The Homecoming
Page 35

“I’m not sure,” he said. “How invested is the cook?”
“I’m not kissing her,” Seth yelled from the kitchen.
“Good,” she yelled back. “I wouldn’t let you!” And, of course, she coughed.
“Can I listen to your heart and lungs, please?” Scott asked. “Deep breath?”
Seth was bringing the chicken soup into the living room when Scott was putting his stethoscope back into his bag. “You have a nice little rattle in there, but I don’t think we need a chest X-ray. If your throat culture is positive, I’ll bring you some antibiotics. For now it looks like you have everything you need. Have some soup and, Iris, would it kill you to drink more fluids?” He pinched the flesh on the back of her hand. “I know it hurts to swallow, but you have a fever, probably because you got a little dehydrated. That happens when you have a sore throat. Drink about a gallon of orange juice and water, all right? And maybe some tea. Any nausea?”
“Nah. All my troubles are from the chest up.”
“What’s the bucket for?” he asked.
“I filled up a trash can with tissues and didn’t have the energy to empty it and the bucket was right under the sink.”
“Ah. Take a couple of hot soaks or long hot showers—steam is good. If you can stand it, gargle with warm salt water. It will do wonders for your throat. It’s kind of amazing, how it heals. Need anything else from me?”
She shook her head.
“Eat some soup,” Scott said, patting her knee. “I’ll let you know about the throat, but I think it’s just irritated from coughing.”
He got up to leave and Seth walked him to the front door.
“It was nice of you to check on Iris,” Scott said.
“We look out for each other when we can,” Seth said.
“I see that.” Scott smiled. “Lip looks good. Peyton did a good job.”
When Seth went back to the sofa, Iris was balancing the tray holding the soup on her lap, spoon in hand, tears running down her cheeks. “Aw,” he said. “Sore throat?”
She shook her head. “I think the Advil kicked in. It’s not too bad.”
“But you’re crying. Iris, you almost never cry. Like, twice in your life, and both when I’m around...”
“I just feel rotten....”
“But you’re going to eat soup, drink orange juice, smear Bag Balm on your nose, sleep through a bunch of chick flicks and feel better,” he said.
“Uh-huh,” she said, crying through another spoonful of chicken soup.
“I’m going to be in town late tonight,” he said. “Half my staff is out with the flu, which means two guys, leaving only me and Charlie. I’m going to run over to my house, get some clothes and a clean uniform and spend the night next door. I’ll have my phone on all night. I can check on you later and if you need anything...”
She looked at him through her filmy eyes with her Rudolph nose shining. “Why did you come over?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I thought you might be really missing your mom today, being sick and all. My mom drives me crazy, but all the things she does make me feel better. After she leaves, at least.” Then he chuckled. “So I’ll leave.”
“I did. I do,” she said. “I miss my mom. It doesn’t happen a lot but there are times when...” She wiped her eyes with her paper napkin and coughed.
“When what, Iris?”
She took a breath. The tears ran. “When I realize...I have no one.”
He was silenced and motionless for a moment. He had his mom, his brothers, his cranky father and Oscar. There had been times he felt alone, felt he’d let everyone down and had driven them away, but somehow they always reminded him they were still around. When he was literally dying in a Seattle hospital his mother came and sat at his bedside night and day; his dad and brothers had visited even if they didn’t sit vigil like his mom had; his teammates from the Seahawks came; his coach from Thunder Point High was there once. He had family, flawed though they might be.
He patted her knee. “You have me,” he said. “You will always have me, though I realize that’s not much. Stop crying right now or I’ll hug you and risk contamination and then who will you have?”
“You brought me flowers,” she said, dabbing her eyes again.
“Grace said flowers are a hard habit to break. She also said you should drop in when you’re germ-free, or something like that.”
Iris laughed, which sent her coughing again.
“I’m going to go,” Seth said. “You finish your soup and juice and get some rest. I’ll be next door if you need me tonight. I can heat soup, take out trash, whatever. I could check on you?”
She shook her head. “Not tonight, okay? Let me burrow in and kick it.”
“Sounds like a plan. I’ll call tomorrow. Not early.”
* * *
Scott went back to the clinic. It was barely five, but dusk was already upon them and the day had been dark to begin with. The end of the week would bring Halloween and he just hoped it wasn’t cold and rainy—no doubt that would bring another flood of fall colds. He went inside and hung his damp jacket on the coatrack.
“How’s Iris?” Peyton asked.
“Miserable,” he said. “I did a culture but I’m pretty sure she has a bad cold that took up residence in her chest. Like half the town that sat through the last football game in the cold rain.”
“As did you,” she reminded him.
“I have the constitution of an iron man,” he said. “I think we should lay in some of Carrie’s chicken soup, though.”
“Feeling vulnerable?” she asked.
“No, but Iris had some and God, did it smell good!”
“Done,” Peyton said. “I went next door to buy dinner and she’d just started a fresh batch. She gave me some she had in the freezer. So, Scott, how do you feel about spring?”
“Like it can’t get here fast enough,” he said.
She laughed at him. “I agree, but I meant for a wedding. On my family’s farm. First of May everything will be blossoming. The planting will be done. We can call in the family, have it catered by my Basque relatives...”
“May? Can’t we do it earlier than that?” he asked. “How about a Thanksgiving wedding?”