Soup's On

At the onset, I asked advice on which category to choose, and AWhoopsieDaisy stepped up to help out. My thanks herein expressed.

To some of you who recognize these characters, a few of the details might sound familiar; for many of you here in Non-Erotic, I look to establish some context.

And yes, my leads do have a Christian faith dear to them, showing forth later. Hopefully this won't be a problem.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"Oy... yecch."

This is not a typical weekday morning greeting, and these certainly were not the usual words to accompany my wife's waking up -- and neither were "I feel hot... do you think I feel hot?"

Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed my right hand; with the back of that hand, she made me feel her forehead, both cheeks, and the left side of her throat just below her jawbone.

"Yeah, you do feel pretty warm," I said as I got up to go to the bathroom; there, I took some alcohol and sanitized a thermometer. "Here," I said as I came back with it and helped her take her temperature.

When the thermometer was ready, it beeped; my wife countered. "Yeah?"

"One-oh-one... yeah, you're definitely calling in."

"I gotta go in... patients need me."

And here, we see a glimpse of the drive and the work ethic that has caused my wife to rise to chief nurse's aide at our local retirement home and care center -- the Campania, named after our own home. Campania County, Missouri.

Oh, that name sounds familiar, does it? Yeah, I thought so -- my wife and I have both brought you here before, to our hometown and county seat, which is Naples. It's us, Jason and Emily Kelley -- we haven't seen you in a while, how ya been?

With greetings now out of the way, I'll bring you up to speed. Seventeen years ago, Emily passed exams and earned her CNA, the award ceremony being held the exact day before her twenty-eighth birthday; she went to work once Maureen (our youngest child, with whom Emily was five months pregnant on award ceremony day) started pre-kindergarten. Since then, she's blended the type-A personality required for successfully managing a household with the equal requirement for such management -- abundant measures of compassion. To that end, she cares for her patients with the same care and kindness as for our family -- because, in her words, "they're someone's family too." This is the determination, and this the focus, that caused her to sit up and make for the shower, so she could get ready.

I took hold of her left forearm. "The shape you're in, you're not going anywhere." My hopes, that she could simply have slept off the bout of shivering and nausea she had experienced the previous evening after coming home from work, had vanished.

"What am I gonna do?"

I reached for her phone, scrolled through her contacts, and found the Campania. "I'm not calling -- you are. They'll believe the way you sound." Emily glowered at me as I hit the call button, but made an effort to brighten as the call made its way through.

I couldn't hear everything on the other end, but did hear Emily telling of her fever and overall weakness, as well as her "If you say so" when (or so I'm guessing) she was told to stay home until better.

"So you made me stay home... happy now?" she asked once she'd hung up; her glower hadn't let up during the call.

"How can I be happy -- I love you, and it hurts me to see you sick."

"Sick or not, somebody's gotta get the kids ready," she said in a slurring moan, in another attempt to get out of bed. Of our four, two still live at home -- McCord is nineteen and does jobs on farms and construction sites, whereas Maureen just turned seventeen (November 12, to be exact) and is a junior at Naples High.

"I can wake them as well as you can, so get back into bed and rest up -- we want you well, fast."

"Aww, thanks babe -- yeah, I'm acting a little pissed at being made to stay home, but I love you, too, and don't you forget it." She smiled, faintly but with sincere feeling. I leaned in to kiss her, but she stiff armed me and turned me away: "Don't want you getting this."

I went back into the bathroom to get her a glass of water and two Tylenol, which she took while I stood aside and encouraged her to take. Afterward, I nodded, kissed the air in her direction, then woke the kids and had them get at least nominally presentable for breakfast. There, I told them that Emily had gotten sick overnight, and that we should do what we could around the house while she recuperated. They readily agreed, offering to pitch in where possible.

While we ate, I took stock of the situation: with health care being Emily's field, she's had every Covid shot and booster, for her patients' protection -- but even if it weren't that, what had hit her had to be something plenty powerful in its own right. Anything like this, strong enough to put my Emily Ann Kelley and her determined drive into this condition, would turn most of the rest of humanity into death warmed over; she certainly didn't want us to follow suit, and we agreed with her on this.

The kids went off to get more fully and properly dressed than they had been for breakfast; while they did so, I went into our in-house office and typed up a short letter, telling of an illness in our family and of my subsequent need to be out for the day; I intended to entrust the letter to Maureen, for her to post at my farm construction business in town (we actually live five miles out in the country, as against the town proper, but that's really neither here nor there) before she went on to school. Just as I was about to hit 'Print,' however, I heard my phone buzzing; as luck would have it, it was Marlee Swindon, my nearest neighbor -- better still for the situation, she's also my mother-in-law. I figured it would be better for me to pick right up.

"Jason? Hi, sweetheart."

"Marlee -- hey, what's goin' on?"

"Emily just texted me that she's not feeling so good... poor girl, she must not be doing well at all."

"Doesn't sound it or look it." I tried to sound noncommittal, but I knew a standoff could be brewing. Marlee had been a nurse for over forty years, both in hospital and home settings before retiring two years ago; this work had inspired Emily to follow Marlee's example. As both have long been fond of saying, "Mothers and healthcare workers tend to be impatient patients," as both groups would feel that their duties overrode any feelings of sickness. I also knew which woman would fill which role: Marlee would be the irresistible force driven by the desire to help her daughter recover more quickly, whereas Emily would be the immovable object determined not to transmit her illness to her mother... and I was able to process everything in this paragraph within no more than three seconds.

"You just stay there until I get there to relieve you." Marlee's voice was kind, but her intentions were firmly clear.

"She wouldn't let me kiss her -- does that tell you anything?" At that moment, I saw McCord and Maureen dressed and ready, their expressions uneasy at hearing so vivid a description of their mother's illness; I turned to them, saying, "Yeah, it's Grandma Marlee." They waved and told me to pass her their best, then left for the day; I handed Maureen the typed note as she made her way out, then left myself to finish this call. "She'll try to keep you out, too -- but I don't know what to do. Someone needs to take care of her, but I gotta go in to work -- bad enough one of us is missing, and the bills don't care who's sick..."

A male voice -- Emily's father, Gil Swindon -- cut in. "You'll be all right -- just let us help. We'll be over soon."

"Thanks, both of you -- listen, you don't have to do this, but I thank you."

"Have to, nothing -- we want to. She's our daughter and so much more."

I let my breath catch, so touched was I. "See you soon, then?"

"Like we said, you just sit tight -- love you."

We hung up, after which i sat alone at the kitchen table. On one hand, I wasn't at all unappreciative of any help, especially from my in-laws and their close situation; on the other, I could easily see myself turned into a fifth wheel, and that in my own home. As I mentioned, Emily and Marlee might have differing opinions on how to get Emily well, and could easily have words about that.

And then there's Gil -- I fully intend this in a good, complimentary way, but he's something else entirely. Shortly before his Vietnam tour of duty ended in 1970, he had distinguished himself so as to be promoted to a staff sergeant at the age of only twenty, in command of some of his brother Marines and responsible for their lives and safety. Twenty-five years later, his ability to steer a situation showed itself in a big way -- when he found out I'd gotten Emily pregnant with our oldest child, Matthew (more about him later). Even though I was only twenty and Emily was only eighteen, I wanted to drop out of my college studies and marry her right away, but Gil made me go back and finish while he and Marlee took responsibility for the majority of Emily's care, as well as Matthew's once he came along. I helped out when I was down for the summer after he was born, but most of that first year of Matthew's life belonged to the Swindons that way.

I cannot make this point often enough or emphatically enough -- Gil and Marlee weren't trying to keep Emily and me apart as such, as much as trying to impress on me the necessity of honoring my prior commitment to my studies, in which way I could set an example for Matthew as he grew up. Through all of it, the Swindons made sure I knew that they wanted to assist me in my new responsibilities by helping to take care of their daughter until I could, and did, make her my wife upon my graduation. I sensed that Gil, if drafted to help, would be true to form and look to direct what traffic Emily would let him.

In the time left to me until the Swindons would get there, I phoned to my parents; they told me they were sorry to hear that Emily was feeling so badly, and to give their love to the kids.

Don't misread me -- we're never ungrateful for anyone wanting to pray for us, as Mom and Dad offered to do; putting prayer into action and concrete results, however, is also helpful for those in a position to do so. More to the point, my parents can't simply hop into a car, nip over to the grocery, and then come over for us the way the Swindons can -- because my parents live in suburban St Louis, a five-hour drive from us. Any good words they could offer were, therefore, much appreciated.

After hanging up, I left my phone on the desk, got up, walked over, and stuck my head into the doorway of my bedroom. "Need anything, babe?" I asked Emily.

She greeted me with six seconds of coughing so violent it turned her face crimson. "I need this gone," she then groaned in a cracked stage whisper. "And you with it for the time being, unless you want it, and I'm betting you don't."

"You just stay under those covers, all right? You'll be plenty taken care of."

She smiled as best she could. "Thanks, babe" -- another volley of coughing -- "I love you" -- hack, hack! -- "so much."

"I love you too, but you know what... I... think I'll pass on kissing you," I said, disappointedly.

"Lovely idea... why didn't I think of that," as she blew a raspberry.

At that moment, I heard my phone ringing. "Probably just a telemarketer... maybe a political ad," I thought to myself, and so didn't go to pick it up immediately. After a few seconds, however, I heard my voicemail notification going off, followed by a buzzing on Emily's phone -- an incoming text.

She glanced at it, then turned on me with what strength she could summon. "Did you tell them to come over?! Tell them to go home -- I don't want them getting sick here!"

I shook my head. "I didn't invite them -- they did." I then broke off to answer a knock at the door. "And that knock is them telling us they did," I called down the hallway as I went to the door and answered it.

"Something the matter with your phone?" Gil's voice was initially gruff, but he smiled nonetheless. "Here, give us a hand." It was clear from the many sacks being brought in that he and Marlee had spent quite a bit of good money at the IGA in town, and I knew immediately for what purpose: there would be soup later in the day, as much and for as long as it took to get Emily well.

You've heard the legend of stone soup, right? A beggar comes along and puts a stone in hot water, calling it soup, and the townspeople set him right by putting in edible odds and ends from each of their gardens and cupboards, ending up with a splendid real soup -- c'mon, I know you know that story. Well, this is what the Swindons were going to be making -- any and every vegetable they could lay hands on, fresh and canned alike, they were going to turn into a filling soup, one batch of which had been known to last four days for me, Emily, and all four kids. In addition to the vegetables, Gil and Marlee had brought over eight half-gallon jugs of orange juice, two one-gallons of the same, and two large bottles of Vitamin C pills. To put it plainly, this sickness would soon find out that it had picked the wrong family to mess with.

Once the groceries were at least staged, if not fully put away, Marlee gathered us into the kitchen, and set about dutifully ignoring Emily's repeated calls to me to send them home. "You boys get busy with the soup -- I'll see to Emily." With that, she packed two small but sturdy glasses into a grocery sack, alongside some orange juice and vitamin C. Gil, meanwhile, ran water in a pan, into which he added split peas, brown rice, lentils, and garbanzos; these, salted and peppered, would soak for two hours, after which they would be added alongside the other vegetables, into a five-quart Dutch oven set aside for occasions like this one.

From my room, I could hear, "Mom, please... I don't want you getting sick..."

"That's why we're both drinking juice and taking this." Marlee's voice was firm, but still maternally gentle. "Gonna take some of this edge off... before you take that off." I knew that this meant another home remedy: a bath would be drawn, as hot as could be stood. The sick person would then get into the bath, both to elevate body temperature to the point of inhospitability to germs, and also for steam to be inhaled and therefore free to open up respiratory passages. However, someone needed to be present with the bathing patient, lest the comfort of the water cause her to fall asleep, and possibly slip below the waterline.

I made my way down the hall to stand in the doorway, to tell Marlee that I would have been happy to help Emily with the bath while she and Gil worked on the soup.

She shook her head. "Some things are just meant to work with mothers and daughters." Emily smiled in agreement, weakly and wordlessly but still feeling glad to be cared for, yet protective of Marlee's health.

"But I'm her husband... please, lemme help too. C'mon, it's nothing I haven't seen before."

From the kitchen, "I heard that! Get in here now!"

Marlee nodded. "You better go... that soup's not gonna make itself." I made quicker time to get there.

Once in the kitchen, Gil set me right. "Need to watch yourself, son."

"Listen, I appreciate what you're doing for her, and don't think I don't... but can't a husband help his wife with a bath?"

"That's one thing... and if it's just the two of you here at home, you can talk any way you want." Gil's tone softened, but his message wasn't going to. "Yeah, I know you've had intimate relations with my daughter over these years -- and I got the livin'est, lovin'est proof for neighbors to see often, probably have dinner with tonight." He then smiled the smile that older gentlemen get when they're talking about their grandchildren -- a smile that faded on the next breath. "But just because a father knows these things about his daughter, doesn't mean he wants to hear someone speaking them out loud in any detail."

I nodded, the point being made and received. "Yessir." Mind you, I hadn't been thinking about anything approaching sex today, but I did see Gil's point about when, and not, to discuss certain things.

Gil changed the subject immediately by standing up. "If I'm a guest in your home, I should pay you back for your hospitality... wheredya keep the coffee? Lemme make you some." I showed him where to get started, and he got the coffee going, leaving the soup base alone to do its thing. Once the coffee was ready and we were enjoying a cup, we got talking.

"How's Michael?" Gil asked. Michael is the second of our four children, and the only one not currently living in Campania County.

"Ah, he's doing okay." When Michael graduated from high school in 2016, he had preferred not to be a Mizzou Tiger, like me and my parents, but to stay closer to home and be a Missouri State Bear; their main campus is in Springfield, which is just thirty miles up the road from us. In 2020, Covid notwithstanding, he graduated with a business degree -- and an arrangement that would work for him, in the Kelley tradition. That's right -- while up there, he met a fellow student, one Ashley Hamilton by name. Just as my parents met at Mizzou, so did Michael wind up in Springfield to find the young woman he married this past June. Right now, they're living in Greene County (of which Springfield is the seat) and getting themselves settled in, and we talk by phone once weekly, but there's still the twinge of the nest being empty to that particular degree. No lies here -- Emily and I are glad to get to see him and Ashley when we do, but we miss the hell out of him when we don't.

"Think Matthew'll get to see him today?" Gil offered. Both our older boys work in Springfield -- Matthew drives in from Naples every day to work at an industrial supply house, and Michael works in an office across town; sometimes, when one or both might have extra money after payday and bills, they'll get together for a quick lunch or dinner.

"Maybe, you never know... hey, can I get you another cup of coffee?"

"At my age" -- he and Marlee are both in decent health, but both are seventy-two nonetheless -- "you probably shouldn't... aww, devil take it. At my age, I'm gonna enjoy every moment I can get with those I love... so yeah, let's both have one."

I smiled, got us our coffee, and glanced at a nearby clock -- it was just now eight; in the short time they'd been here, however, Gil and Marlee had set about with an arsenal of remedies to get Emily better, faster.

We talked about anything, everything, and nothing at all as we worked on that first pot of coffee. At the end of the pot -- forty minutes later -- we heard the bathtub draining, followed by two sets of footfalls leading to the master bedroom. From this, I could guess what was happening: Marlee had wrapped a thick bathrobe around Emily and would be putting her to bed, with a stocking cap on her head, her feet shod with two pair of tube socks, and her person buried beneath almost every blanket we owned. We could hear Marlee asking, in a quiet but carrying voice, if Emily would be all right; we couldn't hear an answer, but guessed that Emily was saying that she would be, soon if not immediately.

Once Marlee had Emily in bed, Gil and I trailed down the hallway. "Cup of coffee?" I called over my shoulder toward Marlee.

"In a cup that won't spill," she told me; to Gil, she instructed to bring a kitchen chair, which she would set up beside the bed. Her intention was clear -- she wanted to camp out, as it were, near Emily and to be close at hand when she woke up. We brought these things right away and made sure she was comfortable.

Once we were back in the kitchen, I asked Gil, "More coffee?... maybe we could find something good on TV?"

Gil wasn't brooking anything he perceived to be nonsense. "I didn't come to watch TV... and coffee's always all right, but it's not why I'm here."