Page 60 of The Man I Hate

Amen.

Anna had provided just what I needed at the exact time I needed it. During the preparation of the meal, I had failed to feel guilty, wallow in self-pity, or openly worry about my father’s condition.

I opened my eyes and looked at the phone. A smiling Anna looked back at me. She raised her wine glass.

“To being alone, together,” she said.

I lifted my glass. “To being alone together.”

“Cheers.” She clanked her glass against her phone, knocking it askew in the process. After seeing several different views of her kitchen floor and a few seconds of total darkness, she righted the camera and pointed it in the proper direction.

“Sorry,” she said. “This is going to take some getting used to.”

“Yes,” I said in complete agreement. “It sure is.”

Anna

Day 4

Braxton received word from the hospital that he was, in fact, positive for COVID-19. Even so, he hadn’t shown any signs of infection, whatsoever. He had no fever, no difficulty breathing, nor did he have a headache or sore throat. According to him, he felt no differently than he did on any given other day.

He may not have felt differently, but there was no doubt that things had changed. Life was different. The new normal was worlds apart from what either of us was accustomed to.

I had no complaints. My afternoons, from 4:00 until 5:00 were spent with Marge. I could have easily talked to Braxton all day but settled for a couple short video calls. I knew smothering him wasn’t in my—or his—best interest, so I kept our time on the phone low in volume and high in quality.

I was surprised to see that he was wearing a black tee shirt when he answered my late morning call.

“Good morning.” He glanced at his watch. “I guess it’s still morning.”

“For another hour,” I said. “Any word on your father?”

“He’s stable.” He looked away and shook his head. “That’s all I’m getting. It’s frustrating, but it’s going to have to be enough. Everything I’ve read says 10-14 days to rid yourself of the disease. I’ll keep my fingers crossed.”

There was no assurance that the infected recovered over the course of a 10-14-day timeframe. Some took longer. The 14-day period was the window of time that the disease was contagious. Beyond that, the infected could remain sick, but they could not pass the disease to others.

I kept my opinions to myself and put on a reassuring smile. “I’ll continue to pray.”

“As will I.”

Braxton looked remarkably well for having the virus. He stood as proof that the disease affected everyone differently.

“What about you?” I asked. “No fever?”

“No anything,” he replied. “I started coughing last night, but it’s inconsistent. I feel like I have a hair caught in my throat or something.”

“Does that happen often?”

“A dozen times a day.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. After I cough once, it’s over.”

“No, I meant having a hair caught in your throat. Is that a common thing?”

“You’re funny, Anna.”

I smiled. “I try.” I raised my notepad and pen. “I have a notepad and a pen.”

He moved close to the camera in hope of seeing what I had written on it. “Am I supposed to applaud?”

I quickly placed the pad on the table, out of the camera’s view. “You can if you like.”