Trouble Won't Wait by Autumn Piper

while it was empty, and now I’m starting the others in his washer. Again, typical guy, has no fabric softener. Good grief, how can guys stand it? Yucky rough polyester sheets, and no fabric softener. I’ll bring some Bounce when I come back, and stick it in with them in the dryer. I check his temp; it’s down to a hundred and one now, which is uncomfortable but not dangerous, at least. I slip a couple more ice chips in, then leave quietly by the back door.
    It’s only noon, so I head to Wal-mart again. This time I get him Bounce, two more packs of Gatorade, Carmex, and some of those little bowls of Mandarin oranges. And a DVD of–what else?– Ferris Bueller’s Day Off . I’m not sure if he already has it, but I bet he’ll get a kick out of me buying it for him.
    As an afterthought, I pick up some TwinPops, knowing my kids like them when they have a fever. Even with stomach flu, they taste good. Florence Nightingale, at your service.
    Adam’s sleeping again when I come in, and the fever’s still down. I set about putting stuff together to take in his room so he won’t have to run to the kitchen for everything. For the first time, I notice his last name on a piece of mail.
    Kraft. Adam Kraft. Has a nice ring to it. So who the heck is Laura? I’m not sure I want to know, but I’m certain I need to, sooner or later. He’s managed to down the Gatorade I left him, so I get him more, then wake him.
    “Hey,” he croaks.
    “Hey. I brought you Popsicles, and these little oranges if you want them.” Why am I whispering? “There’s more Gatorade, and I bought you a movie.” I hold up the DVD.
    He smiles. “Thanks, that’s my favorite!” Yeah, so you told me.
    “I need to go now, but call or email if you need anything, okay?” I head out of the room.
    “You taking the baby, or do I need to watch him?”
    I stop in my tracks, turn to look at him, and he’s dead serious.
    “Yeah, he’ll be with me. Get some rest.” I start the sheets in the dryer and leave, more confused than ever.
    * * * *
    Later that evening Adam emails me. He’s feeling better. He can tell I’ve been there by the movie, and he notices I changed the sheets. He’s forgotten everything else.
    * * * *
    I don’t have much time on my hands this week. Aunt Clara is coming over every day to make as much Christmas candy with me as she deems necessary. This candy-making is a good partnership. Her kitchen is way too small for it, and my one attempt at toffee resulted in a forever-gooey mess that ultimately stuck so badly, I had to throw away the pan it was in.
    I’m here for transportation–of Aunt Clara and ingredients, as well as moving heavy pans of this and cooling trays of that–and for stirring. And hefting the fifty-pound bag of sugar, which I am beginning to doubt will be enough.
    During a short break on Wednesday, while we eat lunch and catch People’s Court , I’m thinking of Mike and his behavior the night before. God, he seems so sorry. I can’t help thinking maybe I should give this whole marital counseling thing a fair shake and see if we can be fixed.
    “What’s troublin’ ya, child?” Aunt Clara asks, munching a few crumbs of the peanut brittle we just finished making. “You’re a million miles away.”
    “Just wondering if there’s a possibility my marriage could be fixed, if I really wanted it. People have gone through worse and stayed together.”
    Clara rolls her little eyes, then looks off out my window at the small airport across the river.
    “To me, a marriage is like a fort in the Old West. When you first settle in, you build it together, puttin’ up strong walls, hopin’ your love will be strong enough to protect you from anything scary that might come along. Outside your walls are maybe Indians or outlaws, wantin’ in to loot and pillage.” Lana. Yeah, she’s a savage, all right. “If one of ’em gets in, busts up part of your wall, you can’t ever change that. You can fix it, but it ain’t ever