Ghosts of You and Me by Miranda Valentine

Author:Miranda Valentine [Valentine, Miranda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-10-26T16:00:00+00:00

The next morning, I start a group chat with Dawson and Caroline.

Can we meet up today? I text. I’ve had my time to think.

Waiting for a response, I lie in bed a few more minutes. When nothing comes, I get up and head for the shower. Today is the day I’m going to make my decision known, and for once, I’m going to look the part of a growing business owner. Well…co-owner. I wash my hair and scrub and shave every inch of my body, then pull a casual black shift dress out from behind the dozens of Sunny Spirits shirts in my closet. My curling iron is almost finished heating up when Whitley’s alarm goes off down the hallway.

I listen, waiting for the alarm to stop and for the familiar sound of her feet hitting the floor. She doesn’t usually have issues getting out of bed on her own, so after thirty seconds of the blaring alarm I know it’s time to go check on her. “Whitley?” I call as I leave the bathroom.

In her bedroom, I step over the clutter on the floor and switch the alarm off. She’s curled on her side facing the wall, still breathing deeply. “Whit?” I sit on the edge of her blue bedspread and shake her gently. “Time to get ready for school.”

She rolls onto her back, and I know something’s off the second she opens her eyes. “I don’t feel good, Mama,” she says, her throat hoarse.

“Yeah?” I place a hand on her forehead and she flinches.

“Your hands are freezing,” she says.

“They’re not, but it probably feels that way because you definitely have a fever.” I sigh. “Stay here, I’ll get the thermometer.”

When I return, she’s sitting up in bed, kicking the blankets off and pulling her floral pajamas away from her skin. “I can’t be sick. I have a math test today,” she whines.

“Don’t worry about that.” I place the thermometer against her forehead and hold the button down.

“What does it say?” she asks. “Am I dying?”

“No.” I smile and show her the flashing 101.3 on the screen. “But you’re not going anywhere besides this bed today. And maybe the doctor if Motrin doesn’t help.”

“What if I just get ready anyway and see if I feel better after?”

I raise an eyebrow at her and shake my head, then stand to help her to her feet so I can strip the sweat-dampened sheets from her bed. “Let’s get you some fresh blankets and pajamas, and some medicine.”

“This is stupid,” she says, staring up at me with watery eyes.

“I’m sorry.” I push a strand of sweat-soaked hair from her forehead. “Would it help if I made you a special cup of tea?”

“Maybe…”

After Whitley is medicated and situated back in bed with a cup of honey-sweetened hot tea and a Disney movie playing on my laptop, I retrace my steps, searching for my cell phone. I find it on the bathroom counter next to the scalding curling iron, which I unplug because it doesn’t look like I’ll be needing it anymore.

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