“I know that!” I say, tossing my hands in the air. “I know it all. Do you understand how freaking stupid I feel? Things don’t stay the same, and they shouldn’t. But here I am, a grown woman, knowing how dumb I am, and yet, I don’t care. I want to keep this to myself for just a bit longer because there are other things that are changing and I can only take so much at once.”

Winnie gets to her feet, her hands grip my shoulders, forcing me to stop moving. “Okay. We’ll wait a few more days, let Grayson deal with Melia, and then we’ll deal with your crazy bullshit.”

I nod once, my stomach settling a bit now that I know I have a few more days. “Yes. That’s a good plan.”

“All right. I’ll drive you tomorrow.” Winnie kisses my cheek. “I love you, even when you’re a lunatic.”

“I know, and I love you for it.”

I grimace, feeling sick again. I thought it was nerves, but maybe I’m sick. Suddenly, it’s too much. I run to the bathroom, barely making it before I heave. Winnie rushes in, her hand pulling my hair back.

“Jess?”

“Damn it,” I say as I grab for a towel.

“Are you all right?” she asks, handing me a glass of water.

“Yeah, I guess I really do have what Amelia has.”

Winnie helps me up and then puts her wrist to my forehead. “You don’t have a fever.”

“I don’t think she did to start with either.”

“Well, drink and rest,” she instructs.

“I’ll be fine. I already feel better.”

Maybe it was something I ate. I did have eggs this morning, so it could be that.

“Either way, you should rest.”

I yawn. “I don’t think there’s any chance I can stay awake anyway.”

We make our way to the front door. “You sure you’re fine?”

“Winnie, you didn’t worry this much when I had a brain injury. Go to work.” I practically shove her out the door. She’s already late because she had to pick me up from working the night shift. With Grayson out, we’re all trying to adjust to make sure there are no gaps.

She waves as she gets into her car, and then I trudge up to bed, where I hopefully can sleep without another nightmare.

My mother and I are watching television together. She has become addicted to these cooking shows where they’re forced to make strange dishes with ingredients they’ve never used before. I normally don’t watch, but this one is crazy.

“Do you think she’s going to be able to cook a squirrel?”

My stomach roils. “I am trying not to think of it.”

She laughs. “You’re still not feeling good?”