Fever Pitch

Becky sighed and took another sip of coffee. The sun was coming up on the first day of summer but she couldn’t bring herself to appreciate it. She’d been up all night with Matt, trying to get his fever to break, which it finally did around five in the morning. He’d fallen asleep thirty minutes later but Becky knew she wouldn’t sleep. The bright, yellow ball climbed higher, turning the dark blue to pink, orange, yellow then the sky blue of a cloudless morning. She looked at her empty cup, shrugged then went to the kitchen to get a refill.

“I suppose I should clean this place up before doing anything else.” She looked at the dishes in the sink then at the piled books and papers in the sitting room. She didn’t even want to think about the mess in the bathroom and bedroom. “Better start in here.” Dumping sugar in her coffee and taking a huge gulp, she scrubbed, dried then put away every dish that had been used throughout the night.

“Right. What’s next?” Becky looked once again at the disorganized collection of library books, folders, and university papers. “Make a loop, I guess.” She marked the books with open pages and stacked them by subject then did the same with the notes and papers. She moved to the sofa to make sure nothing was in the cushions when she heard a groan from the bedroom.

“Shit!” She raced in to see Matt on his side, heaving into the waste basket. “Bloody hell.” The sound was excruciating, forcing her to cover her ears as he continued for a few minutes then rolled to the middle of the bed. Without a word, she picked up the receptacle to empty its contents but looked inside when she felt how light it was. “All dry heave.” She rinsed it in the sink then returned it to her boyfriend’s bedside. “Temperature check?”

He nodded and threw the blankets aside. “Why is it so bloody hot in here? You turn the heat up or something?”

“I turned it off a few days ago.  You’ve had a fever all night, and I piled the blankets on you because I was trying to get you to sweat this out.”

He looked confused briefly. “Oh, right. Damn, my head’s killing me.”

“Dry heaving as much as you did will do that. Open up.” He closed his mouth over the thermometer but started to squirm when she pulled the sheet back up. “You can throw it off if your temp’s low enough.” She smiled when he groaned at his situation. “Men. You’re all babies when you’re sick.” The instrument beeped. “Hmm… 101.3. Not out of the woods yet. The blankets stay.”

“Oy. Come on, babe. I’m losing weight laying here.”

“You can pack it back on when you’re feeling better.” She looked at the nightstand. “You want some more water? Or ice cubes?”

“If I can keep it down.”

“We’ll try the ice cubes.”

“As long as it’s cold. I’m sweating bullets here.”

“So you keep telling me.” Becky went to the kitchen and dropped four ice cubes in a short, plastic cup, grabbed her coffee then returned to the bedroom. “See how you do with one of these.”

Matt slowly sat up with a pillow propped behind him, and popped a small frozen water block. “Damn. Now I’m cold.” He pulled the thick comforter up. “I hate being sick. Where’d I get this from anyway?”

Becky shrugged. “Beats me. Maybe someone at a show was carrying it and you happened to get it. I haven’t heard of anyone else being sick though.” She yawned but shook her head. “Damn, am I tired.”

“Go to sleep then.”

“Too much to do. Think I’ll go get some espresso. How do you feel?”

“A bit better. Stomach seems to be dealing with the ice cube okay so far. I’ll try another in a bit if I’m not passed out again.”

“Maybe you’ll be able to eat later. I’m heading out. Be back soon.”

“Love you,” he called as she waved then headed to the lift. She got to the street level and noticed that there was almost no one out at this early hour, despite it being a weekday.

“Less people to deal with.” She headed towards the city center where Café Bean was stationed and even that place looked almost deserted. “Now that’s odd.” She pushed the door open, the brass bell ringing above her head.

“Morning. Hey!” Terry’s voice rang out through the empty interior. “What’s up, Beck?”

“Nothing in here, apparently.”

“Tell me about it. Place has been dead since six. Weird, and I mean, far out weird. Especially for the first day of summer.”

“Maybe everyone’s sick with what Matt’s got.” Terry looked at her friend, confused. “He’s had a fever since yesterday morning, and it finally broke around five this morning. I’m exhausted and need a pick-me-up.”

“What cha in the mood for?”

“At least four shots, for starters.”

“I’ve got a few new syrup flavors I’ve been experimenting with. You wanna try ‘em?” Angelina asked, anxious to mix something up.

“As long it’s not lavender, I’m sold.”

“One spiced quad shot, coming up!” Ange set to work as Terry rang up the drink at a discounted price, as Tom allowed all his employees to do within reason.

“You’re not feeling sick, are you Terry?”

She shook her head. “Neither is Roger or any of the other band members. Maybe Matt should head to the doctor.”

“If it gets bad enough, I’ll take him. Otherwise, he won’t go. He’d have to be damn near dying first. The Sound have a gig tonight?”

“Nah. They wanted tonight off for something but Roger wouldn’t tell me what. For all I know, there’s a football game they wanna watch.”

“Guys and their sports. Cheers.” Becky picked up her caffeine kick.

“Let me know what you think.” Ange watched as her co-worker’s friend popped the lid and sniffed the concoction before throwing the whole thing back.

“Whoa, hot damn, that’s good! What’d you put in it?”

“Maple Spice, Spiced Brown Sugar, Brown Butter, and Hickory Smoke syrups.”

“Almost feel like I want another but the last thing I want is to be jitter-buggin’ all night. Cheers on the hook-up, Terry, but I should be getting back to Matt. I’ll phone ya later.”

“Later, Beck.” Terry and Ange waved as Becky exited the café and headed back to her flat. When she entered, all was quiet, so she checked on her boyfriend. He was sound asleep and all the ice cubes were gone.

She peeked into the waste basket. “Dry. Good. Maybe he’ll be able to eat something later.” She closed the door quietly and sat on the sofa, glancing at her books stacked on the coffee table. “Suppose I could get some work done for psych 101.” She grabbed a text, a notebook and pen, and began where she’d left off the other day.