“What?”

“Do you have a pet? Like a kitten or puppy under your shirt? Purring? Growling?”

“It’s my chest!” she said, coughing again.

“We might need reinforcements.”

“Jesus, Seth, will you just leave me alone? I’m sick!”

“You don’t have anything in the house to help you get better, do you?”

“Like what?” she asked, and coughed horribly again.

He shook his head. He went to the kitchen, found a puny bottle of Advil. He filled a clean glass with water. “When was the last time you took anything for the fever and stuff?”

“It’s been a few hours,” she admitted. “All I have is Advil.”

“Take this,” he said, giving her a cold-and-flu capsule that promised to cure at least seven of the prominent symptoms. “Then go take a very long hot shower—the steam is good. Find clean jammies. You might have to burn those. I’ll start your soup and straighten up.”

“If you touch my trash, you’re going to get the flu.”

“I have rubber gloves.”

“I so hate you right now.”

“By the time I leave you’re going to love me.”

“Don’t count on it.”

But she turned and walked away from him. He allowed himself to chuckle very quietly, very carefully. She looked like shit. No one he’d ever known in his life could be quite as appealing and look that bad. Jesus, she might be dying she looked so bad. And he felt so soft toward her right now.

When he heard the water running, he called Scott. “Hey, Doc, I’m at Iris’s house. She’s got a bad case of the flu with a fever and a nasty cough. I gave her some over-the-counter stuff and I brought Vicks and soup. I wonder if you should check her? Make sure she’s just got the flu?”

“Hmm. Maybe. I gave her a flu shot. How high is the fever?” Scott asked.

“One-oh-two and change.”

“That’s not too good. Let me run a couple more people through here and I’ll come over and have a look.”

“It’s ugly, Doc,” Seth said.

“It’s never pretty, Seth,” Scott replied. “Should I bring anything?”

“All your antibodies.”

Before the shower turned off, Seth had searched for clean sheets and got Iris’s bedroom in better shape. He wasn’t sure it had any effect on curing the flu, but his mother always did that for him when he was a kid and something about getting scrubbed and in clean sheets just worked. He even spread a fresh sheet over her sofa. He started heating the chicken soup and went through the kitchen, dining room and living room, scooping up dirty dishes and trash. He did wear the rubber gloves. Whatever she had, he wanted no part of it.

By the time she came back to the living room in clean pajamas, the place was tidy and a delicious aroma that Iris wouldn’t be able to appreciate wafted through the house. She sounded all stuffed up but obviously her nose was dripping, ergo the tissues all over. In fact, he was a little concerned that her red, chapped nose might actually fall off soon.

“Sit down here, Iris,” he said. He had poured her a glass of orange juice and put it on the coffee table. He gave her a large spoonful of cough syrup—an expectorant. She made a terrible face and shuddered. He had all his medications lined up on the coffee table. “Don’t you have any of this stuff on hand?” he asked.

“I hardly ever catch anything, even though I work in a petri dish and the kids all have something.”

“You need this stuff,” he said. “Thermometer, cough medicine, cold medicine, decongestant, Advil, et cetera.”

“Bag Balm?” she asked, picking up the old-fashioned green tin.

He touched her red nose. “For this. The best.”

“I used to have some of this,” she said. “I just cleaned the house. Some of the expiration dates on over-the-counter stuff went way back. To grade school.”

He chuckled and lifted her feet onto his thighs.

“Now what?” she asked.

“VapoRub,” he said, peeling off her sock. “You’re going to like this.”

“On the feet?”

“Neat trick,” he said, gently massaging it into the sole of her foot. He smiled to note her eyes rolled back in her head. “Nice, huh?”

“Ohhh,” she agreed.

She flopped back onto the pillow on her couch and just moaned softly, with a rattle in her chest, while he massaged her feet. When he thought he was done, she wiggled a foot to suggest a little more. He laughed and obliged.

“I’ll get you some soup. And then—”

There was a knock at the door. “Now what?” she asked.

“Very few possibilities,” he said, putting her sock back on her foot. “Either my mother, demanding to know why the deputy is at your house in the middle of the day, or Dr. Grant, whom I called.”

“Why’d you call him?”

“Because you’re sick. He might have some miracle cure in that little bag of tricks of his.”

“I could make do on more VapoRub,” she whined.

Seth laughed on his way to the door. Who knew the way to Iris’s heart was through her feet. She was playing with fire here, he thought. If she didn’t have a completely disgusting virus, he could take complete advantage of her. In fact, he looked forward to it.

“Hey, Scott,” he said, when he opened the door.

“Hey, Seth. How’s the patient?”

“Very low on gratitude. Why don’t you have a look while I dish up some chicken soup.”

“I’ll do that,” Scott said.

While Seth was in the kitchen rummaging around for a bowl, tray, other necessary items, he listened to Scott and Iris. “Bad flu, huh?” Scott asked.

“I think you need higher quality vaccines, Scott. Obviously it didn’t work.”

“Or maybe it worked and if you hadn’t had the flu shot you’d be way sicker.”

She coughed and wheezed. “When you get sicker than this, you die.”

“I’d like a throat culture, please,” the doctor said.

“Just look at it, check out the razor blades. That should be enough.” She opened and said, “Ahhh.” Then she gagged, which led to more coughing.

“Ick,” Scott said. “Try not to breathe on anyone. Absolutely no kissing anyone.”

“Look at me,” she said. “You know anyone that stupid?”

“I’m not sure,” he said. “How invested is the cook?”

“I’m not kissing her,” Seth yelled from the kitchen.

“Good,” she yelled back. “I wouldn’t let you!” And, of course, she coughed.

“Can I listen to your heart and lungs, please?” Scott asked. “Deep breath?”

Seth was bringing the chicken soup into the living room when Scott was putting his stethoscope back into his bag. “You have a nice little rattle in there, but I don’t think we need a chest X-ray. If your throat culture is positive, I’ll bring you some antibiotics. For now it looks like you have everything you need. Have some soup and, Iris, would it kill you to drink more fluids?” He pinched the flesh on the back of her hand. “I know it hurts to swallow, but you have a fever, probably because you got a little dehydrated. That happens when you have a sore throat. Drink about a gallon of orange juice and water, all right? And maybe some tea. Any nausea?”