Listed: Volume II (8 page)

After
a minute, he murmured, “Emily, half the men in the restaurant were jealous of
me this evening.”

“What?”
She didn’t pull away from him. Just twisted her neck so she could peer up at
his face.

“You
heard me. You may not have noticed, but I definitely did. Men were checking you
out, sizing me up, concluding I must have money because otherwise I’d never be
able to get a woman like you.”

Emily
straightened up, one of her hands fisting in his jacket lapel. “That’s
ridiculous. I appreciate your attempt to boost my ego, but you have to be
somewhat realistic in the exaggeration for it to work.”

He
ignored her light irony and shook his head. “It’s the truth. Everywhere I
looked, some other guy was leering at my wife. Honestly, I found it rather
obnoxious.”

If
it hadn’t been for the faintly aggrieved tone of his last words, she wouldn’t
have believed him, but he seemed to be telling the truth. She gave a little
giggle, just an overflow of too much emotion, and nestled back under Paul’s
arm.

They
were almost to the theater when Paul murmured, without any segue, “Not even
once have I wanted to cheat on you.”

A
swell of relief and affection rose in her throat. She knew they weren’t in love
and that the marriage was mostly a sham. She knew, after she died, he would go
back to pursuing the women he really wanted. But she still would have hated for
her husband to be having lecherous thoughts about other women while she was
around.

All
she said was, “Good. Me either.”

*
* *

Paul dropped his light,
charming demeanor like the façade it always was. When they went into the
theater, he didn’t tell her any funny stories or give her any pretty
compliments. He was quiet at first. Then he was annoyed because there was some
sort of mix-up with their tickets and it took a couple of minutes to sort it
out.

Then
he started telling her about the English history leading up to the events of
the play, and he got wrapped up in the explanation with an intensity that made
otherwise boring details absolutely fascinating. Then, during the intermission,
when Emily was feeling tired and kind of achy, he peered at her with concerned
scrutiny and put a hand on her forehead to check her temperature.

All
of it was
Paul
. And Emily liked all of it—the quietness, the grumpiness,
the intensity, the concern—better than when he had been light and charming.

The
play was amazing, and they got back to the hotel very late. Emily had to
conclude, despite the minor emotional upheavals, it had been a very good day.
Plus, they were flying to Egypt tomorrow.

She
was absolutely exhausted, and she was feeling even more achy than before,
probably because they'd done so much today. So she took a couple of Tylenol and
went to bed.

***

Emily was so achy she
could barely force herself out of bed the next morning.

She
sat on the side of the mattress, trying to catch her breath and assess her
condition. Her whole body hurt, and she felt hot and clammy at the same time.
She drank several gulps of water from the bottle at her bedside. After a
minute, she convinced herself that she was just tired and sore from the long
day of shopping and sightseeing yesterday.

Today
she was going to Egypt. She only had a very small window of time to do
everything on her list, and she wasn’t going to miss one of the things she was
most excited about.

So
she managed to shower and dress, although she had to sit down for a few minutes
to recover afterwards. Her head was throbbing now, and she had started to
shiver a little, but she was finally able to rouse herself enough to leave her
bedroom and head into the parlor of their suite.

Naturally,
Paul was already up, looking cool and attractive. He was working at the desk on
his laptop and had probably been up for a while.

The
effort it took to get dressed and walk into the parlor had made Emily a little
dizzy, but she gave him as cheerful a good-morning as she could manage.

Paul
looked up and smiled at her in a way she liked—a quiet smile but one that felt
real. “How are you?”

Consecutive
waves of hot and cold prompted a sudden feeling of panic. She forced out,
“Fine,” and walked over to the room service cart where she always got her
coffee.

The
scent of coffee hit her nose and made her feel ill. Heat seemed to pulse out of
the stainless steel carafe. Instead of coffee, she poured herself a glass of
freshly squeezed orange juice with shaking hands and went to sit on a chair by
a window far away from Paul.

She
could feel his eyes on her as she tried to sip her juice.

“Emily?”
Paul prompted after a stretch of silence.

She
made a wordless mumble of response, wishing her body didn’t hurt so much so she
could think more clearly.

Then
Paul—damn him—got out of his chair and walked over to where she sat. He
scrutinized her in his usual way, looking for signs of her dying.

“I’m
fine,” she snapped, her tone far sharper than was warranted. “I’m just tired
after yesterday.”

Paul
didn’t reply with words. He reached out and put a hand on her forehead.

Emily
tried to jerk away, but there was nowhere she could go.

“Damn
it, Emily,” Paul said curtly, putting his hand on her forehead again. “You’re
burning up. Why didn’t you tell me?”

She
tried to glare at him with imposing indignation, but she felt so sick she was
afraid she might cry.

“Come
here,” he murmured, his voice a little husky as he reached down to pull her to
her feet. “You need to get back into bed.”

“I
don’t want to go to bed.” She tried to pull away from him, but she was too weak
and unsteady on her feet. “We have to make our flight.”

“You
can’t go with a fever.” Paul sounded mild now, gentle, but his arm at her back
was strong as he guided her into her bedroom.

She
felt like she was choking on the pain in her body, the oppressive heat, and the
crushing disappointment. Her shoulders shook a few times—quite unwillingly—but
she wasn’t going to let herself cry. As Paul helped her off with her cardigan
and shoes, she mumbled, “Maybe it won’t last very long.”

Paul
unlatched her watch and slid it from her wrist. “Maybe it won’t,” he agreed,
easing her down so she was lying in her unmade bed.

She
peered up at him fuzzily, trying to read the expression on his face. He didn’t look
or sound tender or pitying. Just mild. At least he didn’t look annoyed at her
for trying to act like she wasn’t sick.

“I’ll
be right back,” he said before walking out of her room.

She
was starting to shiver again, so she pulled the covers up until they were
tucked under her chin. She felt absolutely miserable, but at least when she was
lying down she didn’t feel quite so dizzy.

Paul
returned in less than a minute, and he had in his hand a thermometer that took
her temperature by being held against her head for just a few seconds.

“What
is it?” Emily asked, her teeth chattering, when he pulled his arm back and read
the display. She felt kind of like a child and didn’t like that feeling at all,
but she couldn't seem to do anything about it.

“102
⁰
,”
Paul muttered, his eyes shifting from the thermometer to her face. “No wonder
you feel so bad.”

“Maybe
it won’t last long,” she said again. “And we can still fly out later today.”

Paul’s
eyes softened as they rested on her. “I’m sorry, Emily. You can’t go anywhere
today.”

“But—”
she began, before she cut herself off. There was no sense in arguing. Paul had
made it clear that, about her health, he would dig in his heels. She just
didn’t have the energy anyway. She curled up on her side. “I really wanted to
cross it off my list.”

“I
know, but we’ll go in a couple of days when you’re feeling better.”

Her
eyes widened in sudden hope. “We can still go?”

“Of
course. I’ll just reschedule everything.  Now get some rest. I’m going to
call the doctor.”

Emily
released a long sigh and closed her eyes, relieved that everything wasn’t
completely ruined. The darkness throbbed behind her closed eyelids. Her attempt
to cheer herself up by visualizing all she would see in Egypt ended up as a
bizarre, vibrating picture of her and Paul hopping over the Pyramids.

It
wasn’t long before the crazy image shifted into the blackness of sleep.

*
* *

She was jarred awake by
a gentle hand on her shoulder and a soft voice saying, “Emily? Can you wake
up?”

She
groaned as the world closed in around her with hot, achy heaviness.

“I’m
sorry,” Paul said, pushing her hair away from her face. “The doctor’s here.”

She
tried to make herself focus on his familiar face. His gray eyes were soft like
before as he straightened up. Then she shifted her gaze to another man standing
beside her bed. He was middle-aged and balding and smiling at her.

“Hello,”
she managed to croak. Her mouth was painfully dry, and she fumbled for her
water until Paul moved the bottle into her hand.

“Sorry
you’re feeling poorly, Mrs. Marino,” the doctor said, reaching over to take her
temperature with a thermometer similar to Paul’s. “I talked to Dr. Franklin,
and he updated me on your case. This will only take a few minutes, and then
I’ll let you rest again.”

Emily
nodded, deciding that would do for a response, since her throat was aching and
she didn’t feel like talking.

“102.9
⁰
,”
the doctor said, reading the thermometer.

“It’s
gone up almost a whole degree since I called you,” Paul said. He was speaking
softly and to the doctor.

“It
may keep going up.” The doctor smiled pleasantly as he took Emily’s blood
pressure, listened to her chest, and checked her throat. “Everything looks
fine,” he told her. “You’re going to feel sick for a while, but it’s early yet
and it shouldn’t last very long.”

She
nodded mutely again, her teeth starting to chatter as her body shifted suddenly
from hot to cold. Her neck hurt, her thighs hurt, her fingers hurt, her eyes
hurt. She heard herself making a helpless sound through her shivering.

“Find
her another blanket,” the doctor said. He’d turned his back to her now and was
talking to Paul. “Don’t let her shiver like that—it increases the core body
temperature and could raise her fever.”

Since
her part of the ordeal seemed to be over, Emily closed her eyes and huddled
under the covers. Someone walked over and put another blanket over her—it
smelled like Paul but it would hurt too much to open her eyes, so she didn’t
actually see him drape it over her. The extra blanket helped. She stopped
shivering almost immediately.

A
minute later, she heard voices again. They were farther away now. Outside her
room. She could hear them, though.

“Keep
checking her temperature regularly,” the doctor said, “Every half hour. If it
gets above 105
⁰
, give me a call and we’ll decide
if we need to take her to the hospital. But, if she follows the same course as
her aunt, then I don’t think the fever will spike that high this time.”

“What
can I do for her?” That voice was obviously Paul’s.

“Stagger
the dosages of acetaminophen and ibuprofen, so she can take something as often
as possible. Try to keep her comfortable—with cool rags or maybe a tepid bath.
Don’t let her shiver. Keep her hydrated. She can eat if she wants to, but don’t
make her.”

“Okay.”

“I
know you’re worried about your wife, Mr. Marino, but I don’t think this fever
should last very long. The early ones her aunt had didn't. Give me a call if you
have any questions today, and I’ll check in with you tomorrow regardless.”

The
voice disappeared then. Emily was curled in a tight ball and thought she was
still listening. She couldn’t quite figure out what happened to the disembodied
voices.

She
was concentrating so hard on listening that she jumped when Paul’s voice
sounded from just above her. “Emily?”

She
opened one eye and glared at him malevolently out of it.

“I’m
sorry. Can you sit up and take these pills? Then you can go to sleep, and no
one will bother you.”

Paul
didn’t really give her a choice, since he pulled her up gently into a sitting
position and put what looked like Advil pills in her hand. She swallowed them
obediently with the water he handed her, although they hurt as they went down her
throat.

“I’m
going to sleep now,” she told him, rather raspily but with what she thought was
appropriate authority.

“An
excellent plan.” He walked over and pulled the room-darkening curtains closed,
and it didn’t seem so terrible to keep her eyes open.