboard next to the refrigerator,” she said in an anemic voice.
Or maybe she was just too weak to protest.
As he went about boiling water he called out, “Where’s Gina?”
“With her father.”
A pang of guilt made him realize he was relieved he wouldn’t see
Similar Books
