I make it to the bathroom just in time, heaving into the sink.Nothing comes up but bile, yellow and bitter like the taste in my mouth.The fluorescent lights overhead buzz angrily, drilling into my skull.When I look up at my reflection, a stranger stares back: hollow-cheeked, eyes bloodshot, skin pale almost yellowish in the harsh lighting except for two bright spots of color high on my cheekbones.This isn't just some twenty four hour bug.Pneumonia maybe?
I splash water on my face, rinse my mouth, and fumble for my phone.Mom's at work, but I should call her.My fingers hover over her contact, but I hesitate.She'll worry herself sick, and fuss about me seeing a doctor.I’m sure a good night's sleep will do the trick, I never stay sick long.A doctor would be a waste.What is it they always say, rest and fluids so that's what I’ll do.
I pull out my phone and hit call on what I hope is Caleb’s office number.“St.Mary's Father Nichols speaking,” Caleb answers in a detached tone.
“Caleb, I'm going home early.I don't feel good,” I mumble.
“Cole?Did you already leave?I can give you a ride.”He sounds genuinely concerned, as I expected he would, which is why I decided to call him instead of going straight to his office.
“No, I'm fine already home.”I lie through gritted teeth as another wave of pain hits me.
“Are you sure, Angel?I'm worried,” he says with a hint of hesitation in his voice.
“Don't be such a Mother hen.”I slur, attempting a weak chuckle.
“Are you drunk?”Caleb asks with concern lacing his words.
“N-no, I'm just sick.I'll see you tomorrow.Bye.”I hang up before he gets the chance to fuss anymore.
Thirty-Eight
Caleb
I
’m worried about Cole.His normally bright animated green eyes were dull, bloodshot and glassy yesterday.His words slurred as if he was drunk but I know illness when I see it.The crimson on his cheeks wasn't a blush it was a fever.I felt it as soon as my palm hit his forehead.But Cole is stubborn and changing his mind is as easy as telling a tornado to take a nap.
I check my phone while sitting at my desk, no calls or texts so hopefully he is feeling better today.The clock on my wall ticks relentlessly as I try to focus on drafting Sunday's sermon.My thoughts keep drifting to Cole.Something about his condition yesterday wasn't right.That yellow tinge to his skin, the way he could barely stand straight, it’s more than a simple flu.
I set my pen down and rub my temples.Perhaps I should check on him.As his employer, it would be perfectly reasonable.As his...whatever we are now, it feels necessary.I look outside to verify his truck is in the parking lot, it is so I go searching for him.I find him hunched over the prep table in the kitchen with sunglasses hiding his eyes.
"Cole?"I approach cautiously, noticing the tremor in his hands as he grips the edge of the table."How are you feeling today?"
He doesn't look up immediately.When he does, the sunglasses can't hide the pallor beneath that concerning yellowish tint to his skin."Better," he says, but his voice is sandpaper-rough.
I step closer, close enough to smell the mint of mouthwash, too strong, like he's recently used it."May I?"I gesture toward the sunglasses.
He hesitates, then gives a small nod.I gently remove them, and my heart sinks.His eyes are worse than yesterday—the whites now distinctly yellow, the green irises I love, dulled to a muddy olive.
"Cole, this isn't a cold or flu.You need to see a doctor."I keep my voice gentle.
“I’m fine!”He snaps snatching the sunglasses from my hands, refusing to meet my gaze.“Just leave me alone, okay?”
The harshness in his voice startles me.This isn't my Cole, the sweet, sassy young man whose smile lights up every corner of this old church.This is pain speaking, illness warping his gentle nature.
"I can't do that," I say softly, maintaining my distance but refusing to retreat."Not when you're clearly unwell.I’ll drive you to the Doc’s myself."I offer, reaching for his elbow.He jerks away violently, stumbling back against the counter.
"Don't touch me!"The sunglasses slip down his nose, and I catch a glimpse of fear in those yellowed eyes before he pushes them back up."I don't need your help, and I sure as hell don't need you telling me what to do."
His words cut deeper than he knows.I take a step back, giving him space while trying to process this uncharacteristic outburst.Cole has never spoken to me this way, not even when we disagreed.
"I'm sorry," I say quietly."I didn't mean to overstep."
Cole's shoulders slump slightly, and for a moment, I see regret flicker across his face.Then he winces, one hand moving to press against his side.
"Just...I need to finish this work," he mumbles, turning away.
I watch him shuffle toward the supply closet, his normally confident stride reduced to careful, measured steps.Every instinct tells me to go after him, to insist he see a doctor, but I know pushing him now will only drive him further away.Instead, I retreat to my office, heart heavy with worry.
