The next few days passed strangely for Joe. Sometimes, as he sat by Maggie's bed, reading to her or chatting about some town news, it seemed as if they had been doing this for an unimaginably long time. Joe was amazed at how quickly and easily he and Maggie had fallen into a comfortable routine. At those moments, it was difficult to remember they each lived vastly different lives than the one the influenza had recently forced upon them.
Then, at other moments, such as when Chuck or Carson came around to check on things and report on the rest of Brookfield - thankfully Gabriel and Mary Louise hadn't been stricken too severely, nor did anyone else catch their flu - Joe felt a flutter of panic that the time was passing too quickly. What kind of strange man felt dismayed at the idea of his friend recovering from a potentially deadly illness, for heaven's sake? If nothing else, Joe figured he ought to be more concerned about the state of his store. Things had been in Sam's hands for nearly a week, after all. But oddly enough, Joe found he didn't really care. Whatever Sam hadn't done, or done incorrectly, could no doubt be fixed as soon as Joe did return. For now, Joe was enjoying his time with Maggie, such as it was.
Maggie, too, seemed comfortable with things as they were. Given her basic nature, it was something of a surprise, both to Joe and the doctors, that she was agreeably resting over the days. Chuck's theory seemed to be that Maggie had actually been more ill than she let on. But when he voiced it aloud in the presence of Grace, who had come bearing food, she just gave him a look. Chuck, naturally, didn't pick up on it.
"What?" he asked his wife. "Even when people have recovered entirely from influenza, they still tire easily for a while. I've been reading studies."
Grace just shook her head. She glanced from Chuck to Joe as she stacked a few dirty bowls in her basket. "Never mind," she said. "I'll explain it to you later."
By the time Maggie was getting fully dressed again, and the two were spending some time outside, Joe had to admit - at least to himself - that there really was no longer any real purpose to his remaining there. But Maggie didn't say anything, so he didn't either.
After supper that evening, she became uncharacteristically quiet. They had brought two chairs outside and sat talking as the sun began to set. But suddenly Maggie trailed off, looking pensive. Joe looked at her intently. He figured that if he gave her the opportunity, Maggie would speak up on her own. Sure enough, a moment later, she did.
"I want to thank you for this week," she began.
Normally ill at ease with this sort of conversation, Joe merely shrugged. "It was my pleasure," he said. And indeed, it had been. He knew, however, that Maggie was the sort of person not likely to truly believe it no matter how many times she was told - much like his own self, he had to admit.
"No, really," Maggie persisted. "I don't think you realize just how much I appreciate it. Not everyone would have done it. In fact, I'm pretty sure most wouldn't. They would say they would, but then find some reason why they actually couldn't."
Again, Joe made a dismissive gesture. Now he was really uncomfortable. But he knew that it wasn't the time to clam up. If Maggie was being forthright with him, the least he could do was the same for her.
"Saying no was never an option for me," he told her. "I would do it again anytime, no question. You mean so much to me. I want you to be able to count on me always."
Now it was Maggie looking at Joe intently. She was quiet a moment. "I know," she said finally. "I suppose I suspected for a while. But I was afraid that perhaps I'd read things wrong, so I never said or did anything. Now these last few days, I thought I was right."
"You are," Joe said. It was now or never. He reached for her hand, and she instinctively wrapped her slender fingers around his. They spent the next moment in companionable silence.
Then Maggie asked the big question. "What happens now? I feel silly admitting it, but I never really imagined myself in this position. I know how to fix people's bodies, not navigate relationships. I don't want to do anything wrong."
"You couldn't possibly," Joe immediately reassured her. "Don't even dwell on that for a minute."
