Fly with Me: a novel by Andie Burke

chapter 35

“Olive, are you okay? I’ve been calling.” Stella’s voice was slightly panicked. “I haven’t heard from you since you said you picked up extra shifts after Thanksgiving.”

“I’m dead.” Olive rolled over on the couch and clutched her blanket to her chest, wincing as she crushed her tissue box beneath her. She should move. But that would require energy.

“That seems unlikely given that you’re talking. But I’ve been worried. Really worried.”

“I have pneumonia.”

“You have what?”

“I’m on antibiotics. I should still be”—a coughing fit erupted, one of the ones she hadn’t been able to stop for the last week—“able to go to the thing tomorrow. I think. I’ve been on the antibiotics for more than twenty-four hours, so I’m not contagious.”

“I’m coming over.”

“No, I’m gross. You don’t have to—”

“Text me what your essentials are and what you need, and I’ll stop by the store.”

“Derek brought me some stuff yesterday. I think I just need more stuff.”

“You sound delirious.”

“I took some cough medicine. It’s the good shit.” Olive leaned back enough to turn up the humidifier.

“Text me if you can. Otherwise, I’ll be there in an hour.”

Olive’s voice spluttered out between coughs. “I’ll be here.”

Stella chuckled. “I know you will. Get some rest.”

After an impossible-to-determine period of time, a knock woke Olive. She pulled her blanket over her head like a Jedi cloak and stood.

Nope. She fell. Horizontal again.

Shoot.

One more try.

All right. Vertical. This is what vertical feels like on codeine.

Like floating. But also, weird and detached. Like a balloon head. That was a thing in a commercial, right?

Olive laughed, which, of course, turned into more coughing, which hurt.

A lot.

“Olive, are you okay in there?”

“No, just floating.” She tightened the Jedi shawl around her and headed to the door. “I’m fine,” she said while simultaneously hacking into her elbow.

Stella was wearing her typical flight instructor clothes, aviator sunglasses pushing her hair away from her face.

“Oh, Olive.” She dropped several bags of groceries and hugged her. “Why didn’t you call me. Who’s been walking your dog?”

“Gus is with Derek.” Olive stumbled as she meandered back to the couch. Horizontal good. Vertical bad. Stella pretty. Her voice was mostly a combination of slurs and mumbles at this point. “Fake girlfriend shouldn’t have to deal with real sickness.”

Stella was silent for a few moments. Olive remained immobile, her body having completely betrayed her. The crinkle of paper bags. The refrigerator opening and closing. The scrape of pots and pans.

“I brought you soup. I didn’t know what kind to get, so I got all of them, including some plain broth. I got you a wide selection of teas. Yogurt since you said you were on antibiotics, and Gatorade. I also brought ginger ale, because ginger ale is always nice when you’re sick.” Pressure moved the couch beside her. Stella pulled the blanket away from Olive’s face and pressed her cool hand on Olive’s forehead. “And oh my god, you have a fever. You’re burning up.”