Was that part of my dream? I was so sick. For how long? Days? A week? I have no idea.

But what I do recall, vividly, is seeing him. I saw him last night. He was here. He was sitting in my chair, painting.

I look at Jack, who seems rested and fresh, not the way he appeared in the darkness of the kitchen.

“What happened?” I ask, my voice broken and hoarse.

“You were sick,” he says. “An upset tummy.”

“Since when?”

“Since dinner last night. Something didn’t agree with you. I was here all night, helping you. How are you feeling now?”

“You were with me here? Last night?” I say.

He nods.

I sit up. I feel old but… okay. I feel like myself again. I feel like I did yesterday, before it all happened. The bed is still soft, warm. Jack is looking after me.

“That was rough,” I say. “I feel like I was sick for a week.”

“Food poisoning is brutal. You were running a high fever.”

I take a sip of water from the glass by my bed. It’s cold and soothes my scratchy throat.

“Did anyone else get sick?” I ask, putting my hand to my head.

“Yes, everyone,” he says.

“What about you and Shelley?”

“How do you feel now?” he asks. “Any appetite yet?”

I consider eating a plate of eggs and toast, and, shockingly, my stomach grumbles.

“Yes,” I say. “Actually, I’m hungry.”

“That’s a good sign.”

Jack hands me a smooth device that easily fits in my hand.

“I brought you something,” he whispers, leaning down. “But don’t tell the others.”

I look at the device in my hands. “What’s this?”

“Music,” he says. “For your headphones. It’s an iPod. I didn’t forget.”

“I don’t know how to use this,” I say.

“Here, I’ll show you, it’s intuitive,” he says.

He takes a moment to show me how to use the device. It does seem like something I’ll be able to use.

When he turns to go, I call out to him when he’s at the door.

“Why did you do this for me?”

“Because I like you. I like how you talk to me about things. How open you are.”

He’s about to leave.

“Jack, what happened? When I saw you. You were crying. Are you okay?”

“Everything’s okay, Penny. It’s a new day. Breakfast is ready whenever you are.”

After he leaves, I don’t move for a minute or two. I stay lying in bed, trying to steady my thoughts. I feel the top and bottom sheets. They’re dry, not soaked in sweat. Did my night of sickness happen yesterday? Right now, this morning, it feels so much longer than that. My head is still foggy, but my tummy rumbles again, telling me it’s time for breakfast. I’m already so hungry. I swing my legs out of bed, stand up.

Before putting on my slippers I notice that my toenails are long. My wonky knee isn’t as sore as usual. I rub my hand over it and move my leg up and down. It doesn’t even feel stiff.