Dark Night

Strep

"Ok, punkin," he said agreeably and sat with me until I finished my breakfast. He'd thoughtfully given me just a small bowl of oatmeal with a lot of apples. The doctor had warned me, and this was underlined in the pamphlet that had accompanied the antibiotics, that it might make me nauseated but that I should try to take it unless the discomfort was too much or I started throwing up because it was the best shot for knocking out both infections. I was determined to power through, but just in case, I didn't want a full stomach. "I've got my appointment in a half hour, so I'm going to take off now, but I'll be back and make some soup. Anything I can get you at the store?"

"Oranges," I requested. I was just craving a bright juicy orange.

"Not OJ?"

I shook my head. "You get more nutrition from the whole fruit." He looked at me steadily and I shrugged. "Usually I'm good at looking after myself and the internet has a lot of good information from reputable sources. If I hadn't been so upset, I would have remembered to eat even if I wasn't hungry and I wouldn't have had that cascade failure yesterday. I could have just made a doctor's appointment when I started to feel bad after school. No fuss." Grandpa just shook his head. I grinned. "And the smell of the orange oil in the peel is part of the fun." If I could smell it.

After he left, I took a shower, taking my time, using one of those pungent shower tablets. I felt better afterward and made a blanket nest on my bed to combat the occasional chills I got as I continued my reading, working ahead a little, drinking a lot of water. I took my medication on time and once my hair was dry, took a little nap, waking up when Grandpa came back. I put on my robe and ambled out.

He was opening a brown paper bag and smiled at me. "Right by the realtor's office is a soup and salad shop, homemade, so I got you the special of the day, egg drop soup." I brightened and he transferred the soup to a bowl before bringing it over. It looked good, with more veggies than you usually get. What I could taste was really nice, and I suspected it was better than I was currently able to appreciate. He had a roast pork sandwich that also looked really good.

"So how did it go with the realtor?" I asked once he'd gotten a few bites.

"Really good," he beamed. "The housing market here is really tight, but there was more of a selection than I anticipated, and I found one that I really like. It's a little rough, needs some TLC, and the kitchen is pretty woeful, but the problems seem to be cosmetic rather than structural. It's got a nice bit of yard, fenced in, enough to putter around in but not so big that lawn maintenance will be a big focus in my life. It's Art Deco, which looks nice and clean, all one level except for a loft where the roof pops up. I submitted an offer, so I'm hopeful I'll hear back today. I have another choice that would also be nice, in case this falls through, but I'd really prefer this one."

"That sounds nice," I said. "Where is it?"

"On a map, it would make a roughly equilateral triangle with this place and your high school," he said, and we grinned at each other.

"Better and better," I said. "So it's by the library." He laughed.

"Two streets over, so I can walk back and forth. That's a nice library, and they have good programming for the community."

"They do," I said. We pages often helped arrange the meeting room for different events. I finished a large glass of water and headed back to my room. Grandpa was going to make more soup for dinner. I felt like my back teeth were floating from all the water I was drinking, but on the bright side, it seemed to make it easier to blow my nose and my sinuses were a little less uncomfortable.

It didn't take long to do the reading for the textbooks I had brought home, and even the pre-calc problem set wasn't too challenging. Don't tell me that miracles don't happen. Grandpa came in when I started to get restless and smiled when I complained. "Lucky I got this while I was out, then," he said, and gave me an Amazon card that I could use for Kindle books. I exclaimed with pleasure. There was a new Lady Sherlock book out by Sherry Thomas that I wanted. I loved the series so far, even though I didn't usually like Sherlock Holmes. Aside from Benedict Cumberbatch, of course. My friend Maya had Aspergers, and she said she really related to Charlotte Holmes in the stories. I just admired her cleverness and the way the books subverted canon.

I had dinner with Mom and Grandpa again, which was so weird, two nights in a row, then I went back to my room and listened to some music as I read until I could take my medicine again, then I went to sleep. I didn't hear anything interesting from Mom and Grandpa and I didn't hear the other family members come in. Mom said that Dad had given notice at his second job that he'd be reducing his hours by half but it would take a couple of weeks for the scheduling to reflect that. And then the other was doing his skating thing. National championship was coming up, some other competition, and then Worlds the month after.

I woke up again in the wee hours, couldn't get back to sleep, and finished my book. My temperature had come down slightly, to 99, and I felt optimistic although my sinuses and throat still hurt. I drank more water, and finally went back to sleep around three. All this rest was playing hell with my sleeping pattern.

The next day my fever was still stubbornly hanging in there. Grandpa had the good news that his offer had been accepted, so they were going to get an inspector in before he left again, just in case something awful popped up. We talked about nothing really important and played board games, and I kept my naps to a brief one in the afternoon. The realtor was some kind of a miracle worker, because she got an inspector for the next day, and she personally vouched that he was one of the best in Northern California. I told Grandpa that he didn't need to spend so much time with me, I was almost better, and besides, I didn't need constant supervision.

"Trying to get rid of me already?" he asked, amused.

"Ha ha," I said. "The sooner you get the house stuff done the sooner you can move down."

"There is that," he said, and the next day he showed up with breakfast, made some vanilla pudding for later, and said he anticipate being back for lunch, but if he wasn't that I should go ahead and eat, that he'd made his famous mac and cheese that could be reheated. I was kind of relieved when he left, because the honeymoon was almost over and the day of reckoning was approaching. I was going to have to start dealing with my family now that I was feeling better. I wasn't kidding when I said I was angry with them; every time I thought about them in more than passing, I felt a slow burn in my gut. I needed to think of how I wanted to address the situation; I could think of a few ways. The first approach, the one I knew my grandpa would prefer, is that we all honestly and openly work through the problems that existed in the family, but that would require all of us to be committed, and I wasn't sure that was going to happen, particularly with me and the skater. Second way was that I do the minimum I had to and count the days until I went away to college. The operative word there was 'away'. Personally, I was leaning toward the second option. I wasn't sure it was possible to overcome being marginalized for two thirds of my life before I graduated from high school, and then I'd get to be on my own, building my own life. But it probably wasn't good to get a firm plan into place. I'd need to respond to the others, and I didn't know what they had to say for themselves.