Chapter 3

Before long, she came out supporting Claude.

"The air conditioning on the plane was too cold. He gave me his clothes to wear and caught a cold himself."

Though Billson was explaining to me, her eyes never left Claude for a moment, filled with concern and heartache.

"Oh!" I replied casually.

Claude smiled at me. "Guy, thanks for the trouble!"

Before I could speak, Billson said tenderly, "Don't talk when you're sick. It's no trouble for him to drive here and pick us up."

I smiled at that.

Right. Claude got sick for her sake, while I merely drove here to pick them up. Of course I couldn't compare.

Billson helped Claude into the back seat, gently letting Claude rest his head on her shoulder.

I stared in a daze.

Once, she had said my shoulder was only for her to lean on, and her shoulder was only for me.

But now, she was letting Claude lean on her shoulder.

Seeing I hadn't moved, Billson said impatiently.

"What are you spacing out for? Drive!"

I turned my head and silently started the car.

"Drive faster. Take Claude home first. He has a cold and can't be delayed."

"Okay!" I responded.

The entire way, Billson and I didn't exchange another word.

She kept thoughtfully changing positions to let Claude rest more comfortably.

Through the rearview mirror, I saw her wanting to say something several times.

I knew what she wanted to say.

Nothing more than telling me not to mind, that Claude was sick now and needed tolerance and understanding.

Actually, she didn't need to say it. I didn't mind at all!

"Darling, my head is so dizzy. I feel terrible!"

Claude hugged Billson's waist, burying his head in her chest.

Billson glanced at me in panic, then reached out to straighten Claude up.

"You don't have a fever, do you? Let me check."

She pressed her hand to Claude's forehead and sighed in relief.

"No fever. It must be because the car's going too fast."

"Guy, slow down. Claude isn't feeling well."

I glanced at the speedometer showing barely 40 mph and laughed quietly.

"What are you laughing at? Claude is already sick, and you're gloating."

Billson glared at me disapprovingly, her perfectly made-up eyebrows raised as if I'd committed some heinous crime.

"I wouldn't say gloating. I just find it funny that a grown man with a little cold is acting like he has a terminal illness."

"You're the one with a terminal illness. If you can't speak properly, shut your mouth."

I tugged at the corner of my mouth as the car entered the residential complex where Claude lived.

Before I'd even parked properly, Billson opened the door and helped Claude out.

I followed behind them.

Billson skillfully pulled out a key from her bag. Just as she opened the door, she seemed to remember I was behind her and turned to explain.

"Because I often come here to rehearse piano pieces, Claude gave me this key for convenience."

I smiled in response. "No need to explain. I understand!"

Billson frowned at that, seeming to sense something was off about me today.

"You today..."

Before she could finish asking, Claude suddenly broke into violent coughing.

Billson immediately panicked, unable to ask me further, and quickly helped Claude inside.

"I'll get you some water!"

Billson helped Claude sit on the sofa, then rushed around getting water and fetching a towel.

"How are you feeling? Any better? What would you like to eat?"

Claude smiled weakly.

"Much better. I don't have an appetite right now. I just want some borscht."

Billson turned to look at me.

"You heard him? Go make it!"