The Last Time We Met

9

The fever began as a slight flush. I had spent all evening developing the film and making prints, and Henry phoned work to say she would arrive with me, at noon, and I would then take the car home after dropping off the photographs and pick Henry up later. My eyes bleary from lack of sleep, I rubbed at them as Henry drove us in. She had been up nearly as late as I had, and helped me in the darkroom and with the packing of the photographs. She had even brewed a large pot of coffee and kept my mug filled throughout the morning.

A tickle plagued my throat as I handed the photographs over to the commander. The mask still over my face, I coughed into my sleeve only once during our brief conversation. "These will do," the commander told me. "Fine work. You are free to go."

I did, and once I settled into the driver's seat of the car, I coughed and then coughed again. Immediately I worried that the plague had infected me. It was likely, after spending half my day yesterday in the various infirmaries, even though I had taken the same precautions as Henry and the other medical staff. I tried to tell myself that I was being a hypochondriac. It was allergies, or something similar. Or perhaps the yearly flu that often passed around.

But I could not deny how warm my face felt even as the wind whipped through the window of the car. When I arrived home, I washed my face with cool water and then lay down with a compress over my forehead and eyes. Who knew how long I might have slept if the telephone had not rung. I groaned and stood, swaying, for a few moments before I made my way to the box on the wall and lifted the receiver. "Shaw residence."

"I'll be ready at seven," Henry said.

"Oh." The light in the room had changed to a warm orange, and I leaned over to catch view of the kitchen clock. "Oh, it's nearly six already."

"What, did I wake you? Layabout," she said, then, "Bring me something good to eat along the way, I'm half-starved."

"Of course, my love," I said, and coughed.

Henrietta's voice came quick with worry. "Did you just cough?"

"It's nothing. Just allergies."

She harumphed. "We shall see about that."

The click on the line meant she had hung up. I set the receiver on its hook and got busy fixing Henrietta a sandwich. Now that I was moving about I felt better. I wrapped the sandwich (her favorite, ham, with Swiss cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, and pickles, and slathered with mustard) in a cloth napkin and packed it carefully in a basket, along with a bottle of seltzer and added cookies for dessert. It was nearly time to leave, so I put on my shoes and jacket and mask and headed out.

She caught me yawning as I waited in the car for her. "Still tired?" she laughed. "You are getting to be an old man, then. Pity I married someone so much older." She prompted hauled out the sandwich and took a massive bite, even before I had shifted the car into drive. Her moans of appreciation made me smile.

"You stayed up nearly as late as I did," I said. "How is it that you are so bright-eyed?"

"I thrive on deadlines." She wiped mustard from the corner of her mouth. "And strong coffee."

When we arrived home, I took the now-empty basket from her and brought it to the kitchen so she could go upstairs and change. But she followed me and peered up at my face. "You look flushed," she said.

"The exertion of all this running about," I managed weakly, dread pooling in my belly.

She took the basket from my hands. "Sit down."

I did as I was told. She went into the bathroom and returned with a thermometer, instructing me to open my mouth so she could place it under my tongue. "Have you had a headache?" she asked.

Unable to speak with my mouth full, I shrugged.

She sighed. "A sore throat? Cough? Dizziness?"

The realization sank in, and for a moment I couldn't answer. She checked her wristwatch, then took out the thermometer.

"I mean, yes, but I think a good night's sleep should cure it."

"You have a fever of a hundred and two," Henry said.

I looked at her. She looked right back, and the knowledge of what that meant passed between us.

She ushered me to the bathroom. She turned the taps on the bathtub on full force, then began to undress me. "I'm not an invalid," I protested weakly, holding the sink for balance, for a wave of dizziness had hit me.

She said little, and soon I was naked and plunging into a bathtub filled with piping hot water and plenty of soap and something that smelled of peppermint. "Scrub yourself," Henry said, and left.

Feeling like a child, I did so. My skin burned from the heat, yet I shivered a little. The peppermint cleared my sinuses. Henry was a good nurse, but if I had the deadly plague, there would be little she could do.

"Should you take me to the hospital?" I asked her when she came back in. She had changed into her own nightclothes and washed up.

"The hospital? No. Those poor souls, crammed in there infecting one another. You're better off here at home."

"But..." I stood and stepped out of the tub and into the towel Henry held out for me. "Don't they have medicine there that could help?"

Henry pursed her lips. "All they have is aspirin to reduce fever. There's no cure for the flu."

"Oh. So I should take some aspirin?"

She made a sound. "I have my doubts as to whether aspirin is helpful. Let's just have you lay down. I've prepared a cold compress."

I wished that I could have enjoyed Henry fussing over me, but I fell asleep almost immediately. At one point in the night I awoke with her still hovering over me, stroking my hair. It felt so nice I couldn't hold my eyes open. The next time I awoke, it was morning, and cool air kissed my face.

"You're awake," Henry said softly. She removed the damp cloth from my forehead and rung it out in a basin, then pressed a fresh cloth to my forehead. "I've got the window open for ventilation, let me know if you feel too cold and I'll get you another blanket."

I reached for her hand before she could pull it away. My arm moved like the air was sludge, but she allowed me to catch her. "I love you."

"I know that, you idiot," she said. She almost turned away, then she kissed my forehead. "I love you too, of course." With that, she held up the thermometer. "Open up, or I'll have to take your temperature rectally."