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I offered him a ride into town, given the record-setting hot weather that day, but he decided to ride his bike instead. I gave him a slip of paper with my cell phone number in case he was going to be late, or if he needed assistance. We agreed on 6:00 for dinner. Then he was off, cycling down the highway in the searing, midday heat.Later that afternoon, around 6:00, Jake called to let me know he was running late, and that he would be home in twenty to thirty minutes. He arrived at 6:30, crimson-faced, and dripping wet from head to toe with sweat.“Do you mind if I take a shower first?” he asked. “It was hot, just like you said.”After telling him to go ahead, I set the table and put dinner on the stove. A short while later he scampered down the old, wooden staircase from the second floor, two steps at a time, and presented himself at the dinner table.“Sorry for holding you up,” he remarked.“No problem,” I replied. “You certainly look a lot cooler and drier. Have a seat.”He was clad. The broth went down easy, but the meat and vegetables felt like cacti rolling down his throat.As he ate, Tin helped wipe the sweat from his body. His spot on the bed would need some time to dry out. When he had finished eating, he simply sat with his head in his hands, taking deep breaths and trying to ignore the throbbing pain.Tin leaned against his back. “Please, what can I do to help?”“You’re doing plenty for me already.”“There must be more that I can do.”“Well it hurts me to say this, but I’ll need your help using that chamber pot.”“Aye, this is springburn all right.” Noah opened his eyes, finding the innkeeper examining him, with Tin standing in the back. The woman was holding a handkerchief over her nose and mouth and not touching him directly, instead with one of the rags Tin used.“That’s really bad, isn’t it?” Tin asked.“It’s not good. I know four others in town who have it and they are suffering as well. It always manages to kill a few people each year. My oldest once had it.
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