Chapter 7

“Like shit, pun intended,” he said.

“I’m sorry.”

“You ought to be. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear you were trying to kill me.”

My heart sank. “What a terrible thing to say. Jesus, Clay, don’t you think I feel bad enough already?”

“I’m sure you don’t feel half as bad as I do. I’m the one who’s been cramped over the toilet for the last half hour.” He sat up and looked at me. “Don’t ever cook for me again.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I domean it.”

My mood went from sorrow to anger in mere seconds. “How do you even know the food I cooked made you sick? It could have been something you ate earlier.”

He shook his head. “It was those crab cakes.”

I was about to try again to defend myself against his allegations, but he groaned and dragged himself back to the bathroom before I had the chance.

While Clay was locked in the bathroom, I told him I was going to the drug store to pick up some Gatorade and medicine for him. His only response was to flush the toilet.