Bruce arrived at home from work just in time to discover Amy emphatically embracing the toilet. He froze. She hadn’t yet seen him. Sneaking out of the front door seemed like a hopeful plan. Unfortunately, it was a plan doomed to failure.
Amy might not have seen him, but she heard him. “Bruce, is that you? I’ve got the flu,” she said. Her voice was weak and shaky.
Bruce hesitated, but knew there was no escape. “Hi sweetheart. Is there anything you need before I take off my coat?” He was still hoping for a reprieve.
“No, I just want some company.”
Bruce rolled his eyes. He poked his head in the bathroom and offered his best look of concern. “Are you gonna be in there a while?”
“I hope not. I’ve got nothing left to throw up,” she said.
The image made his upper lip curl. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything?” He followed her to the living room.
Amy sighed. “If you need to get out of the house, I understand. You don’t wanna get sick like me. I must look awful.”
Bruce shrugged. “To tell you the truth, you’ve looked better, and it smells a little ripe in here.”
A box of tissues bounced off his forehead.
“Really? I’m trying to be sweet when I’m misrable and you go and say that!”
Bruce rubbed his head and checked for blood. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I thought you wanted honesty.”
“Not when I’m sick. You’re supposed to comfort me, you jerk.” She picked up a bottle of medicine and threw it across the room. Bruce caught it easily. Inspiration struck.
“You want me to get you another bottle of this?”
Amy dropped onto the couch. “Yeah, and maybe some chocolate for later.”
“How ‘bout supper?”
“I wouldn’t mind chicken noodle soup,” said Amy.
“Great. I’ll be back before you know it.”
Amy scowled at Bruce. “You better be.”
Bruce smiled as he turned to leave. “Can’t lose ‘em all,” he whispered.