"He was supposed to call me." I was a little irritated. "He was getting sick when he left, and I was worried."
"He was… too sick to call. He's not feeling well right now." Billy sounded distant. I realized he must want to be with Jacob.
"Let me know if you need any help," I offered. "I could come down." I thought of Billy, stuck in his chair, and Jake fending for himself…
"No, no," Billy said quickly. "We're fine. Stay at your place." The way he said it was almost rude. "Okay," I agreed. "Bye, Bella." The line disconnected. "Bye," I muttered.
Well, at least he'd made it home. Oddly, I didn't feel less worried. I trudged up the stairs, fretting. Maybe I would go down before work tomorrow to check on him. I could take soup–we had to have a can of Campbell's around here somewhere.
I realized all such plans were canceled when I woke up early–my clock said four thirty–and sprinted to the bathroom. Charlie found me there a half hour later, lying on the floor, my cheek pressed against the cold edge of the bathtub.
He looked at me for a long moment.
"Stomach flu," he finally said.
"Yes," I moaned.
"You need something?" he asked.
"Call the Newtons for me, please," I instructed hoarsely. "Tell them I have what Mike has, and that I can't make it in today. Tell them I'm sorry."
"Sure, no problem," Charlie assured me.
I spent the rest of the day on the bathroom floor, sleeping for a few hours with my head on a crumpled up towel. Charlie claimed that he had to work, but I suspected that he just wanted access to a bathroom. He left a glass of water on the floor beside me to keep me hydrated.
It woke me up when he came back home. I could see that it was dark in my room–after nightfall. He clumped up the stairs to check on me.
"Still alive?"
"Sort of," I said.
"Do you want anything?"
"No, thanks."
He hesitated, clearly out of his element. "Okay, then," he said, and then he went back down to the kitchen.
I heard the phone ring a few minutes later. Charlie spoke to someone in a low voice for a moment, and then hung up.
"Mike feels better," he called up to me.
Well, that was encouraging. He'd only gotten sick eight hours or so before me. Eight more hours. The thought made my stomach turn, and I pulled myself up to lean over the toilet.
I fell asleep on the towel again, but when I woke up I was in my bed and it was light outside my window. I didn't remember moving; Charlie must have carried me to my room–he'd also put the glass of water on my bedside table. I felt parched. I chugged it down, though it tasted funny from sitting stagnant all night.
I got up slowly, trying not to trigger the nausea again. I was weak, and my mouth tasted horrible, but my stomach felt fine. I looked at my clock.
My twenty-four hours were up. I didn't push it, eating nothing but saltine crackers for breakfast. Charlie looked relieved to see me recovered.
As soon as I was sure that I wasn't going to have to spend the day on the bathroom floor again, I called Jacob.
Jacob was the one who answered, but when I heard his greeting I knew he wasn't over it. "Hello?" His voice was broken, cracking. "Oh, Jake," I groaned sympathetically. "You sound horrible." "I feel horrible," he whispered. "I'm so sorry I made you go out with me. This sucks." "I'm glad I went." His voice was still a whisper. "Don't blame yourself. This isn't your fault." "You'll get better soon," I promised. "I woke up this morning, and I was fine." "You were sick?" he asked dully. "Yes, I got it, too. But I'm fine now." "That's good." His voice was dead. "So you'll probably be better in a few hours," I encouraged. I could barely hear his answer. "I don't think I have the same thing you did." "Don't you have the stomach flu?" I asked, confused. "No. This is something else." "What's wrong with you?" "Everything," he whispered. "Every part of me hurts." The pain in his voice was nearly tangible. "What can I do, Jake? What can I bring you?" "Nothing. You can't come here." He was abrupt. It reminded me of Billy the other night. "I've already been exposed to whatever you have," I pointed out. He ignored me. "I'll call you when I can. I'll let you know when you can come down again." "Jacob–" "I've got to go," he said with sudden urgency. "Call me when you feel better." "Right," he agreed, and his voice had a strange, bitter edge. He was silent for a moment. I was waiting for him to say goodbye, but he waited too. "I'll see you soon," I finally said. "Wait for me to call," he said again. "Okay… Bye, Jacob." "Bella," he whispered my name, and then hung up the phone.