The Seacroft: a love story (Paines Creek Beach Book 2) by Aaron Paul Lazar

couldn’t make it out, but opened the door anyway.
    “Cody? It’s me, Vivian.” She walked into the living area and headed for the door that might be his bedroom.
    There he lay, curled on his bed with the mussed sheets, groaning. The comforter lay in a heap on the floor, along with his clothes from the day before.
    “Oh, Cody.”
    She went to his side, shocked at his appearance. He lay still, hair soaked with fever-sweat, face the color of bleached sand, wearing only a pair of green striped boxers. And then he moaned again.
    “Oh, Cody.” She sat on the side of the bed and laid her hand on his forehead. “You’re burning up.” She rummaged in her bag and found the thermometer. “Here. Put this under your tongue.”
    He obeyed, but didn’t open his eyes.
    It beeped and she read the display with concern. One hundred and two point three.
    “You need something to get that fever down.”
    He shook his head. “Can’t drink. Can’t keep anything down.”
    “We’ve got to try. Let me pour you just a little bit of this Sprite. You can take two Tylenol now, and if that doesn’t work, we’ll get you into a cool bath.”
    He let her help him sit up, holding his ribs as if they ached and wincing when he moved. Reluctantly, he sipped the soda, swallowing the pills with difficulty.
    “You’re sore from throwing up, aren’t you?” she asked.
    “Yeah.” He slid back down on the bed, shivering now. “Cold. So cold.”
    “Here.” She took the comforter off the floor, shook it out, and spread it over him. Later she’d bring him a fresh one and wash this one in hot water. Maybe twice. “There you go. Is that better?”
    He fell asleep in minutes. While he rested, she brought him a damp, cool washcloth and laid it on his brow.
    She peeked into the bathroom, stopping short in the doorway. “Oh, gross.” She held her breath, threw open the window, and switched on the overhead fan. Breathing through her mouth now, she packed all the dirty towels into a garbage bag and tossed them out into the hallway. She hung a few clean towels on the rack, and scoured the sink and toilet with cleaners and a brush she found beneath his sink cabinet.
    “Better,” she said, able to breathe normally now. The fixtures sparkled, and after checking that he was still asleep, she found a mop and swabbed the floor.
    Next she tackled his kitchen. It was clear the man didn’t eat much healthy food, and that he had a penchant for Dinty Moore beef stew. In twenty minutes she’d rinsed and recycled all the cans, washed his dishes, and run a mop over the kitchen floor.
    “Much better,” she whispered to herself.
    When Cody groaned and rolled from side to side, kicking off his comforter, she hurried to him.
    “I can’t breathe,” he said, perspiration popping on his brow. “It’s so hot in here.”
    He hadn’t visited the bathroom since she’d arrived, and she hoped that maybe his intestinal problems were over. Perhaps he’d drink a little? He needed to avoid dehydration. That she’d learned from her brother when he’d been sick after his radiation and chemo treatments.
    “Can you manage to drink a little, Cody?” She filled a glass with ice and Sprite, bringing it to his lips. “Just try for me, okay?”
    He lifted his head and took a sip, then lay back down on his pillow. “Tastes good.”
    “I’d like to change your bedding. Would you be okay with that?”
    “I can’t get up,” he said softly.
    “No worries. I know how to do it with you right there in bed. I had to do this for my brother, so I’m pretty good at it.”
    He gave her a feeble smile. “Okay.”
    In ten minutes, she had the bed sheets changed. “There you go. Nice and clean again.”
    “Except me. I must stink,” he said, reaching for the glass of soda. His hand shook, and he dropped back to the mattress.
    “Let me help you.” She lifted the glass to his lips again, and this time he took a long swig.
    She sat with him, making small talk—mostly on her