Sam sighed. “Okay, I’ll call. But it’s only to check that he’s okay, not because I’m fishing for a date or anything like that.”
“Of course not, dear. I totally believe you.” Meg’s wide grin said she’d formed her own conclusions.
Well, whatever Meg thought, that was her problem. She’d call but definitely not from here. Her stepmom knew too much already.
And that was how Sam ended up making the call from her cell phone that afternoon while sitting in her car in the local park in the shade of a copse of trees. As the gentle breeze blew through the car window she dialed Jake's number.
“Hello.” It was more of a moan than a greeting.
Sam frowned. “Jake? Is that you?”
Another moan then a hoarse whisper. “Not so loud. Please.”
Sam’s heart lurched. “What’s the matter?” Luckily she remembered to whisper her urgent question. “You sound terrible.”
“Migraine,” he whispered then groaned. “Since yesterday.”
“Oh, my God.” Sam felt her heart flutter. Jake was in pain and he was all alone. “I’m coming over. Just leave the front door open for me.”
“Okay,” he said with a sigh then hung up.
At the speed at which Sam drove that morning she got to Jake’s house in under fifteen minutes. She didn’t bother to ring the doorbell but just turned the knob. Good. He’d left it open like she’d asked. She left her boots at the front door and climbed the stairs to the master bedroom. The door was ajar. “Jake?” she said softly, understanding how sensitive he would be to loud noises. She pushed the door open wider and stuck her head in. The curtains were drawn and all she could see in the dimly lit room was a blanket-covered mound in the middle of the king-size bed.
“Jake,” she whispered again as she padded over to the bed. He didn’t even budge.
Gingerly, Sam sat on the bed beside him and rested a gentle hand on what must have been his shoulder. This time she said nothing but stroked slightly so he would know she was there.
Only then did he stir. He gave a groan from deep under the covers and slowly pulled the blanket from over his head. He struggled to open his eyes and then he was squinting up at her. She gasped. Jake’s eyes were bloodshot and puffy, his forehead wrinkled in pain, and he looked like he hadn’t shaved in days.
“Oh, Jake,” she whispered, her heart weeping at the sight, “you poor thing.” She rested her palm on his forehead and he sighed and closed his eyes.
What did it matter that she was little more than a stranger to him? What did it matter that he’d been running away from her since the day they’d met? Right now he needed her and she was going to be there for him – whether he liked it or not.
“Just relax,” she said softly. “I’m here now. You’re going to be alright.”
He didn’t answer but just lay there with his eyes closed, his breathing shallow, perspiration beading his upper lip.
Sam slid off the bed and headed for the bathroom where she grabbed a face towel off the rack and held it under the faucet. She wrung out most of the water then headed back to the bed where she folded the towel into a narrow strip and laid it over Jake’s forehead and eyes.
“Aah.” He let out a long sigh of relief and she could see his body relax back into the pillow.
Gently, she pulled the blanket out of his grip and drew it down to his waist. His cotton T-shirt was soaked with perspiration. She looked around. He needed to change. There was no way he could be comfortable in that.
She walked over to his chest of drawers and, after a moment of hesitation, she pulled the top one open. She was loathe to invade his privacy but under the circumstances she had little choice. In the top drawer she found boxer shorts and in the middle drawer, T-shirts. She grabbed one of each and dropped them on the bed then hurried to the bathroom where she soaked a couple of washcloths in tepid water then went back to him.
“Jake,” she whispered, “I’m going to give you a quick sponge bath and change you. You’re soaking wet."
“Okay,” he whispered then licked his lips. He was probably parched. She’d deal with that in a minute.
Slowly, she lifted the towel from his eyes and as he blinked she paused to give him a few seconds to clear his sight. Then, just as she’d been taught when she’d done that first aid course as a teenager, she slid her arm under his back and raised him up, bending her knees for maximum support.
Quickly, she stripped off the damp T-shirt then made quick work of sponging his chest and his back with the washcloth. She had little time to admire his firm, muscled torso. She needed to dress him quickly. His body was so warm that the moisture from the washcloths dried instantly so she slid the fresh T-shirt over his head without delay.
“This part of the bed is damp,” she told him. “Slide over to the other side.”
Tentatively, he shifted his body over then lay back onto the pillow. He closed his eyes again.
Sam grabbed the towel and rags and ran back to the bathroom where she soaked them again. Knowing how soothing a cool towel could be, she folded it and again covered the upper portion of his face. She was rewarded with his grateful sigh.
She stepped back and looked down at him, strong and confident Jake, now so weak and vulnerable. Sickness was a great leveler, bringing down even the mightiest warrior. She just hoped his relief would come soon. She hated to see him suffer.
Sam leaned over and pulled the cover over his belly then whispered, “Did you want me to get you some painkillers?”
He swallowed then spoke. “Took some already. No help. But what you did…is making me feel better.”
Sam smiled even though he couldn’t see her, happy that she’d been able to bring him some relief.
She was surprised when he slid his hand from under the covers and lifted it in the air. She reached out and took it, and he clasped her hand tight. “Thanks for coming,” he said, his voice stronger this time. “I appreciate it.”