Chapter 50

I had been feeling a little strange all day and after dinner I was out of energy and out of sorts.

At 8:30 I told Jeff I was going to bed because I didn't feel well.

He put his lips to my forehead and said, "You're hot. Get into bed and I'll get you something cold to drink."

"I just want to get some sleep."

"That's a sure sign you're sick."

I was asleep before I could answer.

Later that night I woke up drenched. I noticed the light on in the corner over the easy chair with books piled on the edge of the desk.

Then Jeff was walking to my side with a towel. He wiped off my sweat. He put down the towel and placed a cold, wet washcloth on my forehead. It felt so good.

Next he was running another cold washcloth over my body. The water replaced the clammy feeling of perspiration and cooled me as it dried.

I still felt like shit, but I did get back to sleep.

Jeff woke me some time in the morning and I was sweating again. He had ginger ale and ibuprofen for me. The latter was a good idea because I was starting to ache all over, which I told him.

"I called the campus hospital and they said the flu's going around. Sorry, but you seem to have joined the club."

"Get me some antibiotics," I said.

"It would be just as effective to sing the National Anthem. Antibiotics don't work against viruses."

"Now you're a doctor?" I should have anticipated the answer.

"I read a book."

"Do something," I said. I hurt.

"I do have something very effective against the flu."

"Good. Get it. What is it?"

"Placebo. I have some in the kitchen."

I didn't know whether to laugh or be angry.

"I know what a placebo is. How dumb do you think I am?"

"I just thought you might be too sick to notice. But placebos actually do work. Sometimes they work better than the medication they're being tested against."

He was serious. I wasn't about to ask again. The answer was a book.

"But how can it work when I know it's a placebo?"

"Do you? Maybe I told you it's a placebo but it's the real thing. Then when it works, you'll begin to believe in placebos.

"Next time, when I use a bona fide placebo, your mind will have fooled you into thinking they work, so it will work.

"But what if it really is a placebo and I told you all this to get it to work this time because you think you're getting the real thing?

"But what if -"

"Shut up, Jeff! You're making my head hurt. Just get me something."

He left the room and returned a few minutes later.

"Open up," he said.

He didn't want me to see what I was taking. I let him get away with it because it just might help.

I woke up some time later. There was an aroma of something cooking but I couldn't identify it. My head ached and I was hot, but at least I wasn't sweating.

Jeff walked into the bedroom with a steaming mug with a spoon sticking out of it.

"Homemade chicken soup," he announced. "Studies have shown it to be the most effective flu remedy by thirty five percent."

"You're just making that up," I said.

"Yes. But that makes sense because ninety three percent of all statistics are made up."

"You're just making that up," I said.

"Yes. But I'm pretty sure chicken soup will help."

I laughed and started my soup. I don't know why, but I glanced at the clock.

"Why aren't you in class?"

"I'm missing some classes to help you get better."

"That could hurt your grades. You go to class, now."

"Do I care what grades I get?" he asked as if they were of no importance to him.

"Hell, yes," I said. "You're a freakin' perfectionist. Do you put in all that time studying because it's the absolute minimum you need to graduate, or do you do it because you can always do a little better?"

I can't say it enough. This is one of the things I love most about Jeff. Ask that kind of question of anyone else and they will give you their perfunctory, defensive answer.

He thought about it. I could see his eyes moving around, not really focusing, like he was trying to see facts and logic somewhere in the air. That's what he looked like when he was thinking.

I didn't care what he answered. That he took my question seriously was enough.

"I think you've got something there, Fifths. I may be a studyholic. Here, take your placebo."

They looked a bit like sugar pills but they were deep brown.

I finished the soup and part of a glass of ginger ale and was exhausted from the effort. I rolled onto my side and put my head on the pillow.

I woke around 4:00 and turned on Oprah. I didn't finish.

I next awoke to sounds in the kitchen.

Soon Jeff came into the bedroom with a tray of soup and crackers.

He took the glass and refilled my ginger ale. He gave me two more of the placebo pills. This was awfully strange behavior if it really was a placebo.

He removed the tray when I finished and returned with lime Jell-O, without the alcohol.

"I thought you deserved a treat since you've been such a good girl," he said.

I perked up. "What's the treat?"

"Nobody likes a smartass."

"You do."

He sat down on the other side of the bed and watched the remainder of the evening news with me.

My fever was gone. I thought this was a good sign until I noticed myself getting colder rapidly. In a heartbeat I had the chills. I was shivering uncontrollably.

Jeff threw off his clothes and jumped into bed with me.

"I'm this sick and you want to do me?"

"Grace under pressure," he said.

He snuggled tight to my back to warm me.

"Get out of bed, Jeff. You're going to catch it."

"If I'm going to catch it, I already have. You were spreading it around the house before you got symptoms."

I was still shaking. He rolled me over so I was facing him and pulled me tight against him.

"Are you crazy?" I asked, but I noticed I was warming up.

"The odds are the same no matter which way I'm facing."

"You made that up, didn't you?"