Late May
One week after Lucas's birthday, Sarah gets sick. Unfortunately, it’s on a Friday. It really shouldn’t have come as the surprise that it did. The signs were all there.
She’s been tired since Tuesday-ish, but she writes that off as poor sleeping, which is sort of a persistent problem of hers anyway. On Wednesday, her pre-dinner run is sluggish and her time is bad. On Thursday, her throat starts to feel a little itchy, and by the time she finishes another set of revisions and crawls into bed that evening, her legs and arms are mildly achy.
On Friday, she wakes up with a full-blown cold.
The one silver lining is that she doesn’t have class on Fridays anyway; it’s usually a writing and research day for her at the library. The downside is that she’s definitely going to have to call in sick for work tonight at the bar, and probably tomorrow, too - which are the two days of the week where she makes the best tips.
Plus, it’s five-thirty in the morning, and she can’t sleep in, because Lucas is singing again.
This time Sarah’s pretty sure it’s not even a real song, but something he made up, because there are lyrics that seem to reference sauerkraut and fishing and she can’t fathom how else those two things would end up sharing a verse. It’s probably an annoying habit, she figures, but he’s so cheerful while he does it and it’s so quirky and genuine and quintessentially Lucas that it’s now become kind of endearing.
Except now. Now she wants it to stop. Her head hurts enough as it is.
So Sarah drags her tired, aching body out of bed. She wraps her comforter around her; it’s the end of May now, with the near-summer city heat just burgeoning outside, but she’s freezing in her usual t-shirt and pyjama shorts. It drags on the floor behind her as she shuffles to her bedroom door, opens it, and croaks, “Lucas, please.”
He’s in the kitchen eating an egg sandwich, already dressed for work in what she recognizes as his mandated t-shirt for work (navy blue, with ‘Glover Construction’ emblazoned on the chest). He’s wearing a backward baseball cap, as he nearly always does, with a pen sticking out of the side, the purpose of which she’s never really understood.
“Oops, sorry Sarah.” Lucas makes an apologetic face as he notices her. “Go back to sleep, I’m almost gone.” That’s certainly in her plans. But right now, since she’s awake, she should pee and find some cold medicine to knock her out. “It’s okay,” she says as she approaches the kitchen gingerly, infusing her voice with all the energy she can muster. “I think Panadol is in my future anyway.”
His eyebrows knit together in concern. “You not feeling great?”
She shakes her head. “Summer cold. To distinguish itself from my fall, winter, and spring colds, this one comes when it’s nice outside.” It’s a bit of an exaggeration, but not really: she does get sick a lot.
Which is why, when she opens the cupboard above the microwave and finds her last Panadol package empty, she lets out a sad moan. “Oh no.” She should be more prepared for this. She should always have cold medication stocked. Her father would be so disappointed in her.
Lucas hovers over her shoulder. “You out?”
Sarah sighs. “Yes.” She raises the heel of her palm to her forehead. She’s going to have to go up the block to the Tesco, there’s a pharmacy there. “When does that Tesco open, six?” she asks, mostly rhetorically; Lucas just moved in, there’s no reason he’d know.
She turns and begins to trudge back toward the bathroom. She can at least take care of her bladder, then she’ll throw her favourite sweat suit on, and hopefully that’ll make her feel good for enough time to make it there and back without collapsing.
Her progress is halted by two hands on her shoulders. “Whoa.” Lucas appears in front of her. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I have to use the bathroom, then I’m going to go buy some meds,” she says in what she’s horrified to recognize as a wheeze.
“No, no you aren’t, babe.” Lucas crosses his arms over his chest. Sarah doesn’t even have the energy to really appreciate how good his shirt makes his biceps look. She hates being sick. “Well okay, the peeing thing you can do. But no way in hell are you going anywhere like this.”
Sarah doesn’t have the energy to argue with him; he has to leave for work right away, so she’ll just go as soon as he’s gone. “Fine. Hold my blanket while I pee, then,” she says, hoisting her heavy comforter off of her body and into his hands.
She uses the washroom as quickly as her tired, sore body will allow. As she washes her hands, she appraises herself for the first time in the mirror. And wow, does she ever look truly awful: her eyes are kind of red, with darkening shades of purple beneath, and her already pale skin has taken on a sickly, pallid tone. Is she slightly green or is she hallucinating? She also really regrets not dumping her comforter just outside the bathroom door, because not only are goosebumps fluttering up to her arms and legs, but she doesn’t sleep in a bra and that fact is now very apparent.
Sarah wraps her arms around herself as she exits the bathroom, feeling suddenly small and child-like. How embarrassing.
Lucas is waiting in the kitchen where she left him. He holds the comforter open for her when she approaches, and folds it around her with his long arms as she steps into it. “Here you go, Sarah,” he says in a far more gentle tone than she’s heard him use before. “Now come on, let’s put you to bed,” he adds, leading her with an arm around her shoulders toward her bedroom.
She should inform him that she’s a big girl and do this part herself. She should. But she’s so tired, and he’s warm, and his arm around her is kind of comfy. Plus, he’s essentially a friend now, right?
Her brain must be working slower than usual, because by the time Sarah has worked through this dilemma in her head, Lucas’s already gotten her to lay down on her bed and is tucking the comforter around her feet. He disappears for a minute, then returns with a glass of water and a jar of what appears to be -
“Garlic,” Lucas proclaims. “Lacto-fermented garlic. Eat some when you feel up to it, okay? Garlic will help. But just in case ‘modern medicine’ -” he punctuates this with air quotes - “has something going for it, I’m going to run to the Tesco to get you some Panadol, too.”
No. “You’ll be -” Sarah wheezes - “you’ll be late for work. It’s okay, I can go -”
He dismisses her protest with a wave of his hand. “I’ve got a great record, Barry won’t mind if I’m a few minutes late. Stop arguing, I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
Lucas disappears from her room, and one minute later, she hears the door to their apartment open and close. Sarah shuts her eyes and tries to focus on breathing in and out, in and out, like her favourite yoga instructor always tells her. It works pretty well up until a breath catches an itch in her throat and it turns into a hacking cough.
For someone who’s sick a lot, Sarah figures she should really be better at it by now.
A few minutes pass, and the apartment door opens again. Lucas shows up in her bedroom with two blue liquid-gel pills a moment later. “The box is above the microwave. And a Benylin for later,” he assures her. “Take these, Sarah.”
Sarah drags herself up on her elbows to down the medication, a process that Lucas apparently has decided to supervise. She drinks the rest of the water he’d brought earlier, and he mercifully decides to refill it before leaving.
Lucas sets it down on her bedside table beside the garlic. “Rest that pretty little head, alright Sarah?” he rambles, lifting her comforter above her shoulders. “You’ll feel better in a little while. That’s a Foster promise, okay?”
Sarah smiles, half into her pillow. “Okay.”
“I’m off around three, probably make it home by four. You need anything else, you give me a holler, alright?”
“I will,” she yawns, her eyes already closed. “Thank you, Lucas.”
“It’s nothing, Sarah.” He flicks her lights off and closes the door. If he makes it out of the apartment before she falls asleep, Sarah doesn’t hear it.
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