Mac woke up freezing. His cheek itched under the bandage. And Hannah was in some state. Black bags sagged under her bloodshot eyes. Cracked lips. A gaunt face. He brought his seat up and faced her as she blankly stared out the windshield into the foggy, still morning underneath their cozy overpass encampment.

  “Hannah?”

  “What?” she snapped, and then cringed.

  At this, Mac tilted his head and hummed his concerns.

  Hannah shifted, bundling her arms around herself even more. She retracted her head and hands into her borrowed hoodie like Yertle, his fourth grade class pet. Mac stifled a tired laugh.

  Careful Mac, she might bite your head off. If you piss her off now, you might never get your favorite hoodie back AND she might ditch you to face these hit squads all alone. Don’t.

  “Are you okay? You don’t look like you got any sleep.”

  “I…” Hannah looked away.

  Seconds passed.

  “Was keeping an eye out.”

  Mac paused, glancing at the ceiling liner. He turned to Hannah. “All night? I could’ve helped you with that. You’re not alone anymore.”

  Hannah quickly straightened out against her seat as she continued gazing out her side window. She pulled her hood on and tucked her knees into her chest. “You’re right. I just…”

  Another few seconds passed. “Wasn’t thinking straight,” she coughed out, putting a fist in front of her face.

  “You don’t sound too good either.”

  Hannah turned around with a half-hearted attempt at a smirk drawn in Sharpie on her face. “W-what do you mean? I’m fine.”

  Her face is all flushed… People are NOT supposed to look that good when they’re sick. It’s like she’s an actress playing at it, but she’s actually sick… Fuck, what am I saying?

  She coughed again, this time covering her mouth with her arm. Sniffling, she made a pathetic face at Mac, one he’s never seen her make.

  Against his better judgment, Mac rolled the dice. “I’m sorry, but you’re dying. I give you like four, five days tops.”

  “HehehehCOUGHCOUGH! Augh, you fucking BUTT! It hurts to talk…” Giggling, Hannah admitted it.

  She’s a riot when she’s sick…

  Floored, Mac grinned back as he returned the chuckle for a flash before staring at her in horror as the implications of their situation caught up to him.

  But more importantly… WE’RE SUPER BONED IF CG&E SENDS NINJAS RIGHT NOW. I CAN’T FIGHT FOR JACK SHIT. NEED SOLUTIONS FOR HER CONDITION ASAFP.

  He locked in for two seconds and found a win-win solution. Putting on the face he practiced in the bathroom mirror for weeks for when he interviewed for CG&E, he began his rebuttal. “I’M a butt? Tell me, who in a day gives a truck to a guy they barely know, hits the drive-through with him in said truck, survives an ambush there with him, and hides under a freeway with him—but forgets that they’re with him? Or were you just that distracted by his roguish charm and handsome face, Miss Sinclair?”

  Hannah widened her eyes, the color draining fast from her face. She wiggled in her seat and looked down, fidgeting her pointer fingers together.

  Mac cleared his throat and capped his roast in perfect Okie, the way his grandfather spoke. “Wait, don’t ya tell me. Iz Tramp startin’ to ketch sumthin’ fer Lady? Hmm…” He scratched his chin, mocking the thought.

  “I… uhh.”

  Mac smirked. “Dude, I’m just joshing. How bad does it hurt? Should we get you to a doctor or should we just swing by a Walgreens on the way home?”

  “…Walgreens is fine,” she croaked, the color coming back to her face.

  Laughter really is the best medicine. She looks better already! But still, that looks like a gnarly fever. She’s so red. Gotta move.

  “On it, boss. Buckle up.” Mac buckled up, pulled his keys out, and turned the engine over. The cab rumbled as Weasel yawned a morning greeting.

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  Click! Hannah strapped in.

  I thought the engine was kinda loud the first time I turned the key. Surprised I got used to it this fast…

  He popped off the sidewalk and hit a U-turn, merging into a trickle of commuters.

  ---

  Opening the fridge, Mac found the filtered water pitcher. He took it out and set it on the counter next to the shopping tote. Clink, clink, glug glug glug! Mac poured a tall glass of water. Then he rustled around in the bag for the medicine. Rip! Crinkle! Snap! Braving the jagged edges of the plastic packaging, he peeled back the foil holding the tablets in the plastic.

  Okay, this should do for now.

  He took the water and the pills over to Hannah, who had metamorphosed into a bundle of blankets on the couch.

  She looks worse than when she was bleeding out in the diner. How the mighty have fallen…

  “Got you something. It should help you with the coughing and sniffles,” Mac said, bending down to hand them over.

  A pair of pale hands shot out from the blanket monster, a blob of cream cashmere on black leather. “…Thanks.”

  The arms retreated into the cocoon and deposited an empty glass and plastic packet on the side table. He took them back.

  “I’ll fix you something to eat real quick. Don’t die on me in the meantime,” he joked.

  Hannah muffled out a “no promises.”

  “Very well. How does chicken noodle soup sound?”

  “Mmh.”

  Mac huffed as he stood up and walked back to the kitchen. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  He opened the fridge again.

  A fridge full of real food. Must be nice having money. Let’s see… Celery, carrots, butter, stock, leftover rotisserie chicken… What, does she have one of those bougie spice racks in her pantry as well?

  She did.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” he whispered.

  Mac pulled out a bag of pasta shaped like corkscrews, an onion, a head of garlic, the oregano, the basil, the salt, and the pepper. Then, after laying all of his ingredients out on the counter, he scavenged around for a pot, its lid, a wooden spoon, a cutting board, a peeler, and a knife, finding them all where they were supposed to be. He turned the stove on and placed the pot on top of it. Above the cooktop, he inspected the vent hood.

  Fancy. Guess I should turn it on…

  Pressing a button with the wooden spoon, the slats of the vents above the stove opened and a fan inside started sucking air. Whoosh! Over the fans, Mac heard voices coming from the television in the living room and looked over his shoulder. Hannah lay on her side watching, newly hatched from her blanket. He chuckled, knowing that she wasn’t paying attention.

  Plop! Mac tossed a couple pats of butter into the warming pot. He washed his produce and peeled them. Then he chopped the onion, celery and carrots. After that, he broke off five cloves of garlic from the stem. Smack! The garlic crunched under the flat of Mac’s knife, and the skins popped off. Mincing them, he saw that the butter had just started to brown.

  Toss the aromatics in. Stir for five minutes.

  When his wrist tired, he added the stock, the chicken, and the noodles. Mac pinched some basil and oregano and sprinkled it in until the brew looked right before shaking out some salt and pepper in the same way.

  Stir and cover. Blow three kisses. Boil and simmer for 20 minutes. Just enough time for me to do the dishes.

  Mac cleaned his tools in the sink and scrubbed the dirty dishes before loading them into the dishwasher. He took Hannah’s empty glass and refilled it. Taking it to her, Chef Mac crouched and met his customer’s eyes.

  “Almost done, give it like ten more minutes. How are you holding up?”

  “I can barely smell, but even I can tell it’s gonna be good.” Hannah blew into a tissue and gulped the water down.

  He offered a small smile and softened his eyes.

  “Yeah. Blew some kisses at it and all that. What’cha watching?” Mac asked, turning to look at the screen.

  An ad played, the same one that hooked him in the diner. “Single-family homes near Workday! Five minutes from 580 and 680! Two bed, one bath models starting in the low N$2 millions!”

  He caught her eye. They snickered. “Yeah fuckin’ right—” they said at the same time. Then they broke the moment. Hannah barrel rolled into facing the backrest and coughed. Mac stared over his shoulder at the steaming pot.

  Business, Mac. This pot of chicken noodle soup is life or death. She needs to recover quickly or we’re both gonna DIE.

  Mac sat on the opposite shore of the couch as he counted the seconds down in his head. The Today Show came back from its commercial break. His eyes did their best to glaze over, but he kept rewinding and playing back the shared laugh. The segment ended, and the show cut to ads once again.

  Beep beep beep beep beep!

  My timer. Better hustle back.

  He turned off the burner and shut the vents.

  Mitts…

  Mac found them in a drawer beside the stove and put them on. Picking the pot up and turning, he set it down on the counter and took them off. He snagged a bowl from the cupboard and found a ladle and a spoon in another drawer. From another cupboard, he dug up a wooden tray that was just the right size. Dunk, stir, stir. Then he dished out a hearty bowl of soup, slightly less than what he would eat.

  He carried the soup back to the living room on the tray and set it down on the ottoman.

  “It’s done. Are you strong enough to feed yourself?” Mac asked.

  Hannah fired a glare at him, an inaccurate potshot from miles away. “I. Can. Do. It.”

  “Alright, watch your hands.” Mac placed the wooden tray in her lap and handed her the spoon. Her hand shook, and she dropped it on the tray. Another weak leer.

  Mac hesitated, choosing his words carefully and blending it with the right mix of concern on his face. “Do… do you want me to feed you?”

  Hannah pouted and turned away, sticking her nose up. Her lip twitched. “Hmph!”

  Did she just… smile a little? No. She just might be a little loopy from the cough medicine.

  She turned to face him again. “But I guess it can’t be helped. Here, I’ll scooch over.”

  A gentle sunshine broke through the clouds of Mac’s doubtful face. “Right. Guess it can’t be helped.”

  He picked up the tray and sat down next to her. Skimming the top of the soup, he got a spoonful of broth and blew on it. Mac cupped a hand under it and put it up to Hannah’s chapped lips. Slurp. This time, there were no reservations. Closing her eyes, she smiled as she savored the first taste.

  They quietly repeated the motions until they emptied the bowl. The Today Show rolled its credits. Mac went to get up, but he felt something heavy and warm on his shoulder.

  Hannah?

  He glanced over. The television flickered a commercial across her face as she used him as a pillow. Her breaths came steadier and deeper now, the phlegmy timbre from earlier that morning reduced to the occasional whoop.

  That’s a relief, she sounds much better.

  “Must have been a long night of looking out for me. Least I can do’s the same for her,” he chuckled under his breath.

  Taking care not to disturb her, he reached for the remote on the ottoman and muted the television.

  Mac faced her and whispered a promise. “Take it easy, Hannah. I got us for now.”