Page 83 of The Biker and the Baker
In all-black, Scratch stands on the steps holding a paper-bag. He frowns at me before asking, “Can I come in?”
On a nod, I turn and slog to the kitchen.
Scratch comes in and sets the paper bag on the dinette table. He’s so…huge. Like some sort of indestructible superhero. “The wife ordered me to bring you lunch”
“Oh, um, thanks. But you really didn’t have to.” I’ve had nothing but cups of tea since this morning, not just because my appetite is nonexistent, but also because Onyx is running on E with groceries.
“Oh, Ihad to, if I didn’t wanna get my head chewed off.” He pauses, then points to his head. “Well,thishead at least.”
I start to laugh but it ends in a cough, muffled by the crook of my arm. “Thenshedidn’t have to.”
“You good?” he asks, eying me with concern.
Trying not to wince as I swallow past my sore throat, I reply, “Yeah, yeah, I’m good.”
“Hm. Is that why you look like Rudolph right now?”
I wave him off. “It’s nothing. Just a little cold. It’ll be gone by sundown.”
“Okay.” He turns and leaves without another word.
I move to the dinette table and peer inside the paper bag. A food container, a Dr. Pepper, and a bottled water. I lift out the container and flip it open. Grilled fish with sweet potato fries and a serving of garden salad.
I pick at the food, but it’s not happening. My appetite is still absent. Giving up, I close the container, drag myself back to the entertainment corner, and reassume my fetal position on the couch.
~
Less than an hour later, there's another knock at the door. This time I ignore it for real. I'm too weary to move.
"Pia, it's Toni,” a woman’s voice calls. “I'm coming in."
The door opens and footsteps approach. Seconds later, Toni is looming over the couch with a Styrofoam soup container. Petite, sophisticated, and stunningly gorgeous as always. She observes the heaps of balled-up tissues littered around me.
"Hey," she says gently. "Scratch said you had a cold. I brought you some chicken soup."
I shift up in a sitting position, legs tucked under me. I’m so stuffy it sounds like I’m speaking into a cup when I mumble, “Hey Toni.”
She sits at the end of the couch. "How are you feeling?"
"Miserable," I admit.
"Have some of this soup," she urges. "It's from Mally-O's Soup Truck, my go-to whenever I get sick. It always makes me feel better."
IloveMally-O's soups. At last, my appetite pokes it’s head out, all perked up at the prospect of that hot, flavorful soup coating my sore throat. Grateful, I greedily take the soup from her. "Thank you, Toni. I really appreciate it."
She makes small talk while I eat, but I get the feeling she's sticking around to ensure I get it in my stomach and not set it aside the minute she leaves.
When I'm down to the last spoonfuls, she stands and smooths out the wrinkles from her ivory dress. "Okay, I have to get back to work. Is there anything I can get you? Anything I can help you with?"
"Oh, no, thanks." I stir what’s left of the soup. "This is exactly what I didn't know I needed. I’m starting to feel better already."
"Anytime." She takes one last look around the RV, then patters off in her red bottom heels.
~
An hour later, as I'm on the brink of a nap, I'm jerked to alertness from the sound of the RV door opening. I assume it's Onyx since there was no knock, but when I push myself up on one elbow and glance over the top of the couch, I’m surprised to see it’s Kendra.
"Yo," she says, those serious gray eyes narrowed on me. "Heard you’re sick. Brought you some shit."
