Cruel World(10)

“How about having a doctor come here?”

Teresa lowered her voice. “I was thinking the same thing. If the fever hasn’t broken or is worse by this afternoon, we’ll call the clinic and either have an ambulance come get him or we’ll call his old physician in Portland.”

Quinn had to smile. “Doctor Kain? Dad hates him.”

“I know, but he’s the only physician I know of that makes house calls.”

Several bangs came from the kitchen below followed by a curse in Norwegian from Graham that never failed to make him smile.

“Graham’s making pancakes. Go get something to eat, and I’ll check on him before I come down.”

“Okay.” Quinn turned to move down the stairs and stopped. “I’m not leaving today.”

Teresa nodded, placing a hand on his cheek. The thought of anyone else touching his face nearly made him flinch, but Teresa’s fingers were soft reminders of the days when she used to pull him back from the brink of depression after seeing his reflection too often.

“Go eat and make sure you save some for me; you know how much Foster can put away.”

The smell of frying batter and fresh blueberries wafted from the kitchen and his stomach murmured, but he stopped short of the dining room, pausing in the entry to the living room.

Mallory stood with a pink and blue feather duster in one hand and the remote to the muted plasma TV in the other. Her back was to him, and she didn’t seem to notice when he approached and stopped beside her.

The television was tuned to CNN, a petite, blond reporter spoke into a microphone. Behind her a busy hospital bustled with activity. Nurses and patients roamed across the screen, which abruptly changed to a middle-aged man’s worried face who spoke with exaggerated head movements, jerking with each word as if speaking was a titanic effort. Across the bottom of the screen a banner with red letters announced Outbreak of flu strain reported in four states.

“Can you turn that up?” Quinn asked. Mallory looked at him, her eyes glassy from staring at the screen. She hit a button on the remote and the room became flooded with the reporter’s voice.

Doctor Douglas White, the head of staff here at Northern Madison Clinic, said as of yet the strain hasn’t been identified. H1N1 has been ruled out as the virus responsible, but he stated that so far a new strain of flu is likely the cause. Over forty people have been admitted here in the last twenty-four hours, and sources report that more than a hundred are being treated throughout Minneapolis and Saint Paul. So far the symptoms include headache, nausea, vomiting, high fever, and upper respiratory congestion. The CDC has stated that so far this is not a pandemic by any means but urged the public to be as cautious as possible when in contact with someone who exhibits symptoms. In any case, we will continue to provide updates as they become available. Angela Singer reporting for CNN.

Mallory clicked the power button and the screen went dark, giving way to a shadowed reflection of the room and the two of them standing side by side. Quinn dropped his eyes to the floor.

“Do you think that is what Mr. Kelly has?” Mallory asked.

“Maybe. It sounds like the same symptoms, but I guess we won’t know for a while. Teresa said if he got worse, Graham or Foster would bring him to the hospital.”

Mallory twirled the feather duster around in little circles, spinning it until it was a blur of pink and blue.

“I mean, it’s not the bad one. H1N1 is the worst as far as I know, right?” Quinn continued.

The housekeeper blinked and seemed to return from wherever she’d gone. She regarded him and then gave him a small smile.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine, cari?o. Don’t worry; we’ll take good care of him. I’ll have Graham make his turkey soup for lunch. That should knock the sickness right out of him.”

Mallory patted his arm once and then went in the direction of the kitchen where Graham cursed again, quieter this time. Quinn stood by himself in the living room for a moment, his eyes coming to rest on his distorted reflection before going to find the food he was no longer hungry for.

~

The remainder of the day slipped from the clock like water from a punctured bottle. Each time Quinn looked at it, another hour had passed. He’d gone for a run after breakfast, unable to stomach the sweet perfume of pancakes that the others huddled around in the dining room, the spring air whisking away a layer of dread as he jogged into it.

He’d run down the long winding drive, its blacktop clear of snow and ice now, the vestiges of winter melting in shaded alcoves beneath heavy pines. He passed Graham’s, Mallory’s, and Foster’s modest homes, each cut into a private yard that branched from the main drive. Their lawns weren’t yet green, but soon Foster’s plow truck would be stored away for the summer in exchange for the zero-turn lawnmower that never seemed to stop running in the warm season.