HUM by Dan Hawley (chromebook ebook reader TXT) 📕

“Damn! I guess I passed out hard, huh?” he said, lying on his back.

Samantha inched closer, ran her hand along his naked torso, and rested it on his chest, running her fingernails through his short chest hair.

“You were out cold when I came to bed. You looked so peaceful.”

Samantha smiled and cozied in closer to Jason. He looked over at his nightstand, expecting to have to fish everything out of the drawer again. Instead, everything was exactly where it had been the night before—lying under the lamp-tree, taking shade from the hot, summer sun.

“I haven’t slept that well in forever!” Jason reached over, put his arm around Sam, and hugged her tight. “I guess talking to the doctor really did help,” Sam said.

Jason kissed her cheek.

“I definitely felt lighter after the appointment. It took the edge off, I guess. Looking forward to tonight. Hopefully we can learn something.” Jason’s eyes were clear and bright, and his dimples showed through his beard.

“You hungry?”

* * *

“Chef Jason’s famous French toast!” Jason announced as he lifted the golden-brown bread from the pan onto their plates.

“Mmm!” Samantha exclaimed as she took a sip of orange juice. Jason’s mouth watered from the aroma of toasted wheat and egg mixed with vanilla and cinnamon.

He sat down, and they dug in.

CHAPTER 20

“Got everything?” Samantha asked. Jason checked over his bag and took a mental inventory. The day had moved slowly for the couple as they waited in anticipation for the night to come. The all-important test on which so much depended. They had watched some tv after breakfast. It had been more of the same—huge numbers of infected, disturbing numbers dead, no vaccine in sight. The president promised late fall, but most critics said that was impossible. Once they got their morbid fill, the couple decided to get some air.

They waved to Chester as they passed the concierge desk. He seemed to be training another new concierge. Samantha and Jason exited the doors and headed out onto the street. It was cool but pleasant outside, with a light, briny breeze coming in off the harbor. They strolled down to the seawall and across the section where the speeding cyclist had struck Jason. Jason rubbed his shoulder absentmindedly and called the cyclist a blind twit as the couple discussed what had happened that day.

No one’s fault, really. Just bad luck.

They continued down the walkway, wandering through the city in a wide loop. Building after building was closed and shuttered. After about an hour, they arrived back near their apartment. They stopped at one of the restaurants that had reopened for takeout and delivery only. Jason asked for two orders of fish and chips through the intercom at the front window. The masked person inside wrote down the order with gloved hands and then replied, “It’ll be about ten minutes.”

After fifteen minutes, the couple received their order and hurried back to their apartment, leaving a mouth-watering trail of deep-fried food aromas in their wake.

Jason commented, as he did every time they ate fish out west that, “They just couldn’t get fresh fish like this back home.”

The afternoon consisted of more tv, some sudoku, and researching sleep disorders on the internet. The day crawled by as Jason checked the time every ten minutes or so, a pattern that was broken up by dinner and packing. At 8:30 p.m., Jason stood in front of Samantha.

“Ready to go?” she asked.

“I think so,” Jason said as he looked into Sam’s sad but hopeful eyes.

“You gonna be ok here all alone?”

“I think so,” Samantha said.

They smiled, and Jason grabbed her waist and pulled her close.

“I’ll text you later if I can.”

He kissed her cheek, grabbed his duffle, and opened the apartment door.

“Love you,” he said as he paused and looked back. “Ditto.”

* * *

It was dark and the sky was clear when Jason pulled his SUV out into the street. He looked up through his glasses and sunroof and thought he saw a few faded stars behind the city’s light pollution. Jason turned the radio on with a push of a button, and Bob Marley started singing from the speakers, telling Jason not to worry about a thing.

“If you say so, Bob. You’re the boss!”

Jason tapped along to the music and smiled while driving happily over to the sleep clinic.

He pulled into the same spot he had the previous day and shifted into park. There were several other cars there, and as Jason looked up the old building’s brown brick walls, he wondered how many sleep test rooms there were inside.

Three floors, he thought. The main floor is the waiting room and offices, and the second and third floors were the test rooms maybe. Four rooms per floor. Eight rooms? He would soon find out. But why hadn’t he gone in yet?

He remained sitting in his car, staring up at the building; bright lights shone from the windows on the second and third floors. Jason suddenly had a terrible thought—what if the test shows something is really wrong in my head? What if my brain is so fucked up, I’ll be doing weird shit in my sleep for the rest of my life? Would Sam even put up with that?

His thoughts quickened.

What if they find a tumor or cancer or something in there? What if I’m dying and going crazy along the way?

Jason shifted in his seat as he stared at the entrance.

Or, he thought somberly, what if they find nothing at all? What if good ol’ Doctor Luu can’t find anything wrong at all. That would be worse, wouldn’t it? Jason sat a minute longer, blank faced and statuesque. Finally, the realization that he would be late sparked his body to move.

Almost automatically, he grabbed his phone and wallet from the middle console, his duffle from the passenger seat, and went inside.

“Good evening Mr. Steele,” the receptionist greeted. She eyed him as his shoes clicked on the black and white linoleum.

“Hello.”

“Nine o’clock appointment, is it?”

Jason nodded.