Then I slid my phone in the side pocket on my purse, a variety of feelings battling it out in my head.

Brock had never hung up on me.

Sure, I didn’t call and it was obvious he was worried but it wasn’t like I was currently at one of the biker bars he’d introduced me to, on a bender, standing on the bar, and teaching all the bikers in attendance how to dance like Axl Rose (something I had done once while on a mini-bender—that was to say, it lasted a few hours—while I was with Brock when he was Jake though I didn’t do it on the bar, I did it on the stage while the band was playing “Paradise City” and Brock was standing just off the dance floor laughing his ass off).

I was taking care of his dad.

It hit me that the surprise at his hanging up on me and fear of his being angry with me were mingled quite liberally with me being somewhat pissed off. Then being pissed off started winning out and I realized I was getting more pissed off. Then I wasn’t scared Brock was angry with me or surprised he’d hung up on me, I was just pissed he’d hung up on me.

I managed to pay, get the stuff to my car, and get to Cob’s house without calling Brock back and giving him an earful. I got the stuff in and battled the smell first with air freshener and then with rug shampoo. I didn’t want to overwhelm Cob with a warring combination of intense smells that were worse than just vomit and luckily I managed this feat. The vomit smell was gone, the air freshener evaporated, and the shampoo didn’t stink.

I set a soothingly scented candle I bought at Albertson’s to burning in the bedroom, I got Cob an iced lemon-lime, and then I set about making dinner.

The chicken noodle soup was warming in the pan and I was setting out bowls on plates with buttered saltine crackers around the edges (what my Mom used to serve when my sister or I got sick), hoping the butter wouldn’t be too rich for Cob, when I heard the front door open.

Then I heard Cob surprised greeting of, “Heya, Slim.”

I sucked in a breath through my nose.

Then I heard Brock ask, “How you feelin’?”

“Better,” Cob answered, then offered, “Tess is in the kitchen.”

“Right,” I heard Brock mutter, then, “Be back, Dad.”

“Okay, son.”

I grabbed the spoon, started to stir the soup, and braced.