The House

Chapter 45 - Day 5: Grandma's Soup

He finally ends the hug when a tremor runs through my body, reminding me that I'm wearing a T-shirt and that the house is not all that warm with the storm going nuts outside. I hope Craig is somewhere safe and warm. In my own turmoil, I'd not even thought of him and what kind of situations he might be getting himself into. As soon as we have a signal, I'm going to give him a call and beg him to go home.

"Come on, let's get you warm and... shit!" David was about to steer me to the bedroom when the extent of the damage he'd done finally hits him as he gazes around. I follow him to the bannister and inspect the scrapes and gouges in the wooden railing caused by the falling clock. It is not pretty, but nothing that cannot be fixed with some wood filler, sandpaper and varnish.

Leaning over the railing, we can see that the planks of the floor, fortunately, did not give way under the assault, though there are definitely going to be marks there too.

"What's that?" I ask David when we turn away from the bannister, and I trip over a piece of broken shell, accidentally kicking it out of my way, and something falls out of it, thudding on the threadbare carpet.

It is... yup... of course...

"A friggin' key!"

David picks up the key and grabs the shell too. It is the fat body part of the type of shells mermaids use to call to each other... well, they do in the book I recently illustrated for a writer of children's books.

"Is there a letter with this one too?" I ask David, taking the shell when he hands it to me. It was pretty once, many years ago, now it's brittle, and all its colour has faded away.

"Not what I can see. Unless it landed downstairs," he is inspecting the key. It is not giving off any clear clues as to what it is supposed to lock or unlock; it is non-descript, rusted and lacks character, really disappointing after all that drama. He shows it to me and drops it into the pocket of his pants to hang it in the cabinet with all the other keys, when I just shrug, fresh out of ideas as well.

"Come, let's get you settled before your fever starts to build again; I'll go fetch you some soup."

"I need to use the bathroom first."

I feel better when I emerge from the bathroom. I've washed away most of my fever sweat, and I brushed my teeth too. I know I'm going to have soup, but only the first couple of sips will be gross, and I had to get rid of the taste left by the fever I had. I almost feel refreshed. Almost human.

I'm touched to find David patiently waiting for me. He'd gathered the larger pieces of debris together and put them against the wall to dispose of later. There is no longer anything lying around that could cut my sock-covered feet.

I obediently let him lead me to my room and get back into the bed, smiling when he spreads the duvet over me.

"Thank you for taking care of me," I tell him, and he answers my smile with one of his own, bending over to give me a gentle kiss before leaving me alone again.

Lying in bed, I close my eyes and do what has always come naturally to me. I pray for David and for myself and for Craig, my mother, the flood victims and the house and everything and anything that comes to mind, laying it all out there for God to sort out. I am so immersed in this long, long conversation that I'm startled when David enters the room with a tray.

My nose is mostly completely blocked, but the flavours that do make it up my nostrils are filled with the fragrance of well-being, and my mouth is watering. The only thing I've eaten after our bath was some ice cream. David called it my favourite breakfast food and gave me a full bowl of it to cheer me up.

Right now, I'm ravenous despite the fact that I am bone tired and feel like I've been wrestling a pretty big calf. No, I'm not in the habit of wrestling animals, but I have a lot of imagination. As mentioned before, my stomach and appetite operate in a completely different reality from mine.