Shaking off the blowup resounding in her head, she and Buttons went to the bathroom. A little Ajax in the sink and liquid gel in the toilet had it smelling spring fresh. She swept up the hairs – pubic and otherwise – and flushed them. The shower was too much for her to tackle. Bending over the lip of the tub to scrub it clean seemed a physical impossibility. Instead, she sprayed it down with tile and tub cleaner and rinsed it with steamy water.

Once that was done, she decided to sweep the living room. The dust bunnies were growing in number and had been clinging to Buttons like burrs lately. She put on her headphones and listened to music while she worked, upping the volume to drown out the escalating pain in her bones and dull ache in her chest.

Sweeping led to rearranging the clothes in the bedroom and organizing their drawers. It was by far the most she had done since they’d gotten here, and she could feel the price she would pay coming on.

Fuck it. All that wood and old newspapers by the fireplace need to be tidied up. Once you do that, you can take some pills and lie down.

She didn’t remember finishing that and moving on to sweep the back deck. Lost in her music, she screamed when a hand touched her shoulder.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack,” she said, tearing off her headphones.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Andrew had dropped a couple of plastic shopping bags on the floor by the bed and must have rushed outside when he saw her on the back porch. The front door was wide open, letting in who knew how many bugs.

“I just wanted to straighten some things up.”

He put a hand to her forehead. “You’re burning up. Have you lost your mind?”

A massive wave of spins sent her tottering against the porch rail. Now that the music had stopped, her forward momentum halted, she realized her fever had returned with a vengeance. A fledgling fire sputtered at the small of her back. She tensed with despairing anticipation.

“There’s nothing wrong with me helping out.”

Andrew ushered her into the living room, his grip on her arm a little tight. “Actually, there is. You’re sick, Kate. Who the hell cares about the dishes and the porch?”

She pulled out of his grasp, sitting on the bed even though she desperately wanted to stand on her own two feet.

“Yes, I’m sick. It’s not like it’s going to get worse.”

Andrew closed his eyes and shook his head. “Of course it can get worse! It can always get worse!”

Kate refused to tell him how much her chest hurt. That would only make him right, and she couldn’t allow that. Not at this moment.

“It’s not like I did a crazy amount of work around the house,” she said.