Free Just Like Florence Nightingale by Sean Kennedy Page A

cooking?”
     
    “Yes.”
     
    “Nah,
I must still be asleep.  Weird dream, though.”
     
    “I’m
cooking, nuff-nuff .  I take it you’re hungry?”
     
    “Smells
like soup,” he said sleepily.  His hair was ruffled and smushed up against the left side of his face.  I had
to resist the urge to tame it back down, because it made him look
adorable.  Ack , adorable ! Dec would die
if he knew I was applying that word to him.
     
    “It
is.”
     
    “Heinz
or Campbell?”  He then perked up slightly.  “Or did my mum bring some
over?”
     
    Offended,
I said icily, “ I made it.”
     
    “ Campbells , then,” Dec said decisively, his head dropping
back down on the cushion.  “You don’t like Heinz.”
     
    “Ye
of little faith,” I said scornfully.  “The only thing that came out of a
packet in this soup is the noodles .”
     
    He
opened one eye.  “Really?”
     
    “Really.”
     
    “You
cooked?”
     
    “I
cooked.  For you.”
     
    “Wow,
you must really love me.”
     
    I
leaned down and kissed him on the forehead.  “No, I’m just feeling sorry
for you, lying there all weak and defenceless .”
     
    A
strong arm snaked around me and pulled me down to the ground next to the couch
before I could even put up any resistance.  “Oh?” he asked, sounding proud
of himself.
     
    He
was such a sucker.  He had me right where I wanted to be.  I kissed
him slowly, manoeuvring myself so I wouldn’t brush up
against his leg by accident.  His body was warm— too warm—so the meds were probably making his body work overtime.  He broke away suddenly and winced.
     
    “I’ll
get you your painkillers.”
     
    “Thanks.”
     
    While
I was in the kitchen I dumped the noodles in and gave the pot a stir. 
Back in the lounge I handed Dec his pills and a bottle of water, and he took
them eagerly.
     
    “Your
bandages are pretty gross,” I said casually.  “I should change them for
you.”  I knew he wouldn’t be happy about it.  It was necessary, but
it was also painful navigating around the scars from the surgery that were
still tender and raw.
     
    “Wait
until after lunch,” he suggested—anything to stave off the inevitable.
     
    “Yeah,
because it would be far better doing them on a full stomach.”  I grinned
to try to make a joke of it.  “Come on, we have enough time.”
     
    Being
a nurse was a hard job.
     
    “Fine,”
he sighed.
     
    Watching
horror movies always makes me nauseated, but it’s funny how when you’re treated
to the sight of gore in real life, if it’s the gore of the person you love, you
don’t even bat an eyelid.  Dec watched me as I unflinchingly cut free the
bandages and wiped away at the mess on his knee before wrapping it all up in a
plastic bag.  He let slip a moan when I applied fresh
antibacterial gel and began wrapping the knee back up.  When I
looked back at him, a fresh sheen of sweat had broken out upon his
forehead.  I kissed him and said, “Let me just get rid of this and wash
up, then I’ll get you soup.”
     
    His humour returned, and he called out after me, “Thanks,
Florence.”
     
    I
gave him the finger as I walked to the bathroom.  I could see Maggie lying
on our bed through the open door.  She wasn’t happy having been moved over
here temporarily and was avoiding us both even though Declan was out there to
be a warm mattress for her to lie upon twenty-four-seven.  With the gunk
disposed of and my hands clean, I detoured past her to try to give her a
pat.  I ended up in the kitchen with a fresh set of scratches across the
back of my hand as thanks for it.
     
    The
noodles were soft, and the soup wasn’t starchy.  Thank you, Fran.   This just may be edible.
     
    I
ditched the butcher’s apron before carrying two bowls of soup with buttered,
crusty bread.  Too bad there was no fresh parsley in the house to add to
the look.  Declan looked appreciative (and surprised) as I helped him into
a sitting position and