Page 135 of The Story of You

A year and some of near abstinence came roaring back as sexual fire. I came embarrassingly quick, arching into his mouth. As I caught my breath, he stared.

“You’re breathtaking, Silas.”

I composed myself. “May I repay the favor?”

“Are you always so formal, Silas?”

“I try to be.”

“You’re a very strange young man and too beautiful for me to say no to.”

I got on my knees and sucked him off and had I been doing it for job security, I would have had the job forever. He was dazed afterward. The rest of lunch was less formal after that.

As I was packing up my bag for home, the phone rang. “Harrows and Billings, how may I—”

Darius cut me off. “Sye. Fuck. You were right. He’s sick. He just turned into the fucking exorcist. His fever is high. We don’t know what to do.”

“I’m on my way. Hang tight.”

We didn’t live far from the office, so I walked to work to save money on gas. I sprinted home. Oliver cried when I walked in the door. Darius went slack with relief.

“I don’t … I don’t … I don’t feel good, Baba.”

I set my work bag on the counter and picked him up. He reeked of puke. “Come. Let’s get you into the bath.”

I ran the bath. He cried. I removed my jacket and blazer, rolled up the sleeves of my white button-down, then I worked on him. To that point, he’d had some colds and the chicken pox, all common for young children to get, but he’d never been this upset about it.

“It hurts, Baba.”

“Where?” I lifted his shirt over his head.

“Every …. Everywhere.”

“Okay. I’m going to help.”

He nodded, implicit faith shining in his blue eyes.

I called for Darius to bring me the children’s Advil. Once I got that into him, I washed him as he sobbed, and I died inside. People came in to check—Shane, Simon, Darius, even Asher—if I needed anything.

Just as I got him clean, he began coughing so hard he puked again. Which meant more high-pitched cries. “Simon!” I called.

He was near the door. He’d fallen in love with Oliver at first sight and was dealing just as well as I was with this crying. “Can you help me clean that so I can rinse him?”

“Of course.”

I sprayed Oliver down with the shower—he did not like that—but I wanted to get him out and in comfortable clothes.

Wrapping a towel around him, I brought him to the bedroom. He calmed a little, which meant the Advil was starting to kick in. “Baba, are you going to make me better now?”

“I’m working on it, Eaglet.”

I got him into underwear and pajamas. His skin was hot. I got Darius to bring me the thermometer. Concern was etched into every line on Darius’s face. He knew as well as I did, we needed to bring him to the emergency. We had all of Oliver’s ID-type items. I had to use it for things when I lived at home and so I kept them in my wallet. It helped that our last names matched and thank fuck I had a great health insurance plan with my job.

But Dad’s domain was the hospital world. We tried to avoid it. So far, we had.

I wanted Mama. I had no idea what to do. I wished she was there to ask, but she wasn’t. Everyone looked to me for the answers now. I had to have them no matter what. “We have to go to the hospital.”

“He hasn’t found us yet. We’ll … we’ll be okay,” Darius said.