Cleo Onyx's Arc

Chapter 3 of 3

Morning light filled the tall windows. Pope had slept on the floor by the patchwork couch. He rose stiff and quiet, careful not to wake Cleo. He had to leave soon. His father's restaurant opened early, and Pope worked the morning shift. That work paid for their food. He could not skip it. He went to the kitchen to make her breakfast before he left. Cleo woke to the smell of toast. Her stomach rolled. She sat up too fast. The room tilted. She swung her feet down, thinking she could reach the bathroom before the sickness won. She stood. Her legs shook. Then it came all at once. She threw up on the floor, a hot rush she could not stop. The dizziness swallowed her. The windows spun bright and white. Her knees folded, and she dropped. "Cleo!" Pope came running. The plate hit the counter. He knelt over her, both hands on her face. "Cleo, wake up. Please." Her eyes opened. The ceiling swam, then held still. Pope's scared face filled her sight. "I'm here," he said. "I've got you." "Bathroom," she whispered. "Now." He lifted her against his chest and half carried her down the hall. He got her onto the toilet just in time. The cramps twisted low and sharp. The diarrhea came in painful waves. Cleo bent forward and gripped his arm. Pope did not flinch. He rubbed slow circles on her back. "You're okay," he said. "Take your time. I'm not going anywhere." He held her until the shaking passed and her breathing slowed. When it was over, he wiped her face with a cool cloth. He would not let go. "I'm not leaving you like this," he said. "I'll tell my dad I can't come in." Cleo shook her head. Her voice was thin but firm. "No. We need that job. We need the money." She pressed his hand. "Call Sarah Seaglass. Ask her to sit with me." Pope hesitated. Sarah lived two doors down, a broad woman who had raised six children and buried a husband. She had brought them soup twice already, always leaving with a nod instead of a goodbye. "She'll come," Cleo said. "You know she will." Pope carried her back to the couch and made the call. Twenty minutes later Sarah let herself in without knocking. She took one look at the mess on the floor and rolled up her sleeves. "Go on to work, boy," she told Pope. "I've cleaned worse than this before breakfast." Pope kissed Cleo's forehead. "I'll come straight back after my shift." He grabbed his jacket and ran. Cleo watched the door shut behind him. Sarah pulled a chair beside the couch and set a bucket within reach. For the first time, Cleo saw how they would do this. Pope would work. Someone would sit. The road was still long, but now it had a shape she could walk.