Intent on rounding up some sick-room things like a
thermometer and aspirin, she headed down the hall and into
the bathroom. The cabinet behind the bathroom mirror
yielded up a thermometer and several bottles, most of them
with labels yellowed with age. Meredith surveyed them, her
brow furrowed with uncertainty. Illness, other than an
occasional bout of menstrual cramps or a rare headache,
was practically unknown to her, she’d had two colds in her
entire life, and the last time she’d had the flu she was
twelve years old!
What did one do for someone with the flu and
bronchitis, she wondered. The flu was rampant among
employees at the store, and Meredith recalled, and nausea
and aching muscles. Bronchitis was something else again –
that caused congestion and coughing.
Reaching up, Meredith took out a bottle of aspirin and
the thermometer, which ere the only things she was
actually familiar with, then she selected a bottle with an
oily orange label: merthiolate. The label said it was for
cuts, so she put it back and picked up a tube of stuff
that said it was for muscular aches. She opened it,
squeezed a little onto her finger, and the smell of it
made her eyes water.
In stupefaction she scanned the shelves. The problem,
she realized, was that the contents of the medicine
cabinet were so old and outdated that the brand names
meant nothing to her.
A large brown bottle said “Smith’s Caster Oil”, and her
shoulders start to rock with laughter. It would serve him
right, she decided, it really would. She had no idea what
castor oil was supposed to cure, but she knew it was
purported to taste utterly vile. So, she added that to the
things in the crook of her arm. Intending to put it on his
tray as a joke. It dawned on her that she was in
remarkably high spirits for someone who was marooned on a
farm with a sick man who hated her, but she attributed
that to the fact that she was going to be able to put an
end to that hatred. That, and the fact that she very much
wanted to help him feel better. She owed him that much
after everything she’d inadvertently put him through in
the past. Added to all that, there was a youthful
nostalgia associated with being there that made her feel
eighteen again.
She spotted a short blue jar and recognized its label;
it was supposed to relieve the symptoms of congestion, and
it didn’t smell a whole lot better than the stuff in the
tube, but it might help make him more comfortable. She
added it to what she had and looked it all over. The
aspirin would help his headache, she knew, but it might
also upset his stomach. She needed an alternative. “Ice,”
she said aloud. An ice bag would definitely help his
headache.
She went down to the kitchen with her store of
medicines, opened the freezer, and was relieved to see
that there was plenty of ice. Unfortunately, after
searching through all the cupboards and drawers, she
couldn’t find anything suitable for use as an ice bag. And
then she remembered the red rubber bag she’d seen in the
cabinet beneath the bathroom sink that morning when she
was looking for a towel after her shower. Upstairs, she
bent down and pulled the rubber bag out of the cabinet,
but it had no cap on it. Crouching down, she felt around
for a cap, then she crawled partway into the cabinet to
look for it. She saw it at the back, behind a can of
cleanser, and she pulled it out, only to discover the cap
was attached to a three-foot length of slender red rubber
tubing with a curious metal clamp on it.
Straightening, Meredith surveyed the peculiar
cap-and-tubing arrangement, then she tried to pull the
threaded cap loose from the tube, but the manufacturer
had, for some unknown reason, made the whole thing as one
piece. With no alternative but this one, Meredith checked
the clamp, then she tied a tight knot in the tubing to be
on the safe side, and brought the contraption downstairs
to fill it with ice and water.
Using her shoulder to shove open the door, Meredith
backed slowly into the room, deliberately giving him time
to get under the covers in case he was up but not yet
dressed. Lulled into a false sense of security because
he’d been reasonably pleasant the previous night, she
almost dropped the tray when his infuriated voice erupted
behind her like a steam hissing from a volcano. “What are
you doing here!”
“I brought you a tray,” she explained, turning toward
him and heading around the bed, surprised by his furious
expression. But that expression was nothing compared to
the menace that tightened his face an instant later when
his gaze riveted on the red rubber bag.
“What in the living hell,” he exploded, “do you think
you’re doing to do with that?”
Determined not toe let him ruffle her or intimidate
her, Meredith lifted her chin and calmly replied, “It’s
for your head.”
“Is that supposed to be your idea of a dirty joke?” he
demanded, looking murderous.
Completely disconcerted, Meredith put the tray down on
the bed beside his hip and said soothingly, “I put ice in
it for you –“
“You would,” he bit out, and then he said in an awful
voice, “I’ll five you exactly five seconds to get the hell
out of this room and one minute more to get out of this
house, before I throw you out. “ He leaned forward, and
Meredith realized he intended to shove back the bedcovers
and overturn the tray.
“You weren’t behaving like this last night,” she argued
desperately, and whisked the tray off the blankets before
he dumped it onto the floor. “I didn’t think you’d get
this upset just because I made an ice bag for your head!”
He stopped, his hand arrested on the edge of the
blankets, an indescribable expression of blank, comic
shock on his chiseled features. “You did what?” he uttered
in a choked whisper.
“I just told you. I made up an ice bag for your head –“
Meredith broke off in alarm as he suddenly covered his
face with his hands and fell backward against the pillows,
his shoulders shaking. His body shook from head to foot,
and muffled sounds came from behind his hands. He shook so
violently, his head left the pillows and the bedsprings
squeaked. He shook so hard the Meredith thought he was
having a seizure or choking to death.
“What’s wrong?” she burst out. Her question seemed to
make the bed shake harder and his strangled sounds
increase. “I’m calling an ambulance!” she cried, putting
the tray down and running for the door. “There’s a phone
in my car –“ She was out of the room and starting down the
steps when Matt’s laughter exploded behind her: great,
gusty shouts of laughter; huge, prolonged bursts of
uncontrollable mirth…
Meredith stopped dead, turned, and listened, realizing
that the seizure she’d witness had in actuality been a fit
of wild hilarity.
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