He Doesn’t Want To Sound So Needy

When Kira was a kid and ran a fever, her father always took care of her. He would order her to stay in bed and bring her anything she wanted to eat or drink—orange juice, plum water, chicken soup, even popsicles. She could watch TV in bed. Dad would draw a lukewarm bath for her and drape a wetted towel over her forehead. Her fevers never lasted for longer than a day. Kira looked at Austyn. He was already in bed. He probably didn’t want to drink orange juice or plum water, or watch TV. There was an ensuite bathroom, but Kira doubted she could lift or carry him there for a bath. That left only one thing to do. She stood up, headed into the bathroom, found a rack filled with clean towels, took one and put it under a running tap. The water was sufficiently cool. She wrung the towel dry, came out, and laid the towel gently over his forehead. It might not work as fast as an ice pack, or even work at all, but she couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. When the towel started to warm up, she w