Chapter Thirteen

Melinda

I was sitting at my desk typing a million miles a minute just trying to get the last of the files turned in on time, well, early, but on time for me. I had finally found a rhythm at work with all of my new responsibilities. My constant work ethic, inability to let things ever get the best of me, and the quality of my cases, had already impressed the higher ups, including Anthony, who would just chuckle every time he would ask for a case file and I already had it ready to hand over. He constantly joked that I was reading his mind, getting things done before they were even asked for. The truth of the matter was, I knew my job, and I could think two steps ahead before it even got there.

I looked down at the last file and grabbed a pen, just needing to finish up the notes for it to be complete, though none of this was due for another week. I shifted slightly in my chair, pushing my shoulders back and cracking my neck. There was a strange and uneasy feeling in my stomach, and I had been trying to ignore it for a while. I stopped for a moment and waited for it to pass. When it didn’t go away, I took a deep breath and continued on, knowing I was just so close to being done.

My knee started to bounce up and down as I finished up the last line. I saved the work on the computer and printed it out, feeling slightly dizzy as my chair moved around to grab the papers from the printer. I put the aside for my secretary to package into a portfolio, something I no longer had to do for myself, then leaned back in my chair and rubbed my stomach.

I looked up at the doorway and cleared my throat, definitely feeling off and not wanting to move. Suddenly, I lurched forward and grabbed my office trashcan, pretty much emptying the contents of my stomach. It was terrible, and I was worried that, with my office door open, someone was going to notice. What the hell was going on? I never got sick, and now that I finally had my own office away from the cubicle germ pit, I suddenly had the stomach flu.

I set the trashcan down and grabbed some tissues from the desk and wiped my mouth. There was sweat pouring down my forehead and I could feel the absence of blood in my cheeks. I closed my eyes and took in a couple of slow deep breaths, trying to steady myself, because at that point the room was spinning a little. I tied the bag in my trashcan, so I could take it out on the way out of the building that day and not leave a terrible surprise for the janitor.

I had been fine earlier, except for maybe a little bit of heartburn that I never really dealt with before, and a tiny bit of dizziness when I first got out of bed. I drank some water and stopped at the store on the way for some Tums, hoping that it would help. By the time I got to work, I was feeling almost completely better, which made this sudden change of events even more confusing.

My mouth tasted terrible, so I grabbed the bag and headed over to the bathroom. I dropped my bag in one of the larger trashcans in the hall and walked into the bathroom, after making sure no one else was in there. Standing in front of the mirror, I realized how pale I was. I also looked as if I had lost a few pounds. I leaned down and splashed water over my face, holding onto the sink and watching the water run down the drain. It wasn’t helping, and almost immediately I felt the nausea rush back over me. I turned and ran into the stall, pulling the door closed behind me and barely making it in time. I sat there for several moments, leaning against the cold wall of the stall, trying to decide whether I was ready to go back yet.

Finally, after about fifteen minutes, I got up and straightened myself out and headed back to my office. When I walked through the door, I paused, realizing that Anthony was standing inside. He was looking straight at me, not with irritation or impatience, but with concern instead.

“You look terrible,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m sorry to say that so bluntly, but you look like the plague has got you.”

“I’ll be honest; I feel like the plague has gotten me,” I said.

“Why don’t you pack up and go home for the day?” he said, tapping the stack of files on my desk. “It looks as if you’re so far ahead in your work that you’ve finished things that don’t even have a deadline yet. I think you’ll be fine heading home and getting better.”

“Normally I would just push through something like this, but I have to admit, it would be really nice to go lie down for a bit,” I said, rubbing my face.

I had worked for Mr. Cartucci for over five years and had never missed a day of work or gone home early for anything. It wasn’t some kind of mission I had; I just was usually able to focus through the uncomfortableness of being ill. But today I felt like five more minutes on my feet just might kill me. He smiled at me kindly.

“You’re fine. Go home and get better.”

I didn’t even hesitate any longer, grabbing my light sweater and my purse and heading down to the curb. There was a car waiting to take me home when I got down there, and I smiled, knowing it was Mr. Cartucci looking out for me.

When I got home, the feeling had returned, and as soon as I walked in the door, I dropped my things on the ground and ran to the bathroom, barely making it in time. When I finally felt capable of walking again, I dragged myself out of the bathroom, carrying the trashcan with me, and lay down on the couch. My body was shivering, and my stomach was seizing, as I pulled the throw over me and put my head on the pillow.

I stared blankly at the television that I hadn’t yet turned on. I felt like my brain needed no more stimulation at that point, so I just took in the silence of the room. I hadn’t been this sick in so many years and even then, I couldn’t remember it ever being that bad.

I knew that it was probably good for me to be sick every once in a while, to keep my immune system healthy and fighting, but this was nuts. I felt dizzy, sick to my stomach, my back ached, and for some reason, my breasts were sore as hell. Whatever was going around, it felt like I had caught three of them. I really hoped this thing ran its course as fast as possible and then got the hell out of Dodge. Me being Dodge in this circumstance.

I had just gotten this promotion, my life was starting to really take a turn for the better, and I was so far ahead at work that sometimes I went in really unsure of what to do to fill my time. Of course, I always ended up crazy busy, but still, it just showed how important it was for me to continue on that path. I had set a precedent that I didn’t want to destroy, especially not for some stomach flu from hell. I was just too busy for this.

I took in a deep breath and snuggled into the couch, drifting off to sleep since I finally felt okay enough to do so. However, only a few minutes later I was jolted awake by the sound of my cellphone ringing off the hook. I reached over and grabbed it, groaning. This was why they made cellphones capable of silent mode; so you could sleep at night, or during the day, if you happen to be dying from the viral plague.

I rolled onto my back on the couch and held the phone up above my face. It was Chastity, obviously calling to see if I had died or something because I hadn’t answered her call on the first ring. Couldn’t a girl have a day to herself? I thought moodily. Maybe I was being a tad bit too emotional about all of this. How was she supposed to know that I would be lying on my couch, being completely overdramatic for no reason at all?

“Hello,” I grumbled.

“Hey there,” she said happily. “Why do you sound like you’ve been run over by a car?”

“I feel like I have,” I said. “I got sick at work and Anthony sent me home for the day.”

“And you didn’t fight him?”

“No, I’m pretty sure I’m dying,” I whined. “I can’t stop puking; my back hurts from heaving; I’m dizzy; and the idea of food make me want to die inside. When he said go home, I figured it was much classier to be puking in the privacy of my own house than the trashcan in my office.”

“Wow,” she said. “I can’t remember the last time I heard you sick like this. Did you call your doctor?”

“No,” I sighed. “I’m sure if I just lie here and don’t move it will run its course. These things tend to disappear within like twenty-four to forty-eight hours on average.”

“Yeah, or nine months,” she laughed.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, nothing. Just saying that your symptoms are pretty similar to what pregnant women get,” she laughed. “Maybe you’re cooking something up in there.”

“That is the least funny thing you could say,” I said in alarm. “I don’t do diapers and baby rattles.”

“I know, I know. I’ve heard it for years, believe me,” she said. “Anyway, let me know how you’re feeling later. If you need anything, just call me. Unless it’s like ice cream and pickles. That’s a job for the boyfriend.”

“Goodbye, Chastity.”

I hung up the phone and held it to my chest, fear suddenly running though me. Yeah, sure, it was a joke, but now that she’d mentioned it, I couldn’t remember the date of my last period, and I usually ran like clockwork. How could I not have realized I’d missed my damn period? I sat up on the couch, clutching my cell.

Holy crap.

No way. No freaking way.