“Of course, Mr. Felix,” Crisanto says. He pauses. “I hope you aren’t seasick.”
“Not me. But my friend is ill.”
“May I suggest something that may help?”
“Please.”
“Green apples can calm the symptoms. I will bring you some.”
“That would be wonderful. Thank you.”
He arrives within minutes, carrying a tray of apples and bottles of ginger ale.
“I also brought some ginger lozenges,” he says. “We keep them on hand.”
“Thank you so much.”
“Can I do anything else for you, Mr. Felix?”
“No, thank you. Have a good night.”
I lay out the supplies on the table.
Hope emerges from the bathroom. Her hair is wet and her face is scrubbed clean of makeup. Her bare face is stunning, but without the makeup I can see how pale she’s become.
“I got you some ginger ale and lozenges,” I say. “And this sounds bizarre, but Crisanto said that green apples help.”
“You’re so sweet. Thank you. Although not really sure I want to risk an apple right now.”
“WebMD says lying down is good. Do you want to…” I gesture at my bed. Then I realize that this could be interpreted the wrong way. “I mean, for a rest,” I clarify, “until you feel a little—”
“Puking in your bed is not how I had planned to seduce you,” she says.
My heart jolts.
“You planned to seduce me?”
If she didn’t look so ill, I would take her into my arms.
She smiles wanly. “Eventually.” She holds her hand to her stomach. “Oh God. I need to get back to my room. Can you grab me a laundry bag for my dress? It’s a biohazard.”
I duck into the closet and find her one. She goes to the bathroom to gather her clothes and I get her some slippers, as I doubt she wants to totter down the hallway in a bathrobe and heels.
I hand them to her when she emerges.
“Thank you,” she says. “You’re so thoughtful.”
“Let me walk you back to your room.”
“You don’t have to do that. It’s twenty feet away.”
“I want to. And I’ll carry your medicines, feeble though they may be.”
I gather up the apples and sodas and we walk slowly down the hall. Hope unlocks her room, then pauses at the door.
I lean in and give her a kiss on the cheek. Her brow’s a little sweaty. I get a bad feeling that her respite from vomiting will not last the night.
“Text me if you need anything,” I say.