My Joe’s been sick, Amy read. Keep him in your prayers. She scrolled through her news feed, her finger moving faster and faster.
We’ve all tested positive.
Been down for a month.
Feeling better, but still have trouble with stairs.
Pray for my David. He’s never been sicker.
“You don’t know that’s what he has.” Matt stood in the doorway. She hadn’t heard him come in.
Amy’s eyes fixed on his silhouette. She turned back to her phone, then down to the blanket-bundle on the bed. “But he has a fever.”
Matt came forward. He placed a hand over the screen, pulled it from her grasp, and set it on the nightstand. He kneeled beside the bed. “I know, but you’ve been reading bad news all day. Maybe longer.”
Amy sighed. Another tear escaped down her cheek.
“Here.” He moved the comforter aside. Pushing her legs out to hang over the side, he rubbed at them; massaged her feet. “Go shower. I can take over.”
She met his gaze. She hadn’t moved from where he shifted her.
“Please, Amy. He’ll be fine for a few minutes.”
She shifted. He stood. She let him help her rise. She did not let him walk with her. “Stay here.” she said, head raised and eyes locked on his. “I don’t want him to be alone for even a second.”
Matt nodded and moved to the bed. He sat in the same spot she’d vacated. Looking up, he saw her watching. “I’ll stay here. I promise.”
Now she nodded. Her shadow followed her down the hall. The bathroom door closed.
He heard the shower water turn on. The bundle of blankets to his side whimpered and a fist emerged. “Shhhhh,” Matt said, stroking his son’s face. He moved his finger to the fist. It held. “Daddy’s here.”
©2022 Chel Owens