Rattlesnake (21 page)

When he looked in the backseat, the papers were gone, but now the space was crammed with people. Belinda was there, and Grisel and Candy. Katy and Mae—who held a plate of french toast—and Pokey and Paula and Emma and Adam and Valerie, and lots of cousins and aunts and uncles whose names he couldn’t remember. There was a man whose cowboy hat obscured his face, but Jimmy somehow knew his name anyway; it was Jesse.

“Get out!” Jimmy yelled at the crowd. “You’re slowing me down.” They all hopped out of the moving car without complaint—even Mae, who probably topped four hundred pounds and wasn’t in the best hopping shape.

He floored the pedal and the car went even faster. He’d be getting there soon, he thought. But where was
there
? Ah, now Tom in the passenger seat, looking considerably worse for the wear and grinning a death’s-head smile. “You know exactly where you’re going, boy. It’s where we’re all going. Are you sure this is how you wanna get there?”

Jimmy tried to scream, but his throat didn’t work. All that came out was a desperate hiss. No, wait. He wasn’t the one hissing. That noise came from his passenger, because now Tom was gone—replaced by an enormous snake with bright blue eyes. The snake rattled warningly. “It’s the tail you have to watch for,” said a disembodied voice. “That’s what’s going to bite you.” Which didn’t make sense, because the fangs were the dangerous part.

But then Jimmy realized his mistake. He’d misheard the voice, and when it repeated itself, he understood correctly. “It’s the
tale
you have to watch for.”

And then the snake struck.

O
N
W
EDNESDAY
morning Jimmy awoke with a start. His sheets were soaked with sweat and tangled around his limbs, and his heart raced as if he’d just run a hundred-yard dash. He had to leave.

But perhaps the gods conspired against him, because it was raining again and windy too. The rattling sound from his dream was actually the window shaking in its frame, and the hissing came from gusts of rain splattering against the glass. He would have braved the nasty weather, but he was achy. Feverish, he realized. And his stomach seemed to think he was aboard a ship during a hurricane.

With weak legs and shaking hands, he managed to pull on jeans and a shirt. He began to shiver uncontrollably, so much that he nearly collapsed back into bed. But he gathered his will and walked unsteadily to the door. He was barefoot, but even the idea of bending over to put on shoes brought bile to his throat. Walking slowly, he made his way to the lobby.

Belinda saw him right away and narrowed her eyes. “Are you drunk?”

Shaking his head was a mistake. He held a wall for support. “No, ma’am. Just not feeling well.”

After a brief hesitation, she sailed his way. She placed the back of her hand to his forehead and then clucked her tongue. “You’re burning up. And you look like death. You should see a doctor.”

Maybe so, but he couldn’t afford it and had no way to get to one. “I’ll be fine. Just need to lie down for a while. Sorry. I’ll catch up with work later.”

“Don’t worry about it, Jimmy.” Her voice was softer than usual but also firm. “Get some rest. Make sure you drink enough fluids.”

“Thanks.” He shuffled back to his room. A few days before, Shane had fulfilled his earlier promise and given him a little refrigerator. Jimmy kept some water and a bottle of Coke in there. But opening and pouring was just too much effort right now. Instead he fell heavily onto his mattress, pulled the blankets up past his neck, and felt very, very sorry for himself.

He must have dozed off, because he startled a bit when someone touched his forehead. “Shane?”

“Are you okay? Do you need a doctor?”

“Just the flu.” He was hot and cold at once, his head felt four sizes too big, and he could barely muster enough energy to keep his eyelids open.

“Hang on.” Water ran. A moment later Shane laid a cool, damp washcloth across Jimmy’s brow. It felt wonderful, and Jimmy wanted to tell him so, but he was afraid if he spoke too much, he might puke. He hoped his wan smile communicated his thanks.

Shane looked down, assessing him. “You look awful.”

Great. That was exactly what a sick man wanted to hear. Jimmy closed his eyes and heard his door open and close. If he had the energy, he’d be angry at Shane, because that was a rude way to leave. But just a minute or two later, the door opened and Shane returned to his bedside. He plunked something onto the floor.

“There’s a bucket here in case you have to barf. And a towel right next to you on the bed. I need to go get a few things. Will you be okay on your own for a little while?”

Jimmy almost laughed. He’d been okay on his own for his entire fucking life. “Yeah,” he rasped.

“Okay. You just hang tight.” Shane flipped the washcloth, putting the cooler side down, and brushed Jimmy’s cheek before he left.

Hang tight? He could barely hang on to his stomach contents. But he knew he was lucky. At least this time he had a comfortable bed to be miserable in and a roof over his head. He wasn’t huddled somewhere outside, hoping like hell he didn’t develop pneumonia again.

It was hard to track time when a virus was boiling your brain, but Jimmy thought that less than an hour had passed before Shane returned. He brought the scent of food into the room with him, though, and that was just too much. Jimmy scrambled to the edge of the bed and retched miserably into the bucket. At least he made it to the bucket, although he was fairly positive he’d spewed most of his internal organs in the process.

He did feel slightly better when he was finished, at least. He wiped his mouth with the towel and looked up, expecting Shane to have fled in horror. But he simply stood at the bedside, smiling crookedly. “Good aim.” Without even looking disgusted, he picked up the bucket and soiled towel. “Be right back.”

When he returned a few minutes later, Jimmy had managed to flop onto his back. Shane set the well-washed bucket near the bed and waved a clean towel, which he put at the foot of the bed. He also had a glass of water. “Wanna rinse?”

“God, yes.”

“Thought you might.” Shane rummaged through a paper grocery sack that had magically appeared on the nightstand, probably while Jimmy was throwing up. He pulled out a yellow plastic tray. “You can spit into this.”

“But… what…?” Jimmy’s head was too muzzy to form a proper question.

Shane didn’t answer right away. First he fluffed the pillow behind Jimmy so he could sit up; then Shane handed him the glass and held the tray for him while he spat. Finally, he set both items aside. “I visited the drugstore and got you some stuff. Let’s see… Tylenol for your fever, decongestant for your head and chest, and cough drops for your throat. Big box of Kleenex. I picked up some 7-Up for you to drink, and I’ve got a quart of chicken broth from Carlotti’s if you feel up to it. If you don’t want it now, I can stick it in the fridge and heat it for you later. I have some of Mae’s OJ too. And crackers, if you want something solid.”

Jimmy realized he was gaping and shut his mouth. “You brought me all this stuff?”

“My circuits may be a little mixed up, but I know what a man needs when he’s laid up.”

“But you brought it for me?”

“You’re not in any shape to fetch it yourself.” Shane’s eyebrows formed a worried crease. “Hasn’t anybody taken care of you when you were sick before?”

Instead of answering, Jimmy looked away.

“Shit. Okay, then. Let’s get some liquids into you and make sure you’re all comfy, and then the best thing you can do is sleep it off. My mom used to tell me you have to let your body use all its energy for healing, not for gallivanting around.”

Still slightly stunned, Jimmy obediently drank a little pop and swallowed some pills. He even ate a few spoonfuls of soup; this seemed to please Shane, who ran his fingers through Jimmy’s sweaty hair. “Just dial the bar on the house phone if you need anything. Won’t take me more than a minute to get here.”

“But you have to work.”

“There’s nothing so important happening on a Wednesday afternoon that I can’t leave it for a bit.”

“’Kay.” Maybe it was the meds or maybe just the flu, but he felt groggy and slow.

Shane didn’t leave, though. He chewed on his lip, clearly thinking about something. He cleared his throat. “You don’t have a toilet.”

“Got the bucket if I puke again.”

“Yeah, but what if you have to pee?”

Jimmy didn’t understand the point of the conversation. “I can make it down the hallway. It’s only a few feet.”

“Yeah. Or… you could crash over in my apartment for a while. Until you feel better.”

Jimmy’s stomach flipped, and he had to clench his jaw for a moment before he could answer. “I’ll be fine here.”

“Sure. See ya later, then.”

Jimmy spent the rest of the day sleeping, waking up only when Shane checked on him and insisted he drink something, which was often. Jimmy puked once more, but again he managed to reach the bucket in time. Shane happened to be in the room and again cleaned everything up almost cheerfully.

“I don’t know how you’re managing to come near me without a hazmat suit,” Jimmy said wearily.

“I grew up on a ranch. You ever put your arm inside a heifer to tug her stuck calf out? Or treated a bad case of foot rot? After that, a little barfing ain’t nothing. Anyway, I gotta tell you, it’s nice playing doctor instead of patient.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s a real slow night at the bar. How about if Sam takes over for me and I stay here with you? We can watch some TV if you want.”

Surprisingly, that plan sounded good. Jimmy felt just good enough that he wanted a little company to keep from getting bored. “I don’t want you to catch my plague.”

“Jimmy, your tongue was in my mouth less than twenty-four hours ago, and mine was in yours. If I’m gonna catch it, I’ve already been exposed.”

Well, he had a point. Jimmy smiled at him.

Shane left for about a half hour. When he returned, his hands were full. He’d warmed up more of the soup in his microwave, and he settled Jimmy in a chair with the bowl in his hands. Shane stripped the bed and put on clean sheets. All that bending and tugging must have hurt him, but he didn’t complain. When the bed was made, he accompanied Jimmy to the bathroom, even though Jimmy insisted he could manage, and supervised while Jimmy pissed, washed up a little, and brushed his teeth. Back in the room, Shane stripped Jimmy to his underwear and tucked him into bed. He kicked off his boots, turned off all the lights except one, and sat next to Jimmy on the bed with a pillow behind him and his long legs stretched out. And then he clicked on the TV.

Jimmy wasn’t good company. He dozed, mostly. But occasionally he woke up enough to focus on the screen for a little while and to laugh with Shane at whatever lame comedy was on. Eventually he fell asleep for real with Shane still beside him.

“Y
OU
’
RE
NOT
working today,” Shane said sternly, pushing Jimmy back into bed.

“But I didn’t—”

“There’s nothing needs repairing that can’t wait. You need another day of rest or you’re really gonna make yourself sick.” He held a hand up to stop Jimmy from further protest. “It’s already cleared with Belinda. She says you can make up the time by helping out on Saturday if you feel better. We’ll have live music and the inn’s fully booked. It’ll be a busy night.”

Knowing he’d never beat the combined will of Shane and Belinda, especially in his weakened state, Jimmy relaxed back onto the mattress. “I feel useless.”

“You
are
useless until you’re healed. So sleep. I’ll stop by later with some food. And if you want to take a bath or shower, I can help you with that.” He seemed downright cheerful at the prospect.

With a sigh of resignation, Jimmy nodded. “Fine. I’m going to get bored, though.”

“Watch TV.”

Jimmy made a face, which made Shane laugh. “Yeah, know what you mean,” Shane said. “I watched a lot of daytime TV when I was in the hospital and rehab. It’s awful. How about reading?”

“I’m out of books. Look, I’m sorry. I’ll stop whining now. I’ll probably just nap all day.”

Shane bent down to give him a chaste kiss on the cheek. “Good. Remember, just ring if you need anything.”

Jimmy did end up sleeping a good part of the day. When he wasn’t doing that, he nibbled on the food Shane brought him—crackers, soup, juice, and cookies—and flipped restlessly through the TV channels. He read and reread Tom’s letter. He found a pad of hotel paper and made a list of chores he wanted to finish before he left Rattlesnake. He stared out the window. And he fretted a little about the dream he’d had, but not too much, because it made his head hurt. He was standing near the bed, juggling two pens and a crumpled ball of foil, when Shane entered his room.

“Didn’t realize you’d been in the circus,” Shane said, narrowly missing getting conked by a flying pen.

“Wasn’t. I’m not one for showbiz. It’s just something I picked up on the road.”

“You’re a man of many skills.”

“I could teach you.”

Shane shook his head. “I couldn’t learn it. Too much for my muddled brain. My eye-hand coordination’s shot.”

“It’s not a very useful thing to know anyway.”

“I’m on my dinner break. Want some help with a shower or bath?”

Truthfully, Jimmy felt stinky after sweating for two days. But he also felt bad for taking up so much of Shane’s time and energy. “I think I’m just gonna take a swig of the NyQuil you bought me and turn in. Oh, but that reminds me. How much do I owe you?”

“For what?”

Jimmy waved his hand at the collection of new items now gracing his nightstand. “Your pharmacy haul.”

“You can’t pay me back for that.”

“Why not?”

Shane moved closer until he was well within Jimmy’s personal space. “’Cause it’s a present. Maybe not as romantic as chocolate and roses, but a hell of a lot more useful.”

“You don’t need to—”