Seven days, ten hours until Halloween
Corinne
My house is dark when I get home, and Jude’s car isn’t in the garage.
What the hell? He’s never out this late.
The first thing I think of, the first thing I always think of, is the worst. What if he’s lying in a ditch somewhere? What if there was an accident? That’s the product of being an ER doctor. I see terrible things all the time. But those things are rare. Those are the exceptions.
The likelihood of something being wrong...it’s slim. I mentally calm myself. Surely nothing is wrong with Jude. He’s fine.
I text him, and there’s still no answer.
I let Artie out, then pet her when she comes back in.
“Where’s Daddy, girl?”
She stares at me blankly, her white muzzle nudging me. I pet her again.
“I’m going to lie down while I wait. I have the plague.”
She stares at me before she lies down by the back door, and I collapse into my bed. Every cell in my body feels sick and the room spins. My forehead is so sweaty, my hands are so clammy. I’m in bed for only a few minutes before I have to lunge to the bathroom and retch my guts up.
“Fuck.” I wipe my mouth and lie on the cool tiles, my cheek pressed to the stone.
The walls spin, and it feels like the worst hangover in the world, and I fall asleep on the bathroom floor. I only know that because the next thing I know, Jude is waking me up.
I know it’s the middle of the night because the bathroom door is open and there’s no light coming in from the bedroom windows.
“Corinne?” Jude is alarmed, and I don’t blame him. It’s not every day you find your wife sprawled on the bathroom floor like a dead person.
“Ju!” I breathe, and I can feel the sick on my breath. “You’re okay.”
“Of course I’m okay,” he confirms. “I’m just running late.”
“I have the flu,” I tell him weakly as I sit up. The room spins. “You should probably sleep in the guest room tonight. I don’t want you to get it.”
“Let’s get you to bed,” he suggests, and he helps me up. His hands are cool against my skin, and I lean into him.
He flinches.
I pause, staring at him.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he insists. “Why?”
He seems detached. But I’m probably crazy. He just doesn’t want to catch the flu. I’m at the edge of death, after all.
He guides me to the edge of the bed.
“Sit,” he instructs. He grabs my nightgown from my dresser and strips off my scrubs. I lift my arms and stand, then obligingly slide my nightgown over my head. As I do, I catch a whiff of something...different. Almost feminine.
I stick my nose back in Jude’s shirt. I smell it again. It’s faint, but it’s there.
“What?” He looks at me, curious.
“You smell like perfume.”
Is it my imagination that he looks terrified?
But then he’s shaking his head, and he’s normal, and he’s calm. “I hugged a client earlier, Co. And also, I’m using a different deodorant.”
Oh. Relief passes through me in a wave. Of course. What the hell is wrong with me? He helps me into bed, and nothing is wrong.
“Thank you,” I murmur as my head hits the cool pillow. Jude pulls the covers up to my chin.
“Do you need anything?”
I shake my head. “No.”
He presses his mouth to my forehead, and his lips are cool. “You don’t have a fever. You’ve probably just worn yourself out finally. I’ll get some ice water and put it on the nightstand. If you need anything else, just shout.”
I nod and close my eyes. But then open them.
“Wait!”
Jude pauses at the door. “Yeah?”
“Why were you running late? I never get home before you.”
He hesitates, and there’s something on his face again, something that niggles at me, and then it’s gone, the same look he had before.
“I had dinner with a colleague. I told you about it last week.”
I don’t remember that at all.
“You did?” I ask groggily.
He nods. “Yeah. You don’t pay attention to me much anymore, Co.”
He’s wounded, and I’m sorry.
I tell him that.
“Just get some sleep.” He turns the light off on his way out, and sleep takes me quickly.
When I wake, the clock says it’s 6:00 a.m.
I sit up, taking note of how I feel.
The room isn’t spinning anymore, which is a good thing.
My stomach, however, is a different story.
I run for the toilet and dry heave.
“Fuck.” God. I lean on the sink for a minute, examining myself in the mirror. I’m paler than normal, and dark circles rim my eyes. Perfect.
I brush my teeth and make my way to the kitchen, expecting to find it empty, but it’s not. Jude is at the table with a cup of coffee and the morning paper.
“Hey,” I greet him, confused. “Why aren’t you jogging?”
Now he looks confused. “Because you’re sick. You never get sick. I was worried, so I’m staying home.”
“Seriously?”
I’m astounded and it must show. He rolls his eyes.
“Corinne, we’re married. I’ll take care of you. In sickness and in health and all that. Sit down.”
He pours me a cup of chamomile tea and makes a piece of dry toast.
“No butter for you,” he tells me as he sets it down in front of me. “It’ll just make your stomach angrier.”
“Not possible,” I groan. Jude rubs at my back, then holds his hand against my cheek.
“Still no fever,” he says. I could’ve told him that, but he’s trying to be nice, so I don’t mention it.
“I think I might be dying,” I say instead. “I hope you have my life insurance paid up.”
He chuckles. “Drama queen.”
“I feel bad that you’re here babysitting me,” I tell him hesitantly. “Although it’s nice to spend time with you.”
“It is nice, isn’t it?” he says easily. He doesn’t point out that we could’ve been doing this all along if I’d just chosen to come home at decent hours.
He’s being so sweet and understanding that it makes my heart twinge a little. This is my Jude. This is the Jude I fell in love with and married.
“Thank you,” I say limply. “I don’t know why you’re being so nice, but who am I to question it?”
He rolls his eyes. “Let’s get you on the couch and we’ll start a movie.”
“I’m not going to argue with that,” I tell him.
I get settled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, and Jude sits by my feet. His hand rests lightly on my calf, and he looks at me.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“Do you even still like me?”
Shock slams into me, and I stare at him wordlessly.
After a minute, I gather myself.
“Do you really feel like I don’t? Have we really been reduced to that?”
Jude looks away. “I don’t know. You just never want to come home to me, Co. What else am I supposed to think?”
His hazel eyes are clear and bright, and my heart breaks a little at the thought that I’ve made him feel this way.
“You are my entire life.” I reach over and take his hand. “This is.”
Something crosses his face, something I don’t quite recognize, but it’s there for only a minute. It’s probably shock. He nods.
And I have to vomit again.
“God,” I groan as I jump up and run for the powder room. I kneel, and as I vomit, I feel Jude’s hands holding my hair out of the way. I motion for him to leave, but he doesn’t. When I’m finished, I sit back and lean against his chest.
“This is how you know it’s love,” I tell him wryly.
He grins. “I’m not gonna lie, though. I’m gonna wash my hands now.”
I giggle in spite of myself, and he helps me back to the couch. “God, the room won’t stop spinning.”
“You’re probably dehydrated, Dr. Cabot.” He looks at me. “Take a drink of Gatorade.”
“I hate Gatorade.”
“Yeah, but you hate being dehydrated even more. That’s probably why you’re dizzy. Come on, take a drink for me.”
I scowl, but he’s right, so I take a sip from the straw. “Thank you for taking care of me.”
He smiles. “It’s in my job description.”
That might be true, but he has never done this before. I have to say, I like it.
“Do I get soup for dinner?” I ask as I snuggle into the cushions. Jude looks at a loss but quickly nods.
“Of course. I’ll just...Google how to make it.”
I giggle again and close my eyes. “It’s not hard. You’ll have to use a can opener, though.”
“I’ll manage.” He’s droll and I laugh, and somehow, even though I feel like death warmed over, I like this. We feel like a unit again, for the first time in a long time.
“This is nice,” I tell him. He agrees, and I’m comfortable next to my husband. I fit exactly right in the crook of his shoulder, and his hand rubs light circles on my back. It lulls me into sleep.
I sleep on and off all day. I wake up when I hear his phone ringing against the coffee table. The vibration is loud, and Jude is nowhere to be seen.
I sit up and rub at my temple, and his phone buzzes again. It’s a number I don’t recognize.
“Hello?” I hold it to my ear. Silence. “Hello?”
The call ends, and Jude walks through the door, staring at me questioningly.
“Wrong number, I guess.” I hand him his phone, and he hands me a bowl of soup in exchange.
“This looks edible,” I tell him.
He’s smug. “It happens to be delicious,” he answers, sliding his phone into his pocket. “I tried it.”
“You’re husband of the year.”
“I am, aren’t I?” he agrees. He’s so cute it’s ridiculous.
I reach over and grab his hand, pulling it to my chest. “Snuggle with me.”
“You should eat,” he says, but he obliges and wraps his arms around me. “Fine. Let’s rest for a bit. Rest is important for you, too.”
“You just want to nap,” I mumble, but I don’t care because he’s warm and we’re comfortable. We must sleep undisturbed for a few hours, because when I wake, it’s evening.
Something woke me, but I don’t know what.
Then it happens again.
Jude’s phone buzzes with a text, then buzzes again and again against my hip. He’s snoring in my ear, but whoever it is seems insistent, so it must be important.
“Jude.” I nudge him sleepily. “Your phone is blowing up. It’s probably your office.”
He snores again.
“Jude.”
His phone buzzes again, and he startles awake.
“It might be an emergency,” I tell him again. “You should get it.”
He nods blearily and gets to his feet, while I close my eyes again. God, it feels good to not be the one handling a crisis for once.
He slips out to handle his emergency, and I slip back to sleep.