I kicked at the soaked sheets, trying to disentangle
them from my sweaty legs. They were all twisted up,
but I managed to pull my feet free and roll over onto
my side. I knew that in a very short time I would be
shivering so badly that I’d be forced to pull the
matted sheets back up again, but for now I was just
too hot. Damn fever!
The mild flu that had sent me to bed early on Friday
night had, over the weekend, developed into a raging
fever. Frank had wanted to stay home with me, but I
wouldn’t let him miss work. Besides, it wasn’t like he
could do anything. I just had to sweat it out.
The doorbell rang.
I squinted at the clock radio: just past 11 am. Who
could that be? Not Sandra surely; I’d had Frank phone
her last night to tell her I was sick and cancel our
lunch date. I toyed with the notion of just laying in
bed and ignoring the bell – it rang again – but decided
against it. It might be important.
I slid out of bed, wrapped my thick robe around my now
shivering body and walked slowly towards the door. The
stairs gave me some difficulty – I was pretty dizzy –
but I grabbed the handrail and took it one step at a
time. It took a while – the bell rang again before I
reached the bottom – but I eventually made it. Flushed
and sweating, I opened the door.