37

Sickness

The next morning, Vera woke up feeling…strange. There just was no other way to describe it. She just didn't feel the way she usually did when she woke up. She knew she had to get up, but somehow just couldn't bring herself to do so.

I'll just spend a few extra minutes in bed before getting up, thought Vera, her eyelids slowly drooping. She must've fallen asleep because the next thing she knew, she was waking up again to something soft stroking her cheek. It took her a minute to realize it was Lombard's hand.

"Oh, good morning," yawned Vera, slowly sitting up. "Did I sleep in?"

"Yes, you slept in rather late," said Lombard. "It is now around eleven-thirty. I didn't wake you up because I figured you were already exhausted from the move yesterday."

"Well, that was very thoughtful of you, Philip," said Vera. "But for your information, I am perfectly capable of carrying on in spite of however I'm feeling."

She got up out of bed, once again feeling a bit lightheaded, but only for a moment or two. "So, what do we have for breakfast?" she asked.

"We have muffins," said Lombard.

"What kind?"

"Blueberry."

"Oh how splendid!"

"Splendid" was the exact opposite of what Vera was feeling ten minutes later while sitting at the dining room table, staring her muffin in the blueberry eyes taking shape. It wasn't until after she had already sat down with it just five minutes ago that she realized how nauseous she was feeling. Suddenly, she felt like doing the exact opposite of eating. But she told herself she was probably nauseous because she hadn't eaten anything yet and so she had tried to eat as much as she could, but could only bring herself to nibble around the edges.

"You're sure you can eat all that?" asked Lombard. "Because if you can't, I'll eat it."

"I can do it," said Vera weakly. Once again, she slowly picked up the muffin and began to nibble around the edges, but let out a moan as she swallowed them.

"I'm telling you, I really wouldn't mind another muffin," said Lombard.

"Oh, shut up about the muffin already," snapped Vera. "I'm getting a glass of water."

She stood up and began to walk towards the sink in the kitchen...and then stopped. Without warning, the feeling grew stronger. The dreadful feeling of getting off a roller coaster only to be thrust onto an ocean liner during a rough sea storm, the boat roughly being rocked back and forth, up and down, back and forth…

"Vera?" asked Lombard, suddenly concerned. "Are you all right?"

"I—oh no," said Vera, breathing in faster and faster, trying to keep her stomach's contents down. "I—I think I'm going to—"

Vera didn't finish that sentence; her left hand flew up to her mouth and she made a mad dash to the nearest bathroom, where she quickly lifted up the toilet seat lid, got down on her knees, and became violently sick in the toilet, her throat burning, her eyes watering. When she was done, she let out a small moan and flushed the toilet.

"Feeling any better?"

It was only now that Vera realized Lombard was sitting right next to her. "A little bit," she said weakly.

"Well, you go rest," said Lombard. "It's probably just a small bout of the flu."

He put his hand in hers and gently helped her up and guided her back to their bedroom.

"You really don't have to do this," said Vera. "I can do this myself."

"I know," said Lombard, opening the door. "That's why I'm such a gentlemen."

Vera rolled her eyes and said, "I'll be just fine from here. I'll call you if I need you."

And with that, she closed the door, walked up to the bed feeling a bit shaky, got under the covers, and fell asleep within seconds of closing her eyes.

Lombard quietly opened the door just a crack. Vera had made it to the bed and had not moved an inch for about five minutes, so he knew she was fast asleep.

He smiled and closed the door. He knew just the cure for tummy bugs, and he knew exactly whom to call...

And this was how, fifteen minutes later, Richard Barclay found himself in the Lombard-Claythorne kitchen, helping Philip Lombard prepare some nice, old-fashioned chicken soup.

"I know you'd much rather spend this time with your wife and son, but after what happened with the toast, I don't even want to think of what would happen if I attempted soup," said Lombard apologetically.

"No need to apologize," said Richard, heating up the broth which already had the titular chicken. "I'm sure you'd do just fine on your own, but if you really need my help, I'm more than happy. If there's anyone who would burn the house down making soup, it's my wife." He laughed. "Wonderful woman, but the one thing she absolutely cannot cook is soup. I remember when she was about five or six months pregnant with Derek, she was craving vegetable soup and tried to cook it herself. I tried to stop her and remind her of what her mother had told me about her attempts to make soup in the past, but she insisted that her mother tended to exaggerate. Well, to make a long story short, it was a very...eventful evening."

"I should imagine!" laughed Lombard, chopping up the carrots. Vera was one of those rare people who actually liked carrots in her soup. "It gives it a bit more flavour," she had once described on a lunch date with Lombard.

"You know," said Richard, "Evelyn told me about...what you and Vera were getting up to on Indian Island."

Lombard tossed the carrots in the broth and said, not bothering to suppress a grin, "Did she now?"

"Oh yes," said Richard. "She wasn't upset or anything. Just...stunned. Then again, she's known Vera ever since birth so I suppose the idea of someone you've known as a baby engaging in any activity that goes a bit further than kissing is shocking."

"What did you say to her?" asked Lombard, clearly enjoying this.

"Oh, I said that if Vera wants to sleep with you, then it's her personal choice, and that as long you're not forcing her to go with it, we should leave you two alone," said Richard.

"Fair enough," shrugged Lombard. "And I assure you, I would never force Vera into doing anything she doesn't want to do. You tell Evelyn that."

"I will," said Richard. He then paused before saying, "When Vera was sick earlier...do you think it's just a stomach bug, and not...something else?"

"Of course it's a stomach bug," said Lombard quickly and defensively. "What do you think it is?"

Richard hesitated before saying, "Well, I'm not a doctor, so I'm just guessing..."

"Just spit it out already," said Lombard.

Richard finally managed to work out, "Perhaps it's just exhaustion from the move yesterday? After all, she did help move a lot of stuff. Perhaps the strain was bit too much for her."

Lombard relaxed. "Oh, well, it's probably that mixed with an actual bug," he said quickly. Then, as though to himself, "Yes. It's just a bug resulting from exhaustion. That's all it is."

The two men resumed cooking. Richard mentally congratulated himself for being so quick on his feet and not voicing his actual concern out loud. He wasn't quite sure what Lombard's reaction would've been, but it was a safe guess that it wouldn't have been an extremely pleasant one.

Vera woke up hours later to the smell of chicken soup. Her eyes still had a bit of 'sleepy' in them, but that didn't stop her from fully opening them up and sitting up in bed to inhale the aroma

Oh!

It brought back memories of when she was just a little girl sitting up in bed, recovering from a nasty tummy bug. Her mother would sit by her side with a cool washcloth on her forehead, reading her stories of frogs who were really princes, the smell of meaty broth being enough to satisfy her for another hour or so...

The door slowly creaked open and in walked Lombard carrying a small, wooden tray with a bowl of steaming hot chicken soup.

"Dr. Lombard at your service," he said cheerfully. "And the doctor's orders are for you to stay in bed and indulge on this delicious soup that was cooked with the assistance of Chef Barclay."

Vera smiled. She knew he was referring to Richard. Evelyn was absolute rubbish at making soup.

When Lombard reached her bed with the tray, Vera suddenly realized she was starving. She could taste the carrots in her watering mouth.

Lombard sat the tray down in Vera's lap. She eagerly picked up the spoon and began to scoop up the broth and carrots mixed in with the chicken. She put the spoon in her mouth...

..and realized how hot it was and spit it out into the napkin provided, her mouth burning.

"Sorry," apologized Lombard. "I forgot to warn you how hot it is."

"Yes, you did," snapped Vera. "Because you're insensitive like all men are insensitive! For once, can't you just consider someone's feelings other than your own?"

She blinked and tears fell down her face. She quickly wiped them away with one hand. "Sorry," she apologized. "I'm still a bit tired, so...I'm a bit emotional."

"It's all right," said Lombard getting up. "Want me to get you a glass of water?"

"Yes please," nodded Vera. Her tongue was screaming, "WATER!"

Lombard then walked out of the bedroom, down the hall, and to the kitchen, where he got a glass of water from the cupboard. He turned on the tap and began to fill it up with nice, cool water.

While waiting for the glass to fill up, Lombard couldn't help but wonder what Richard was really going to say. He could tell the exhaustion bit was something Richard had come up with at very last second to save his own skin.

A sudden thought struck Lombard about what Richard was really thinking, but he quickly shook the thought out of his head. Of course not. That was ridiculous. That was impossible. That possibility was out of the question. There was no way...

Right?

Right.