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I WAITED NERVOUSLY FOR Addison to emerge from school. Today, I’d been lonely. It was the first time I’d been alone and the house seemed empty and too large without her there, her presence missed.

Warmth filled me at the sight of her lugging her backpack. She spotted me and waved, giving me a bright smile.

The back door opened. A backpack was flung in, the door slammed, and Addison climbed into the passenger seat.

“How was the first day of high school?” I asked, starting the Range Rover.

“Tiring but good. There are so many people! It’s a madhouse! At least Julia’s with me.” Addison closed her seatbelt and asked, “How was your day?”

“Wonderful. Productive.”

“Liar.”

“Yeah. It was lonely and boring. I worked out and ... That’s about it.”

“You promised you were going to get rid of the furniture in the study!”

“I forgot,” I claimed.

“No you didn’t. You’ve been promising to do it all summer so I can order new stuff.”

“Maybe tomorrow.”

Addison snorted. “Yeah, right!” She changed the subject. “Can you believe they gave us homework on the first day? High school sucks!”

Our new weekday routine started; Addison doing her homework while messaging Julia; me watching the evening news, then preparing dinner. Together, we’d learned how to cook over the summer. I actually enjoyed it now I wasn’t completely incompetent.

Some nights we had sex, some we made love, others we just cuddled. Addison was very active during the day and frequently exhausted at night. Adapting to high school seemed to take the wind out of her.

The Indian summer made a brief visit in late September and fall colours made their spectacular appearance in early October - a captivating quilt work of reds, oranges, and bright yellows. Autumn rain arrived bringing cooler temperatures.

And Addison caught a cold.

She had sniffles. Her runny nose drove her nuts. Two days later, she had a sore throat and she bitched about it. To her, the cold was an affront. It dragged on for a couple more days, aggravating her.

What amused me was how she wasn’t angry at anyone. She even named the cold! Bert. Then she had conversations with Bert out loud, telling him how inconsiderate he was, what a pain, and enough already!

I was charmed. I laughed. Addison didn’t find it funny.

Instead of passing, Addison developed a low grade fever and our assessment changed. She’d caught the flu, not a cold. Her throat still hurt. Her nose still ran. And I medicated her. The syrup gave her four hours of respite but inevitably the symptoms returned. To add to her discomfort, her body ached all over.

By the seventh day, her fever jumped. I had kept her out of school and, not knowing what to do, took her to our family doctor. He hummed and hawed and inspected her throat and eyes and ears. He listened to her chest and after a pause to think, announced Addison had the flu. I wasn’t impressed. Had he been our doctor for a long time?

Addison confirmed he’d been our doctor, like, forever. I filled the prescription for antiviral drugs and took my daughter home.

Two days later, I called the doctor to find out how long the drugs took to work. Addison was now going through hot spells and chills, her body aching even more.

“Give it a week, Mr. Roth,” he advised. “If there’s no improvement by then, bring her back in to see me.”

Addison suffered. She lay on the couch shivering and covered in blankets, then threw them off when she was burning up. We watched movies and sitcoms and documentaries. I fed her water. She wasn’t hungry and when I told her she had to eat, she asked if I’d get her what her mother always gave her when she was sick.

“Chicken noodle soup?” I asked.

“No. Macaroni and cheese. And not pre-made. It has to be Kraft.”

That’s what she ate. Nothing else.

It was with no small measure of relief when she improved. Two weeks after it started, she was back in school. However, seeing Addison sick bothered me. I didn’t like it at all.

Addison wasn’t impressed when I tried to force her to wear a thick sweater and a heavy winter coat to school. She took one look at the bulky jacket I’d bought.

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“Bollocks Kate! This is my house and I’m sleeping in my own bed! If you don’t like it you can sleep in the bloody spare room.” I shouted as I went up the stairs. I didn’t even have a shower that night; I just stripped off (I sleep naked, always have done) and climbed into bed. I don’t know how much later it was that I was woken by Katie coming into the room to get some of her things. She clattered around obviously making much more noise than was necessary and I heard her mutter the word...

From Nothing EverythingChapter 2

I WATCHED THE POOL guy vacuum the pool in the early morning light, forcing myself not to look away. The pool held so many cherished memories. Now, at least I could watch. Now I could swim without sinking into despair. But the ache was ever-present. The day passed, time flowing. I worked out in the morning, read a book, read the news, watched TV without really following it. I found myself browsing the Internet on an iPad in the evening and, without really thinking about it, I searched for...

Without You I Have Nothing Ch 04

A hammering on the shutters brought Peter back to reality. ‘Is the car loaded?’ Bob was bright and cheery and Ted waved from his car. ‘My God, you look as though you’ve not been to bed at all. Hook up the trailer and let’s get going. We have a busy day ahead.’ It was Sunday. The night had flown. Peter had been so busy thinking of Jennifer and what he would say, when next they met – if they met – so busy checking the car he had not noticed the sunlight streaming into the workshop. The...

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