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Did I say you could text me?

I smile softly.

“She replied, didn’t she?” Olive asks.

She did. Margo texted me back.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

MARGO

Earlier that morning

I spend most of the morning sleeping. Mama comes in every so often to check my forehead for a fever, but my temperature never rises. My headache is still pounding at my temples, and my face is buried in my pillow with my blankets tucked around me when Mama walks in again.

“Hey, baby,” she says, patting my back. “I need you to sit up. I brought you something to drink.”

I groan. “What is it?”

“It’s peppermint tea.”

“I hate tea.”

Mama pulls me up, holding me to keep me upright despite my lack of help. “You might not like it, but your Aunt Beth had a migraine for five weeks straight and the day she tried peppermint tea, she was cured.”

She always has a reason to justify her words. I stopped trying to prove their authenticity years ago. Even if I were toargue, she’d tell me she’s a nurse and therefore knows what she’s talking about.

I take the cup and sip it. Not because I want to, but because it’ll make her happy.

Her hand covers my forehead for the twentieth time. “Are you sure you don’t want to take the medicine? Maybe we should call your doctor?”

I shake my head. “No. I’ll be okay.” I hate the pain meds they gave me last time. Sure, they took away the pain, but they made me feel gross. I felt like I was disconnected from everything around me. No matter how hard I tried to focus, I couldn’t. I had no energy, and all I wanted to do was sleep. “I’ll get up soon. I promise.”

“If you change your mind, don’t be afraid to tell me,” she says.

I take another sip of my tea before setting it on the nightstand. “I won’t be.” I pat her hand and then lie back down.

Mama watches me closely, sitting on the corner of my bed. I can tell she doesn’t want to leave. That she wants to find a way to help me.

“Will you rub my back?” I ask.

She smiles. “Of course.”

I turn over, and the motion calms me. Before I know it, I drift back to sleep.

When I wake up a couple hours later, my headache has been replaced by an empty stomach. To say I feel better is a stretch considering I never actually feel good now, but it’s somewhat of an improvement.

I raise my arms above my head and yawn, then leave mybed. I wander into the kitchen. Mama is stirring something on the stove, and I wrap my arms around her. “Your tea worked,” I say even though I don’t think it’s what fixed my headache.

“I knew it would,” she says.

“You’re making soup?”

Mama nods as I move to lean against the counter. She opens the oven and pulls out a tray. “And garlic bread.”

“It’s a little early for dinner.”

“This isn’t for dinner. It’s for you since you haven’t eaten all day.”