The Deadliest Strain

Chapter Forty-Two

Faas did not get sick.

He didn't take care of himself, either. But he didn't get I just want to crawl in bed and die sick. He couldn't ignore the feeling of pressure just above his rib cage anymore, though. There were no more medications in the house for him to take. What he'd taken had no effect. He was starting to think it wouldn't have mattered if Betty had left an entire pharmacy for him.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed. He couldn't bring himself to lie down. There was something wrong with his breathing. It hurt when he took a full breath, as if he had a broken rib.

He grabbed the phone. It was getting light outside. He looked at the clock — 5:13. He figured on a Monday morning Betty was lying in bed but awake. Probably just getting ready to get up. In their twenty-two years of marriage, she'd always been an early riser.

He was happy when she answered right away.

"Faas?" she asked before he said anything.

"Morning," he said.

"I was sleeping."

"Sorry. I didn't know who else to call."

"What's wrong?"

What was wrong? he asked himself. He'd screwed up his marriage, that's what was wrong. They'd been divorced for eight months now, and he missed her. He missed having a house full of his kids and their teenage friends. He missed the smell of something always in the oven. He missed Betty's smell. He missed the way she talked to him like he was one of the kids. The way she looked after him, took care of him, snuggled against him… no matter how late he got home and crawled into bed.

"I'm going through remorse," he managed to say. He tried to lean back against the headboard. The pain was bad. It was spreading to his shoulders, neck, jaw.

"I couldn't take it anymore," she told him for the umpteenth time. "If I'm going to raise our kids alone, I might as well be a single parent."

She was right. His job was demanding. But during the times between crises, he'd taken advantage of her. Baseball games with his friends, poker, golf and fishing trips. There had always been opportunities to do things without his family. He'd been stupid. He'd taken advantage.

They had four children, from eleven to seventeen. When Betty had asked for a divorce, there hadn't been any question who the kids wanted to live with.

"Are you still there?" she asked. "I'm here," he said.

"I'm going back to sleep," she told him. He nodded. It hurt too much to talk. She didn't hang up. A few seconds of silence went by. "Are you okay, Faas?" she asked gently. "I think… I think I'm dying, Betty." The phone slipped through his fingers to the floor. Faas slid from the edge of the bed and hit the floor hard.