"I picked up a bug on the cruise," Sheila said to Nicholas, "I need to rest."
"You went on the cruise to rest."
"It's kind of hard to rest when you're throwing up every five minutes." She hated questions that bordered on holding her accountable. She was fifty-eight years old, not a teenager.
Nicholas said, "I'm sorry about your bug. Can I bring you anything? Something easy on the stomach?"
"A fifty-fifty ice cream bar sounds good."
"As soon as you're well enough, I'd like to take you out for that special dinner date."
Oh dear, she thought. Her intuition told her that the special dinner with Nicholas might include a proper proposal. She couldn't even think about it with so many other things on her mind. She said, "I promise to call you the minute I wake up."
But Sheila couldn't sleep. She was terribly behind at work and she felt horrible about letting down Tom and the whole village of Mateo. She had two very big problems. Getting another box of tetracycline would be nearly impossible. If she did get one, she had no idea how to make sure it didn't fall into the wrong hands or get destroyed before it reached Mateo. And she also had the ongoing housing problem and the need to see Richard.
She fled to the sanctuary of her room at Beckman and worked for three hours. The scanner held up fine under her fast pace, but she had to turn off the industrial strength shredder several times because it over heated. While waiting for the umpteenth time for the shredder to cool down, Sheila glanced through the documents she was about to scan. More copies of shipping labels from the mail room. More filled out by Carl. More with squares that couldn't be read. Department of origin. Contents. Two necessary bits of information to anyone trying to solve a shipping problem. At least the weight of each package was clearly indicated because the postal meter, after weighting the package, automatically printed it on the paperwork and the box at the same time. Then she noticed that every package sent out with one of the illegible shipping labels in this group weighted 2.2046 pounds.
Two point two pounds sounded familiar. Wasn't there a song, back in the seventies with something about two point two pounds in it?
Her train of thought was interrupted by the ringing of her cell phone. She checked caller I.D. before answering. She didn't want to have to explain to Nicholas why she was at work instead of at home resting. But it was Tom calling so she was saved any further deception. She opened her phone and said, "Tom, did the tetracycline finally get there?"
An unfamiliar voice said, "Sheila, this is doctor Neill O'Brien. I run the little medical facility in Mateo."
She said, "I know, Tom's mentioned you many times. Is everything okay?"
"The tetracycline did not get here, but that's not why I called."
"Doctor Neill, is my brother okay?"
"He's very sick. He's come down with a very bad case of typhus. I have nothing to treat him with and, to be honest, I don't know if he can beat this thing."
"Oh, God,!" she sobbed.
"He's delirious and keeps saying he saw you on the bus the other day. I think that's his way of saying he'd like to see you."
"I'll get there as soon as I can."
"Can you get more tetracycline?"
She didn't know how, but she said, "Yes, I can get more."
"Good. Let me give you the number of a very reliable car service that you can use."
She could have kicked herself for not thinking of that. If she had - she stopped herself from wasting time on thoughts like that. She said, "Doctor Neill, please be honest, how long do you think Tom has?"
"Without medication, about five days."
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