Dating-ish (Knitting in the City #6)(76)

I'd never been very good at witnessing the suffering of others without wanting to do something about it.



I changed Roger's bed, asking Matt to drop the old sheets, plus a pile of dirty clothes, at a laundry down the block. As well, after convincing him that Roger was not a threat to me, especially not in his current weakened condition, I was able to talk Matt into grabbing some supplies while he was out: aloe tissues, chicken soup, chicken broth, bread, applesauce, bananas, medicine, and mint tea.

Roger dozed on the couch fitfully, shivering, and I cleaned, starting with the kitchen then moving on to the rest of the studio apartment, the size of which made my place in Chicago seem palatial in comparison.

Matt returned with the items and we woke Roger to drink the tea and take some medicine for his fever. Half an hour later, Matt helped the man to the bathroom so he could take a tepid bath. Another half hour later, Roger was sitting up on his couch eating chicken soup and looking at us like we'd been sent from God.

"Thank you. I just-" his voice caught, "-thank you so much."

"You're welcome," Matt replied warmly from where he sat on the carpet. His back rested against the wall, his legs were crossed at the ankle and stretched out before him.



       
         
       
        

"I didn't get the flu shot this year, and I know better. In my line of work, I'm in constant close contact with so many people from all over the city." Roger stopped to cough, covering his mouth with a tissue, then cleared his throat before finishing his thought. "But I was busy and kept forgetting."

"It's easy to have tunnel vision when you live alone," Matt agreed. "Don't you think so, Marie?"

"Hmm?" I was only half listening to their conversation, still moving around the apartment, making sure all the surfaces had been disinfected.

"Marie. Sit down, take a break," Matt said, patting the carpet next to him. "You've already been over everything three times."

"I just want to be sure." I ran the disinfecting wipe over a light switch I was sure I'd missed earlier, catching Matt's pointed look, then glancing at Roger who was watching me with interest.

"Your guy is right, Florence Nightingale." Roger gave me a tired smile. "Take a load off."

Reluctantly, I relented, tossing the wipe in the garbage. Roger watched me as I settled, and I could feel his hazy gaze study us as I sat next to Matt on the carpet. Matt rubbed my back with light circles, his hands moving to my neck and massaging gently along my neck.

"We won't stay long," I assured the sick man. "And you should go to sleep as soon as we leave. Thanks to Matt, you're stocked in chicken soup and essentials for the next three days."

"Thank you, Matt." Roger managed a small grin. I imagined, if the man weren't so ill, the grin would have looked flirtatious.

I peeked at Matt to see if he'd registered what I had. If he did, it didn't seem to bother him.

"You're welcome, Roger," Matt responded easily.

Meanwhile, I still felt uneasy about leaving Roger alone. "Is there anyone at all you can call? Just to check on you and make sure you're okay?"

"Splitting from my partner has made things . . . strained with our mutual friend group." Roger sighed, causing a small coughing fit, and shrugged. "I do have one client I can ask."

"What's his name? Can we call him?" I pushed.

"Her name is Zara." Roger turned his head slowly from side to side, as though searching for something. "Uh, I can call. My phone is around here somewhere."

"I saw it. I disinfected it. It's next to your computer, charging." I stood and crossed to his small desk, finding and then handing him the phone, reclaiming my spot next to Matt.

"You know, I'll ask her if she'd mind talking to you while you're here. I just feel so badly about you traveling all this way and finding me in this state." 

"Stop apologizing, you have no control over being sick," I said, hoping to assure him.

"That's a good idea, though. You could talk to his client, then you wouldn't have to actually do a session," Matt said in a quiet voice, not quite a whisper, but low enough that only I would hear.

Setting my jaw, I shook my head. "You are relentless."

"So are you." He nudged my shoulder with his, giving me a small, hopeful smile. "Why do you need to do this? Consider a different way."

"I don't really have a choice, do I?" I snapped, careful to keep my voice low so as not to stress Roger out.

Annoyance spurred me to stand, picking up Roger's finished bowl of soup and moving to the sink to clean it. I felt Matt's gaze on my back, but I ignored it, and him. His persistence served only to irritate me.