Staying Put

"But Daddy, you always did me before. Why not now?"

I let out the breath I'd been holding. "Because you're sick sweetie," I said. "You've got a fever. Let's wait until you get better."

She shrugged her shoulders then and said, "Okay, I guess. If you promise you still love me."

"Of course I love you sweetie. I always will." Jesus Christ this was about as creepy as it got. What I really wanted to do was run out the door, get in my car and flee from her and from the darkness within me that had just poked its head up and looked around.

"Sit up now and let's try some of these crackers," I said, my voice raspy.

She clambered up to a sitting position, her legs open, her scent wafting up to my nostrils. I reached down and grabbed the bedspread and pulled it up to cover her.

"I don't want you to catch a cold too," I explained. Then I handed her a saltine and a cup of water. My hand was shaking so badly that I almost spilled the water. I could taste my own bile, a consequence of the mixture of my desire and self-loathing.

She munched contentedly on the cracker and drank her water like a good girl. Over the next few minutes she managed to get four crackers and a whole cup of water down. Then she yawned a very large yawn and settled back into the pillows again.

"I'm sleepy Daddy," she said.

"Okay sweetie. Take your medicine first." I gave her the meds, which she took and swallowed like a good girl. "You go to sleep now. Call me if you need me."

"Remember your promise," she whispered as she faded.

I got up and left the room, praying that she was done with those hallucinations. In the kitchen I found a bottle of Tequila and poured myself a healthy shot. That helped. I realized I'd been sweating like a pig, despite the cool temperatures, so I went back to my room and washed away the rank smell of my fear and as many of the memories of what had happened as possible. I was ashamed of myself for the way I'd reacted and terribly sad for her. This certainly qualified as too much information.

After I had some dinner, I went back to her room and sat, staring at her placid face as she gently snored. She looked so peaceful lying there in bed. So innocent. But I knew she had a terrible secret. I thought of my own daughter, now 20 and at Cornell, how I used to sit in her bedroom at night when she was sick, willing her to get better and how I would do anything to protect her. Then I thought about Chris's father and what he must have done to her. Tears welled up in my eyes. It was just too horrible to contemplate.

Sometime in the night, I heard her calling me again. This time I listened before I jumped out of bed. I didn't want to find myself back in the same situation. But she was calling me by name. "Mark?"

I crossed the hall to her room and peered in very hesitantly. Thank God. She was sitting up in bed, her t-shirt back on. The little lamp on the bedside table was on low.

"Hey," I said. "What's up?"

"I'm sorry to wake you up, but could you bring me some more water. I'm really thirsty and getting dressed took more out of me than I thought it would."

"Sure," I said. I noticed she'd finished off the water bottle next to the bed. A very good sign.

When I returned with a new water bottle, she smiled weakly. "I've been a pain in the ass, haven't I?"

"Only moderately," I said.

"Nice," she replied. "I'm really sorry about this."

"I told you to stop saying that yesterday," I said.

She took a healthy drink of the water I handed her. "Did you? I've been sitting here trying to remember what's been happening. I have a pretty good memory of going to the doctor and getting in your car to come home, but after that it's all bits and pieces. What day is it?"

"Friday." I felt her forehead. She was cool for the first time since I'd come over two days earlier.

"Wow," she said, shaking her head. "I've been really out of it, haven't I?"

"You could say that," I said.

She put out her hand and rested it on my knee, giving me a gentle squeeze. "You're a good friend Mark. Thanks."

"My pleasure Chris." Her clock said 1:45, but I could tell she was wide awake. "Any interest in what's been going on in the world since you zonked out on me?"

"Sure."

So I told her the news and the weather, even though we'd been through it in the afternoon. I figured she didn't remember any of that, which was good. I tried to use my most boring professor voice, hoping my drone would lull her to back to sleep. After a bit, she yawned again, which made me yawn even wider.

"You need to go back to bed Mark," she said, watching my mouth split my face in two. "I'm okay here. You rest."

I thought about arguing, but decided that I really did need the sleep, so I thanked her. When I stood, I leaned over and kissed her on the top of her head. "I'm glad to see you feeling better," I said and then padded back to my room and collapsed.

When I woke up the next morning, it was clearly late. The sun was strong and the birds had mostly stopped singing their morning songs. My watch said 9:23. I stretched the contented stretch of someone who is well-rested, got up, showered, shaved and dressed. By the time I made it out into the hallway it was close to 10:00.

When I peeked into Chris's room, she was sitting up in bed wearing a pair of bright orange reading glasses, reading a novel. The water bottle on her night stand was almost empty. Good and good.

"Good morning sunshine," I said.

She glanced up over her glasses at me and smiled.

"Good morning yourself. I was starting to think I needed to hire a new nurse."

I stuck out my tongue at her and crossed to my chair next to the bed. "By any chance have you taken your medications this morning?"

"Yes, I have. At 8:30. By any chance could I have some breakfast?"

"Absolutely. You managed some crackers yesterday, so how about some fruit this morning? I got some bananas and melon at the market on Wednesday. They ought to be easy on your stomach. And I have that liquid lunch stuff the doctor sent us home with."

"That sounds great," she said. "I suppose coffee is out."

"For you my dear, but not for me. I'll be right back."

In the kitchen I started a pot of coffee for me, then made us each bowls of fresh fruit—a large one for me, a small one for her. No sense taking too many chances with her delicate stomach. When enough of the coffee had dripped for me to have a cup, I poured one, put it all on a tray and returned to her room.

"You know it's torture for you to have coffee in here when I can't drink it."

"Let's call it an incentive," I said. "The sooner you get better, the sooner you can have coffee. It's excellent, by the way."

"Thanks, I guess," she replied. Then she set to work on the fruit. I noticed that she ate a bite of each then let it settle in her stomach for a minute or so. Smart woman. But it seemed to sit quietly, so in a few minutes she polished off the bowl I'd given her. "Any chance of seconds?"

"Why don't we let that get comfortable in your stomach for a bit first," I said.

"Sure. I bet you've had a lot of trouble with me the last couple of days." She glanced meaningfully at the vomit bucket still stationed next to her bed.

"No more than I could handle," I replied. "Remember, I'm a father, so I'm used to this sort of thing."

"Right," she said. "Well, I hope I haven't been too gross."

"You got right up to the edge of too gross, but didn't go over."

"That's a relief, I suppose." While I finished off my own bowl of fruit, she sat quietly. Then she asked me, "Was I delirious? I mean, the way the doctor said I might be?"

I thought about how to answer her. I didn't want to lie to her, but I also didn't want to get into the details of what had happened. I decided on the truth, nothing but the truth, but not the whole truth.

"Yes," I said. "You were."

She smiled just a bit at that. "Well, I hope I was entertaining."

"You mean like when you were trying to catch a bird that was circling your bed."

Her hand covered her mouth at that. I almost reached for the bucket, but realized it was to cover her embarrassment. "Oh God. You didn't take any pictures did you?"

"Shit. I knew there was something I should have done. But no, I was too busy pretending to chase the bird out of the room for you to remember my camera."

"That's a relief. Any other fun moments?"

"Well, you and I spent 15 minutes or so picking needles out of your bed. Apparently I'd left them there by mistake. You weren't too happy about that."

"Was I mean to you?"

"Nah. But you did order me to leave immediately."

Her hand returned to my knee and gave me another little squeeze. "I'm glad you didn't."

"That was never in doubt. What you don't know about me is that I spent several weeks at the hospital with my dad when he was hallucinating. It was much worse than you." Okay, that part was a lie. Parts of the last two days had been much worse than anything my dad's subconscious had conjured.

Her hand hadn't moved and I was very aware of it. But unlike yesterday afternoon, I didn't want to push it away. "I didn't know that about your father. I'm sorry," she said.

"Thanks, but don't be. He died peacefully and, because his mind had gone, he was blissfully unaware of the fact that he was trapped in a hospital. We should all be so lucky."

Since I'd told her all that I wanted to tell her about her own hallucinations, I changed the subject and told her a funny story about one of my dipshit colleagues at the University. It got a couple of giggles out of her. Maybe I was the only one who thought it was seriously funny. Then she asked again for more food, so I decided to risk it.

I went back to the kitchen and fixed her some more fruit and put out some crackers as well. When I went back to her room I peered in carefully, just in case she'd had another transformation, but she hadn't, so I went it and gave her breakfast number two.

While she ate, I walked down to get the paper and then, while I drank a second cup of coffee, I read her the news. It was very pleasant sitting there in her large, airy room, reading to her and discussing the day's events without any sort of a schedule. I'd been running on a schedule for some many years that I rarely took the time out to just relax like this.

Finally, she yawned again and said, "I think I'm going to take a nap if you don't mind."

"I don't mind a bit. I'm just glad to see you doing so much better." I crossed to the bed, picked up her plate and glass and gave her another kiss on the top of her head. She smiled at me, so I guess she liked it.

That afternoon, she actually felt well enough to come out to the screen porch and watch the backyard world go by. I made her one of the things my mother always made for me what I was recovering—little bits of chicken sautéed in lots of butter. It was a comfort food and nutritious. She wolfed it down along with some Gatorade and more crackers.

In the evening, we sat together in her room, she reading her novel, me wondering how Harry Bosch was going to catch the serial killer he was after. Around 9:00, we both got tired, so it was lights out for us.

The next morning dawned wet. A steady rain was beating down on the roof when I woke up and stretched. I hadn't slept quite so late this time, so I actually beat Chris awake. I made us both breakfast, found an umbrella in the front hall closet, and went to get the paper. Fortunately, it was warm, because the wind was blowing and I got wet from the waist down.

Back inside, I quickly changed into dry shorts, then put our breakfast on a tray and went into her room. She wasn't in bed and the shower was running, so I retreated from the room with my coffee and the paper. Now that she was lucid, I definitely didn't want to see her in the buff. As I sipped the coffee and stared at the paper, I argued with myself about bringing up her father. I knew I wouldn't do it right away, not until she was stronger, but I felt like I had to let her know that I knew, that I cared, and that she was a good person.

She saved me from the trouble of continuing my internal debate. She came into the kitchen, set her tray down on the counter and took a seat next to me at the table. "Mark, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Yesterday morning when I woke up, I was naked in the bed, my clothes on the floor next to me. Why was that?"

I felt trapped. If I didn't tell her the truth, it would look like I was covering something up and I hadn't prepared a lie to tell her on short notice. So I decided to plunge ahead. I took a deep breath, let it out, and started..

"The night before you were hallucinating pretty badly. You asked me to get you something to eat, so I went to the kitchen and when I came back, you had taken off your t-shirt and underwear."

She looked mortified. "Oh God," she moaned. "I didn't."

I nodded sadly, "You did."

"What did I do when you came back?"

"Well, let's just say you tried to seduce me," I said. It seemed that the fewer details the better in this case.

"I am so sorry," she said. "I can't believe I did that. It must have been very embarrassing for you."

I thought about making a joke, but decided this wasn't the time for that. "A little. You were very insistent, but I fended you off."

"Was I at least tasteful?"

"I guess you could say that," I said. "And you did finally take no for an answer, so it worked out okay."

She put her hand on mine where it lay on the table between us and said, "Thank you for being so understanding. I can't believe I did that."

"Don't worry about it," I said. "When you're delirious, your mind wanders down paths you would never take in real life."

She looked at me kind of funny then. I was just about to ask her a question when she asked me, "Who says I wouldn't take that path in real life?"

I smiled. She was just being nice now. "Thanks," I said, "But now you're starting to sound like you're hallucinating again."

"We'll see about that when I get better," she said. Then she patted my hand and continued, "After all, you've already seen me naked and discovered all my secrets."

That last comment must have made me flinch, because she looked at me closely and said, "You know, my tattoos."

I exhaled then. "Yes, I'm sure there's an interesting story behind them."

She leaned back in her chair then, closed her eyes for a second, opened them and said, "They're not really that old, you know. I got them after I raced in Kona for the first time three years ago. My partner and I swore that if we finished in the top 20 of our age group, we'd get tattoos to commemorate the moment. I finished 16th and she was 19th, so the next day we went to a local tattoo parlor and had them done. We used to call ourselves "Thunder" and "Lightning." You can guess which one I was."

"No need to guess," I said. I was just about to ask her what her partner's tattoo looked like—I couldn't quite picture thunder as a tattoo—when she continued.

"We felt like a couple of 18 year-olds when we did it. I think she's sorry now that she did, but, well, I guess I'm proud of mine."

"I'd say finishing so well at Kona is a lot to be proud of."

"Yes," she said. "It was actually my best finish. This year I move up an age group, so I'm hoping to do better. But this parasite is going to set me back a bit. The race in is October, you know."

"I do. I watch it every year on TV. But I don't think I've ever seen you."

"No," she said. "I've never made the broadcast."

"Do you still train with your partner?"

Her face clouded. "No, she left last year."

I dawned on me then that this "partner" of hers was probably more than a training partner.

"Sorry to hear that," I said.

"Don't be," she said, shaking her head firmly. "It's better for both of us. It wasn't working out."

"Sorry about that too," I said.

She waved me off. "You probably need to do some work or something. I saw your laptop in the dining room. I going to go sit in the back yard for a bit. You go do what you need to do."

So I did as she suggested. As settled into the workspace I'd created in her dining room, I contemplated the contradiction between her having a female partner and her flirtation with me just a minute before. Hmmm.

Over the next several days Chris recovered quickly. Her body was in such good shape that as soon as she turned the corner, her natural conditioning kicked in and before long, she was up in the morning fixing her own breakfast, or even taking short walks down the driveway and back. I did notice, though, that her stamina was still low, if improving.

By day seven she was clearly able to take care of herself, so over lunch one day I broached the subject of leaving her on her own.

"Do you want to go?" she asked, looking disappointed.

"Well, no, not really," I said, meaning it. "I just figured you'd want to have your life back."

She put out her hand and laid it on my arm where it lay on the dining room table. "I'd like you to stay a little longer if you don't mind. I kind of like having you around. I've been here all by myself for too long and it's nice to have company. If you can stand to stick around a couple more days, I'd appreciate it."

"Sure," I said. Truthfully, I was enjoying being there too. I was getting a fair amount of writing done, and Chris was good company. We'd fallen into an easy routine around meals, exercise, and chats on the back porch.

"Plus," she said. "I'd like to fix you a thank you dinner before you go. I think I'll be up to that in a day or two."

"Deal," I said. She smiled then and so did I.

Two days later, she announced at lunch that we'd be having a celebratory dinner that evening—to celebrate her "full recovery." This was a bit of an exaggeration, but she was almost fully recovered now, although she was still taking naps in the afternoons.

That evening as I sat out on the screen porch watching the sun drift lower in the sky, Chris busied herself in the kitchen. It smelled very good. She'd brought me a novel and a beer, so I was content. When dinner arrived, it looked and tasted as good as it smelled. Chris, it turned out, was an excellent cook—far better than I am and I like to think I'm pretty damned good. She stuck to water, but I had two more beers with the chicken, orzo and veggies she'd prepared. By the time we were both done, I was feeling pleasantly buzzed.

When the time came to clear away our plates, she stood and carried off hers and mine, then in a few minutes, I heard a low humming sound from the back yard. It sounded kind of like a generator, and I hadn't heard it before. I was just about to get up to investigate, when Chris appeared in the back yard with two towels in her hands.

"Come on Mark," she said, beckoning me out into the yard.

I followed where she led, trying not to weave, and found myself face to face with her hot tub. I'd seen it, of course, in my nosing around the place, but hadn't messed with it. Now it was on and bubbling away happily.

"I, uh, didn't bring a suit," I said.

"Screw that," she laughed. "You've already seen me in the buff, so strip down and we'll be even."

At that, she began peeling off her clothes, so what could I do? Stand there and look like a dork? Not likely. I began shucking my shorts as gracefully as I could, while trying not to stare at that body I'd already seen several times. She beat me into the tub, so I had to climb in with her staring directly at me. She tossed me a water bottle, and said, "Welcome to paradise."

"Thanks," I said. "I'm jealous, you know. I've always wanted a hot tub, but could never afford one. And now that I can, it seems too decadent for just me."

She was sitting in a way that kept her nipples just at the water line. As the waves of the tub roiled around them, they would appear and disappear beneath the waves and the sight was driving me nuts. I tried not to peek at them, but was having a hard time resisting. And what I was seeing was causing me to have a hard time in other ways.