Chapter 3: James Gets A Fever
That evening, James felt the tell-tale heat on his skin and heaviness in his chest, trying his best to read a book he only had mild interest in. He grew up on the sicker side, getting frequent fevers as a kid, which lessened with age. However, he had his moments, just like this, where his body decided to wage war against itself. With a sigh, James closed the book and retreated from the living room, offering small ‘good nights’ to Heather and Harry. It was still a bit early which didn’t escape the pair’s notice.
“Just a little more tired than usual.” James offered when asked.
He didn’t want to make anyone worry, after all.
From there, he got ready for a long night, brushing his teeth and settling into bed with the book he’d dragged along. He tried to read more though the words swirled together after a time and his lids grew heavy. The energy drain from the heat caught up to him so he let his head hit the pillow with a light thump. Sleep seemed to set in almost immediately.
He dreamt of Mary. She laid next to him, her chestnut hair down around her shoulders in a cascade, and her cool fingertips brushed his bangs aside. A comforting smile played on her lips as James turned his head. He should have been able to see her whole face yet his vision could only focus on her mouth as it moved.
“James, honey,” she whispered, “you’re burning up.”
James nodded, sweat dampening his brow. He wanted to talk to her, name at the tip of his tongue. He had so, so much to say…
“Why don’t I get you something?” Mary offered, turning in bed.
His lips parted yet nothing could come out. Mary moved. She was leaving him, her form growing smaller as he watched the hazy figure leave the memory of their bedroom. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes and his throat tightened as he tried to force out the words.
It was no use and his head swiveled back to look at the ceiling. He’d heard a sound like a door opening and tried to move his body again. It was too hot, too heavy, a tear slid from the corner of his eye.
He was dreaming of someone who’d been long gone now.
“My poor boy…” the voice said, gentle and even.
It was his mother. He’d almost forgotten her face but her long, dark hair was unmistakable. It was braided over her shoulder, just like she did every night. James’ lips pursed and his breath grew shaky.
“Ma…”
“Shh, shh…” she murmured, back of her hand pressing to his boiling forehead, “you need to rest, James.”
She sat at the edge of the bed for a moment after, humming under her breath, stroking his hair then rubbing his chest lightly. He always loved that.
“Can you eat?” she asked, presence feeling saintly.
James tried to nod.
“How about we try some soup first…?” she smiled, “Then, if you’re up to it, we can get you your favorite ice cream.”
The blond nodded carefully. His mother’s hand put some pressure on his shoulder, a reassurance, then leaned in. James’ eyes closed and he sniffled as her lips touched his forehead and her voice drifted.
“We’ll keep it a secret from dad, okay?”
When James’ eyes cracked open once more, he saw a stark white ceiling above. Afternoon light spilled from the window, over the bed, and onto the floor. His chest felt heavy and his skin still felt hot though it was less damp than before. He groaned, voice seeming to cooperate now, and threw an arm over his eyes. The fever hazy dreams wanted to pull his energy towards them - warm like his body - and comforting to his discomfort. He grimaced and moved his arm as the door opened, a pair of voices entering.
“He’s asleep, Dad, shh!”
“It’s fine - I’m quiet, I’m oop-!”
Harry stumbled a little, bowl atop the tray he carried teetering in reply. He held his breath as Heather let out a small groan.
“Did you spill it…?”
Harry considered things carefully as he edged closer, “No, we’re good…”
James cleared his throat and the father-daughter duo looked up immediately.
“Oh, good!” Harry smiled, “You’re up again!”
The blond rubbed his eyes, sleep having accumulated at the corners, “Again…?”
“Yeah,” Heather piped up, “you were kind of in and out for like, I dunno, a while…”
“You’ve been asleep on and off since yesterday evening.”
James made a small sound at that and looked to the ceiling again. The smell of what the two brought in finally made itself aware under his nose. Harry placed the tray on the bedside table to reveal a bowl of soup and a sleeve of crackers. Spoon on the side, of course. A glass of water was already present and James wondered how that got there. Harry set himself on the edge of the bed by James’ feet and Heather hovered close by. She dug through her pockets for a thermometer and some sort of medicine.
“Here.”
James sat up gingerly, body fatigued and head light, partly from all the sleep and partly from the energy used to heal himself. He noticed how hungry he was bit by bit though took the items Heather offered first, unsheathing the thermometer and popping it in his mouth. The cool metal had a familiar taste to it as he worked it under his tongue. The three found things to focus on as they waited, Heather looking out the window, Harry eyeing James carefully, and James giving unfocused attention to the wall across from him. Little beeps followed as the thermometer announced its results.
99.0 degrees Fahrenheit.
Not bad, but still could use some work.
“Anyway,” Harry pointed his chin towards the soup, “eat that first if you can, and then take some medicine. It’s just Tylenol.”
“Right.” James replied, “Thanks.”
“Soup’s chicken noodle - you could probably guess.” Heather added, “We weren’t super sure what you liked so I hope it’s okay.”
James maneuvered the tray to his lap before considering the food. It wasn’t anything special but as he got a spoonful and brought it to his lips, he felt as though it was the best he’d had. Harry and Heather looked at one another with little smiles as James steadily ate.
“We’ll leave you to it.” Harry said, lifting himself from the bed to punctuate his statement.
“Let us know if you need anything else, okay?” Heather said, “We’ll be in the living room.”
The Masons made their way to the door and just before they closed it, James shifted again and made a sound. Harry looked back, waiting for the other to speak.
“Uhm,” James started, looking at the writer, “if it’s not a trouble…”
Harry inclined his head for the other to continue.
“Could you pick up some ice cream for me?”
Chapter 3 End.